Chapter 5
Devin had a daughter.
I knew that.
Everyone at the bar knew that.
Sophie was six, with missing front teeth and a backpack covered in glitter stars.
She used to sit in the office on rainy afternoons while Devin worked inventory.
She drew pictures of mermaids on receipt paper.
Now someone had her.
Because of me.
Because of Rick.
Because men like Martin Vale saw people only as pressure points.
Detective Torres moved fast.
An Amber Alert was prepared but not released yet, because the kidnappers were monitoring the news.
Rick called the federal prosecutor handling Martin’s case.
I watched him speak from the corner of the station, his voice controlled and dead calm.
“No,” he said. “I’m not backing out. They took a child.”
Then he listened.
His face hardened.
“Then move faster.”
When he hung up, I stepped toward him.
“What happens now?”
“Federal task force.”
“And Sophie?”
“They’re tracing the video.”
“That sounds slow.”
“It is.”
I hated that answer.
Maya sat beside me, pale and silent.
I wanted to send her somewhere safe, but safe had become a moving target.
Detective Torres assigned an officer to stay with her.
Maya protested.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You’re seventeen.”
“You’re my sister.”
“And I’m trying to keep you alive.”
Her face crumpled.
I softened immediately.
“I need you safe so I can think.”
That worked.
Barely.
She left with Officer Ruiz to stay at a protected location arranged through Rick’s old contacts.
Before she went, she hugged me fiercely.
“Don’t be brave in a stupid way.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“No.”
She almost smiled.
At six that evening, the trace came back.
The video had been uploaded near an old marina warehouse owned by a shell company tied to Martin Vale.
Rick knew the place.
Of course he did.
“Liquor storage,” he said. “At least on paper.”
Detective Torres looked at him.
“You are staying here.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“If Sophie is there because they want me scared, I might be useful.”
“You might be dead.”
Rick leaned forward.
“If I don’t show, they may panic.”
Torres cursed softly.
Then she did what smart people do when all options are bad.
She made a plan.
Rick would go in wearing a wire.
I would stay in the surveillance van.
That was the plan.
I agreed.
Then broke it twenty minutes later.
Because the moment Rick walked toward the warehouse alone, my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Come too, bartender. Or the girl disappears.
I showed Torres.
Her eyes flashed.
“No.”
“They know I’m here.”
“No.”
“They asked for me.”
“You are not trained.”
I looked at Rick through the van window.
He stood beneath a broken marina light, shoulders tense.
“No,” I said. “But I’m the one Bradley grabbed. I’m the one they framed. They made me part of this.”
Torres stared at me.
Then handed me a small wire.
“Follow every instruction.”
“I will.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
Inside the warehouse, the air smelled like salt, mold, and old wood.
Rick walked ahead.
I followed, hands visible.
A man stepped from the shadows.
Eddie Russo.
He smiled.
“Look at that. The bartender came.”
“Where’s Sophie?” I asked.
“Still breathing.”
Rick’s jaw flexed.
Eddie pointed to an office upstairs.
“Phones on the table.”
We obeyed.
Mostly.
The wire stayed under my shirt.
Then Martin Vale appeared at the top of the stairs.
Silver hair.
Perfect suit.
No hurry.
“Mr. Dawson,” he said. “You should have fired the girl.”
Rick’s voice was cold.
“You should have raised your son better.”
May you like
Martin smiled.
“Bradley is exactly what I made him.”
