Isabella slid her clammy palms over her denim-clad thighs, slapping the memory from her brain. But the two minutes turned into four, then became a full ten, and come on, come on. Where the hell—
Isabella’s phone buzzed a good three inches across the Formica at her elbow, sending her pulse rocketing through the stratosphere. But intelligence wasn’t on call this weekend, and she could count the number of personal calls she’d gotten this month on one hand, minus five fingers.
Unknown caller.
Her throat went dry and tight, the combination doing nothing for her calm. Under any other circumstances, she’d send the call to voicemail with a muttered curse about stupid telemarketers. But Angel was now eleven—she checked her watch—no, twelve minutes late.
Oh God. She’d promised to protect her. She needed Angel safe.
Isabella needed her here. Now.
She flicked the phone to life, making her way to the alcove by the restrooms in the back of the diner for better privacy. “Moreno.”
“Detective Moreno.” The voice was male and unfamiliar, and the air in the narrow hallway seemed to grow thicker.
Still, she strong-armed her voice into smoothness. “Who is this?”
“You might want to think less about who this is and more about who I have here with me. Or more specifically, who isn’t with you at the Fork in the Road right now.”
Adrenaline punched through her lungs in a panicked substitute for breath. “Where’s Angel?”
The man laughed. “It wouldn’t be very fun if I gave you all the pieces to the puzzle, now would it? Can’t lead you to any conclusions beyond the shadow of a doubt.”
“Okay.” Isabella’s mind raced. The longer she kept this guy on the phone, the more information he might give up, and even the smallest detail might help her find Angel. “What is it that you want?”
“Aw, your police tactics to keep me talking are so cute. But you’re not going to catch me now that I know you’re a cop. I know all your little tricks.”
Her chin snapped up. “And how’s that? Are you a cop, too?”
The man’s laughter curled over the line as he thoroughly ignored her question, and damn it, she should’ve known he wouldn’t take such easy bait. “I just called on the boss man’s behalf. He wanted me to tell you he’ll see you real soon. Oh, and sorry you’ve got to work this weekend. Dead-end cases are so tough. Bye, now.”
The line clicked once and went dead.
No. No, no, no, no.
Fear cemented Isabella’s boots to the black and white floor tiles for only a second before her adrenaline surged, propelling her back to the table she’d abandoned. With her thoughts moving at warp speed, she yanked the paper placemat from beneath her cup and saucer, whipping a pen from the pocket of her leather jacket and writing down the entire conversation in all the exact words she could remember.
All the pieces to the puzzle…beyond the shadow of a doubt…now that I know you’re a cop…dead-end cases…dead…
No.
Panic grabbed her chest, sinking its nails in and gripping without mercy, but she crammed a breath into her fear-choked lungs. She couldn’t get emotional. She couldn’t break down, not now. She’d already gotten this far, and on her own at that. She had to think. To work.
She had to find a way to save Angel before it was too late.
* * *
Kellan worked up his very best poker face before walking through the side door leading to Station Seventeen’s engine bay. True, he hadn’t taken so much as a nanosecond off in the pair of years he’d been on the RFD’s payroll, and true again, he’d only missed the first two hours of his twenty-four-hour tour, plus he’d covered said hours in advance with one of the guys from C-shift so his engine-mates wouldn’t have to run light. But if anyone Kellan worked with caught so much as the tiniest glimmer of post-coital satisfaction on his face, he’d have to field a never-ending ration of shit from every last person in the house.
Although considering how hot the sex had been, not once but twice, the ribbing might be worth it.
“Hey, you guys.” Blanking the idiot grin threatening the corners of his mouth, Kellan lowered his duffel to the scuffed concrete of the engine bay floor, turning toward the equipment room to grab his gear and get it prepped in case they got a call on the fly.
Shae’s laughter stopped him a few steps shy of the door. “Heyyyy! Look what the cat dragged in.” She looked up from the inventory clipboard in her grasp, arching one light brown brow. “You all caught up on your beauty sleep, Walker?”
“He does look nice and refreshed, doesn’t he?” asked their head paramedic, Parker Drake, from the spot where he was restocking his first-in bag at the back of the ambo. He ran a hand over his short black hair, striking an exaggerated pose like a cover model. “Practically GQ.”