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Chapter Fourteen - March 12

-- Nick --

I ran to the edge of the platform but before I could dive down after him, a strong arm held me back.

"It's a suicide mission. Don't even think about it."

"He did it once and lived. He's going to do it again."

"Then we've just got to play smart," Mike said.

The next few hours played out like a very fuzzy old film. Mike and I scoured the lighthouse, but Brooke was nowhere to be found. Mike called some of his contacts; within hours, FBI agents and Cozumel officials suddenly flooded the place to scout out the entire area.

Kevin had been taken to the hospital. Mike had ordered me to stay in the hotel room. I guess one injured Backstreet Boy was enough on his watch. I paced the room waiting for news from anybody about anything. Brian was the first person to call.

"Did you catch him?"

I closed my eyes. I replayed Aaron's words. Brooke was sick. Dying. Dying.

"No. He...got away." I exhaled a shaky breath. "And Kev?"

"You're going to throw up."

It wasn't the answer I had expected.

"What?"

"Well..."

"He got his balls fucking sliced and diced."

That came from AJ. My eyes widened.

"What?"

"Addy's going to be pissed. I hope she didn't want any more kids."

"But--"

"His batters are suspended but he's still going to be able to play the game."

Leave it to Howie to manage to find an analogy.

"Is he awake?"

"He's sedated," Howie said. He lowered his voice. "He's my fucking hero."

I couldn't agree more. There was no way I was going to be able to repay Kev back.

"I'll come visit as soon as I can," I said.

"Have they found Aaron? Brooke?"

I swallowed yet another lump in my throat. "No."

Howie sighed. "We're praying for you man."

"Thank you."

I hung up. Mike was keeping me in the hotel room. Time crawled when I was trapped. He should have known that. I dialed his number.

"Any news?"

"No, but I've got a full crew on this. Henry's taking care of your mom."

"My mom?"

"He caught her at the airport leaving for Russia. She spilled her guts the moment her face was pressed against the wall. Aaron had promised to ship Brooke over to Russia so she could keep her."

I sank down onto the bed. It was a fucking miracle I had lived this long and turned out normal. Angel and I were the only normal ones. My mother. My own mother had tried to screw me over. She was in on this scheme to rip my heart out. Not that I was surprised.

"They better lock her up and throw away the key," I said bitterly.

"I'll be fighting every step of the way for it to happen," Mike assured me. "I'll call you if I know more."

Another renegade tear fell.

"Thanks Mike."

I hung up and dialed Liv. She answered on the first ring.

"My god Nick, what's going on? I just heard about Jane and then Kev..."

"Things are a mess Liv," I said. I couldn't help it. I broke down. "Baby, I don't have Brooke yet. Everyone's out looking. Aaron told me she's sick."

I heard Liv crying on the other end. "She's got to come home."

"I know. I won't stop until she is."

We spoke for a few more minutes and I whispered an 'I Love You' on speaker for Noah and Peyton. I hung up feeling like a shell of a man.

And the shell was cracking fast.

It was time for the caged bird to run free once more.

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-- Aaron --

My shoulder was bleeding pretty bad. I had taken off my t-shirt, blotting the wound with the fabric. My fingers held it tightly in place. I snuck back into the basement of the old funeral home.

I could still smell the embalming fluid. And vomit. Rancid vomit. It took my eyes a minute to focus in the darkness. I made out the outline of the mattress and the little mass on top. The girl was curled up in the fetal position. The mattress was stained by the regurgitation and stomach acid.

I sank down against the wall. I was tired. My high had worn off. I ached for a fix but there was no money and no contacts. I yanked my bloody knife out of my pants and slipped off my hoodie. I created sloppy bandages by ripping and slicing my t-shirt.

"You still alive?" I growled. I paused and listened. I heard shallow raspy breathing.

I closed my eyes. I needed to take a nap. When I woke up...well...I would finish the job. No need to make the little rat suffer. Better to have her blood soak up the floor.

Then I would move on.

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-- Mike --

This was every man's worst nightmare. My target had gotten away. My son-in-law was holed up in a hotel tearing his hair out from the agony of waiting. I felt like screaming.

I had never had children of my own. My first wife had died of breast cancer and I had truly believed that a life of happiness was over. Until I met Carrie. And with her came Liv. And Nick. And the kids.

They might not have been biologically mine, but they were my grandchildren. I adored everything about their bright smiles and bubbly personalities.

Aaron had messed with my granddaughter. It was a stupid move.

Most of the agents and officials scouring the town were hitting up anything and everything. I was more selective. My years of training had taught me that it was always the place least obvious.

I was on the outskirts of town. It was a residential type of neighborhood. A few guys were checking the old abandoned houses.

My gut told me that Aaron was insane enough to kill Brooke. The thought was like a lead weight in my stomach. But I forced myself to enter the mind.

The mind of a psychopath.

An abandoned place would be ideal. But not just any ideal place. It would have to be someplace that a typical person wouldn't want to stay. Perhaps some place that already reaked of violence. Or death.

I closed my eyes and focuse on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

I opened my eyes.

Residental houses. An old supermarket. A funeral parlor. A dry cleaners.

A funeral parlor.

It was worth a shot. I walked around the building. It was abandoned. The windows were shuttered. I studied the front door. It wasn't disturbed. I carefully made my way around the building. I drew my gun.

It was best to be prepared.

Two wooden doors leading to what was the underground part of the home were around back. A high fence blocked everything from view. It looked like the ground around the doors had recently been disturbed.

I slowly pulled open the door. The sun caught the dust and magnified it. Stairs led downwards.

The proper thing to do was call for backup. I had never been the type to do the proper thing. I lowered my foot down to the first step.

Solid concrete.

I made my way down slowly, sticking to the wall. Cobwebs hung over every available surface. With my free hand, I reached for a penlight. I didn't get the opportunity to turn it on.

"Put the gun away."

It was his voice. My eyes were adjusting quickly, as was my nose. I smelled vomit. Aaron's figure was kneeling next to a mattress. I made out a smaller shape. A shape with ragged blonde hair.

Brooklyn.

"If you don't put down the FUCKING gun, I will slice her throat RIGHT now."

Slowly I knelt down. I placed my gun on the cold concrete. I didn't take my eyes off him.

"You're good old man. But not that good."

My hand clenched into a fist. He was cocky. I bit my tongue. The last thing I needed to do was rile him up. I was so close to rescuing my little granddaughter. This couldn't go wrong. It just couldn't.

I had to trust my instincts.