the television, then switch off the movie when my cell vibrates again—Turn on the news.
The hairs on my arms rise.
I change the channel, flicking to news station after news station, trying to find something to trigger familiarity, but there’s nothing. No reports of drama in the Greek islands or issues back home surrounding Torian’s questionable business dealings.
I’m clueless.
What am I searching for?—I send back.
Just open the goddamn door.
I push from the sofa, annoyed, tired, and so far over this shit with Sarah, Decker, and yes, Torian, that it takes a few seconds to recognize the woman’s face that flashes on the screen.
The heavy weight of dread takes over.
It’s one of Penny’s friends. One of the women I helped rescue from the same sex-slave hellhole in Greece. The words beneath her picture state—Up next: Missing woman dies by suicide.
Holy shit.
I stare. At the woman. At Penny peacefully sleeping. At the stillness surrounding me that will soon erupt into sorrow.
The cell vibrates again—Open the fucking door, Luca.
Fuck.
I stalk from the room, measuring my footfalls so I don’t wake the sleeping beauty, and reach the front of the house without taking a breath.
“What the fuck happened?” I ask as I pull the door wide.
Sarah stands there, her face somber. “I don’t know. All I got was a call from Torian telling me to get my ass over here to help control the situation.”
“I don’t need your help controlling anything.” I scrub a hand through my hair and try not to panic. “Why didn’t he call me?”
“I guess he wanted you to have backup.”
“What I need is information.”
She shrugs. “I don’t have a lot. Torian said Benji had been certain the woman was ready to return home. He’d prepped her the best he could. Made her realize talking about her time in Greece wasn’t an option. And set her up with a backstory. Then he dropped her off a few blocks from where her parents live.”
“Obviously, he fucked up somewhere,” I growl.
“You can’t know that. These women are unpredictable. How could they not be after that level of abuse?”
“Then he should’ve kept her long—”
“Luca?” Penny’s voice carries from the living room. “Where are you?”
Jesus fucking Christ. I just need a second. One crystal clear thought. One hint of a plan so I don’t make this harder for her.
“At the front of the house. I’ll be with you in a minute.” I pin Sarah with a scowl and begin closing the door. “I don’t need backup. Not from you.”
She steps forward, placing her foot at the threshold. “So how are you going to handle this?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“Luca.” Her tone is derisive. Demeaning. “This won’t go down well. She’s going to lose it.”
“No shit.” But I’ve managed worse. A bullet to my head for starters. Not to mention the numerous times Penny has attempted to kill me. I talked her down from those ledges… well, I manhandled her from the cliff a time or two, but I still got the job done.
“So you can handle her tears? Her grief? Her heartbreak?” She raises her brows. “You can be a shoulder for her to cry on?”
“She doesn’t cry. Never has.”
“And you realize that’s unhealthy, right? She needs to let it out.”
Yeah, I realize. I realize too fucking much where Penny is concerned.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, squeezing tighter and tighter to stave off the building headache.
“Luca?” This time Penny’s call is frantic, the tone etched in fear. “Luca.”
My heart drops to my gut. “Fuck. I left the television on the news.”
“Goddamnit.” Sarah lunges forward, shoving past me to jog down the hall as I rush to close and lock the door behind her.
The television volume increases as I run after her.
“—Abigail Foster, a twenty-five-year-old who went missing four months ago,” the reporter informs the viewers, “miraculously returned to her family yesterday, only to take her life overnight.”
I reach the entry to the living room and get hit in the chest at the sight of Penny standing before the recliner, a hand clasped over her mouth as she shakes her head.
The television cuts to a middle-aged woman cradled by the side of a stricken man. “Our baby had only just come home to us,” the woman sobs. “Now she’s gone.” She buries her face in the man’s shoulder. “My baby is gone.”
The vision returns to the newsroom, the anchor’s emotionless face filling the screen. “Initial reports state Abigail Foster’s disappearance was due to a secret elopement. She only returned when the relationship dissolved.”