This Is Love, Baby (War & Peace #2) (17 page)

Shaking my head, I reopen my eyes. “Something is off here. I’d set Baylee up with a secure email to let them know she was okay while I kept her safe from Gabe. Her dad would reply but she’d said he sounded different in his responses. Angry and demanding. I’d assumed it was Gabe attempting to lure her back into his clutches. But now, I don’t know.”

“How do you know the money was being withdrawn, Mr. McPherson? If you wired it, you wouldn’t know if it was being spent or not.” Her eyes are darting back and forth as she attempts to figure out what the fuck is going on.

I sigh and glance at Dad who is frowning. “I’m,” I say, pausing to choose the least incriminating word, “
resourceful
on the computer. I followed the trail and noticed the money was being withdrawn. Baylee and I assumed it was for her mother’s benefit.”

Stark places a hand on her hip and sends me a knowing nod. “So you were
resourceful
,” she repeats carefully, “in the same way you were
resourceful
in finding a way to contact me in an untraceable way?”

I nod and take a bite of the applesauce still sitting on the tray from my forgotten breakfast, hoping to push the bile down my throat. This shit is complicated and every second we waste, Baylee is in more danger.

“Mr. McPherson,” she bites out sharply. “I’m no fool. I have reason to believe you may have been connected in some illegal activities. However, I’m not one to pass up an opportunity to bring a child molester and sexual predator to justice. Additionally, I’m not one to ignore a lead to bringing down an entire sex ring. So, I’m going to take your word that Miss Winston was indeed your girlfriend and that she was staying with you as your guest, consensually. Until she tells me otherwise herself, I’m going to use your help on this investigation.”

Dad and I exchange a confused glance before she continues.

“That is why I’m going to have you use your
resources
to help us. Are you up to following any leads you have on Mr. and Mrs. Whitehead, the White Collar Trade, Anthony and Lynn Winston’s financial information, details about Brandon Thompson and his whereabouts, and everything you can glean from Gabriel Sharpe?”

Furrowing my brows, I nod. “Of course I am. I want to bring my girl home.”

“Good. My captain would have our asses if I brought the Feds in on this one. I don’t want their help—they’ll trample through this entire investigation with their bureaucratic bullshit and we’ll be removed. Our chances of finding Baylee will be less because they’ll focus on the WCT, not her. Besides, this story will bring national media attention to our precinct. We could finally get the funding we need to put a technical forensic analyst on payroll, which in this digital age, is necessary. At the moment, we don’t have one, which is why I could never track you down after you sent those messages. But now, we have one working for free. You. Pro bono, right?”

Shilling and Stark both stare at me with expectation in their eyes. Dad is frowning and now pacing with his arms crossed over his chest. But when he glances over at me with his lips pressed together in a firm line and nods, I turn my gaze back to Stark.

“Yes,” I assure her, “I’ll do whatever needs to be done as long as we get Baylee back.”

She smiles at me but when my dad stops pacing to glare at her, her smile fades.

“My son won’t go to jail for this,” he clips out in a cold tone and gestures to me. “You need to give us your word he won’t be implicated in any way for his involvement.”

Stark glances at Shilling and nods. Her smile is gone but she seems fine with his request and approaches my bedside. Her proximity unnerves me but I grit my teeth and hold still. “Mr. McPherson, with your help on this case, we would be willing to provide you with immunity in exchange for your assistance. After all, we’re after the bigger fish here. Gabriel Sharpe and the WCT are the biggest whales in the Pacific. We get Sharpe, we get your girl. We bring down WCT, and we get a whole bunch of girls.”

“The doctor says he’ll be here in the hospital for another week, maybe two,” Dad interrupts. “He’s in no shape to be helping right now and—”

I meet her gaze with a serious one of my own. “I’ll do it. Dad, I can access everything I need from my laptop and can get to work here in the hospital. Get me that, my phone, and my wireless access point. I’m going to get them whatever they need to help find Baylee.”

He groans but nods in resignation. “Of course, War.”

Stark pats my knee and smiles. I’m shocked that I don’t recoil from her touch. But my mind isn’t focused on her anymore. It’s flying through codes and possibilities. My mind is counting numbers, recalling articles about sexual crimes in California, and contemplating thousands of different avenues I can travel via the Internet to exploit the parties involved. It was Baylee’s wish to bring down this sex ring. She mentioned it to me on numerous occasions. If I can help give her that and bring her home at the same time, I will. All for her.

“Thank you,” she says and pulls her card from her breast pocket. She tosses it onto the table and extends her hand for me to shake it. “We’ll be in touch. Get me anything and everything you can find.”

My eyes fall to her slender hand. The nails are clean and polished. She doesn’t seem to be crawling with diseases, unlike her partner. With a swallow, I shove my fear down and clasp her warm hand. The handshake is brief, thank God, and then she releases me. They leave without another word and my eyes travel to find the worried ones of my father. My hand quakes from residual fear from touching her but I force myself not to obsess over it. Instead, I take another spoonful of my applesauce as I think about her—my Baylee.

Pretty blue eyes.

Sweet smile.

Compassion that radiates from her like a million rays, more brilliant than the fucking sun.

Swallowing the food, I look over at my dad and clench my jaw. “We’re going to get her back.”

His lips press into a firm line and he nods. “Of course we are, son.”

The police may want the bigger fish to fry, but not me.

I want my Baylee.

My heart.

My peace.

“D
ON’T TOUCH MY
girlfriend,” I snarl, spittle spraying his face.

The salesman at the department store has the sense to look ashamed and jerks his hand from her arm and holds both palms up in defense. I’d been watching both of them laugh for the past five minutes as he held up different styles of jeans for her to look at and it was pissing me the fuck off.

“D-Dude,” he stutters, “I was being friendly.”

“She’s not yours to be friendly with,” I snap.

Thin arms wrap around my middle and try to pull me away. “Stop it, Brandon.”

I relax in her embrace. “Think twice before hitting on a girl who’s taken.”

“I wasn’t hitting on your girl, man,” he says and shoots Baylee an apologetic glance. “I’m gay.”

He gives her an awkward wave and turns to leave us.

“Thanks for all your help,” she clips out as she releases me and the storms away.

Fucking great.
I trot after her and watch as she angrily snatches up all her bags full of clothes and necessities from the bench I’d abandoned.

“Can we go to the hotel now?” she grits out and shoots me a glare. “I’m tired.”

Frowning, I nod and follow after her toward the parking lot. Once we’ve loaded the bags into the truck and get in, she’s composed herself.

“I want my own room.”

I’m already shaking my head.
Fuck that.
“No.”

She snaps her head over to glare at me. “Why the hell not, Brandon? I don’t even know who you are anymore. You’re violent and unhinged. I need space.”

Violent?

Unhinged?

Of fucking course I am!

She was stolen right out from under my goddamned nose. They raped and fucking tortured
my
girl. Fuck them and fuck her attitude right now. I saved her yet she has no gratitude whatsoever.

“I don’t have enough money for you to get your own room. Sorry.” My lie and the firm tone I deliver it with silences her and I put the truck in drive. Eventually she finds her voice again.

“Unbelievable,” she mutters and crosses her arms across her chest, glaring out the window.

The trip to the hotel is quiet. Things will be rocky until we find our way again. I’ll always be wary and fucking suspicious of anyone who even breathes her way after all that’s happened. It’s my duty to protect my girlfriend. I failed once and I sure as hell am not ever letting that happen again.

We pull up to the front of the hotel. It’s swanky enough that a valet clerk greets us. “Good afternoon. Would you like us to park your vehicle while you check in?”

The clerk brings over a cart and we load our things up. Baylee remains all but mute with her eyes downcast. I shouldn’t have flipped the fuck out at the department store—I know this—but I was pissed. That fucker, gay or not, was touching her. I’m responsible for her now and that means protecting her from everyone.

“Come on,” I tell her and pat her bottom as we walk into the hotel. The lobby is all brick on the inside but with an elegant, modern décor to give it a rustic yet restored feel. There aren’t hotels like this back in Oakland and I’m eager to spend some alone time here with my girl.

Baylee walks off to stare at a painting on the wall. It’s of the ocean. I’ll have to take her to the beach soon. Her shoulders have relaxed and she seems much calmer than she was in the truck where she looked like she wanted to rip my head off.

“Do you have a reservation, sir?” the slender woman at the counter asks.

She’s pretty, her blonde hair pulled back in some up-do thing. Red paints her lips making her look like a whore. An expensive one but still a whore. She doesn’t compare one iota to Baylee’s natural beauty. Upon making eye contact, she frowns. Her eyes skitter over my young, boyish face and she predetermines I can’t afford her pricey hotel. It’s written all over her face and it annoys me. I flash her an easy grin, despite my irritation, which causes her to smile back. Truth is, I’d love to throw wads of hundred dollar bills in her face but I can’t be an arrogant asshole. I need her help.

“Actually, no,” I say sadly, “but I really want to surprise my girlfriend with something fancy. This is her birthday present.”

The girl’s lips press into a firm line when she glances over to see Baylee, looking stunning as hell in her simple yoga pants and my hoodie. I’m sure she’s working out a way to nicely tell me no.

“I see,” she says softly and taps at the computer. “Unfortunately, sir, it appears we’re booked.”
And there it is.

I raise an annoyed eyebrow at her in question but then quickly pull my lips into a frown, doing my best to give her the puppy dog look. It must work because she has the sense to look embarrassed and her cheeks turn pink. Do whores even blush?

“You don’t have anything available?”

She chews on her red lip. “Well,” she lowers her voice. “We have one of the VIP suites we keep open for emergencies. But it’s pricey, sir.”

I smirk at her. “I can handle it, miss.”

“Umm,” she says and then sighs, “it’s two thousand dollars a night.”

“Two thousand a night!” Baylee hisses as she approaches. “I thought you didn’t have any money! No, Brandon, we’re going to the Holiday Inn.”

A growl escapes me, startling both the women. I yank out my wallet and slap my credit card down on the granite countertop. “Book us for the week. The suite.”

The suite is huge and overlooks Fisherman’s Wharf, which is bustling with evening activity. There’s a crab restaurant that I want to take her to and maybe take her to one of the shops after to buy her an engagement ring.

The thought of sliding a pretty diamond on her slender finger sends a ripple of excitement through me. This is it. I always knew I’d marry her—I just assumed it would be after college. But, with us both high school dropouts now, there’s no reason to wait. Who needs college when you’re fucking loaded anyway?

I smirk down at the crowd below before turning to regard Baylee. She’s sitting on the small sofa in the suite with her purse in her lap. Her eyes aren’t roaming the beautiful space or gushing about how fucking cool it is. Instead, she’s wringing her hands together.