Page 92 of Heated Takeover

Fuck.

I nod once. This whole “remaining the calmest person in the room” thing is getting tough.

“Alright,” Tuck says. “That makes it a little more complicated.”

“She could fly to Africa with my kid, and there’s nothing I could do to stop her,” Natalie sniffs.

“No,” Jim stops pacing. “Absolutely fucking not. We aren’t letting her get away with that or anything else. If they’re doing this for money, they’re going to get ahold of us and–”

Natalie’s phone buzzes. It’s a message from an unknown sender. She opens it and her eyes narrow in confusion.

“What is it?” Jim demands. “Is it Reese? Jamie?”

“It’s encrypted,” she says warily.

“It’s them,” I say, and Tuck nods, leaning in.

We have Jamie. We require $10,000,000 to be deposited into the offshore account before we disclose any more information. We will negotiate his safe return from there.

“Give her the money,” Jim says. “That’s pennies in contrast to the worth of my grandson. Send it.”

“No,” I hold up my hand.

“Why not?” Natalie asks. “The company has it. God knows you have it.”

“Marcus is right,” Tuck says. “They already know the police are hot on them. You send that money and you’ll never see your son again.”

“Then what do we do?!” Natalie shouts. “Because right now, all bets are off. She’s not a good person. Dad, you can vouch for that.”

“I honestly don’t know what she’s capable of anymore. Or how far she’d go.”

“We have to do something,” Natalie presses.

Tuck clears his throat. “Miami-Dade Missing Persons and the FBI are leading. My team will work under them, supplying company records, aircraft information, property data, and security support. Airport authorities have the jet information, and the FBI is sending the ransom message for an emergency trace. We do this through one chain of command.”

Natalie nods and I translate the rest of it. “Your sister will not harm your son, Natalie. If they do, they won’t get out of the country alive.”

Chapter 35

Natalie

I can’t listen to any more of this. Not right now. I can’t sit here and watch Marcus make phone calls with law enforcement as Tuck hooks up security and monitoring equipment to all our phones. And I can’t listen to my dad falling apart and raging to Margaret. I just…I can’t. I need a minute.

So while all of that is going on, I go into one of the guest bathrooms of my dad’s house. The one that’s far enough away that I can tune out the commotion and that they won’t be able to hear me if I lose my shit on the floor of the shower. Which I do.

I sob until I’m shaking, heaving, coughing, and wailing. I sob until I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t feel. And when it’s all said and done, I do it again until I finally run out of tears only because my body needs a moment to reboot and make more.

I’ve always known my sister was a bad egg. Throughout my life, her words weren’t just intended to cut, they were aimed to wound. And before any of those wounds could heal, she’d strike again. It’s like she was so utterly and devastatingly unhappy with her own life that she just had to drag me down with her. Nothing was ever good enough for her. When I found success or joy or esteem, she’d rip it to shreds before I had a moment to enjoy it.

The reasoning adult in me now knows that deep-rooted jealousy and envy are the culprits. Because while she cared what she looked like, I didn’t. While she had to have the best of everything, I settled for what made sense or quirkily caught my eye. I prioritized success and ambition, and curiosity. She prioritized anything that brought her attention and limelight.

Even Jamie’s birth seemed to make her green. Despite the fact I couldn’t involve the father.

I think about that for a moment. About the moments Marcus has given me a long, knowing look. He knows. That’s all there is to it. He knows. And considering he won’t say it or ask or anything else, it leads me to believe he’s not happy about it. Whether it’s because he doesn’t want to be a dad or deems my omission unforgivable, even when we get Jamie back, I could lose him in another way all over again.

I take in a shaky breath and let it back out. Then I stand up and shut the water off. I can’t sit here in this. I’m not sure what I am going to do, but I can’t sit here.

I grab a towel and a cotton robe and walk down the hall to the guest room where Jamie and I stay when we visit. The bed is made up of handmade quilts, something I have always preferred over down comforters or duvets. There are band posters on the walls from concerts my dad and I went to when we were younger. And there are clothes in the closet, both Jamie’s and mine, for changing into so we don’t even have to pack when we come here.