Chapter 6 - The Trap is Set
We left my father sitting at his kitchen table with an ice pack on his head and strict instructions not to move.
Eric made a frantic phone call to Detective Ramirez, a man he played softball with on the weekends who specialized in organized crime.
Ramirez listened to the situation, his tone instantly shifting from sleepy to highly alert.
"Do not go into that building alone under any circumstances," Ramirez ordered over the car's Bluetooth speaker.
"I am dispatching an unmarked tactical team to the alley behind the boutique right now."
"I have to go in, Ramirez," I insisted, watching the city lights blur past the windshield.
"If he doesn't see me walk through that front door, he will execute my sister."
There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line.
"Fine," Ramirez agreed reluctantly.
"But you wear a wire, and the absolute second you confirm the hostage is alive, you drop to the floor."
We arrived at the boutique ten minutes early.
The expensive storefront was dark, the mannequins in the window looking like creepy, lifeless ghosts in the moonlight.
Eric parked three blocks away in a dark alley, helping Ramirez's team tape a tiny microphone to my collarbone beneath my sweater.
"I love you," Eric whispered, kissing my forehead tightly.
"I'll be right outside the back door."
I took a deep breath, stepped out of the unmarked van, and walked alone down the empty, freezing sidewalk.
My boots clicked loudly against the pavement, echoing off the brick buildings.
When I reached the glass door of the boutique, I found it unlocked.
I pushed it open, a little brass bell jingling cheerfully in the terrifying silence.
The air inside smelled heavily of expensive perfume and cheap gasoline.
"Chase?" I called out, my voice surprisingly steady.
A single spotlight clicked on in the back of the store, near the fitting rooms.
Chase stepped out from the shadows, still wearing the exact same navy blazer he wore to Thanksgiving dinner.
In his right hand, he held a silver handgun, and in his left, he held a clipboard.
"Right on time," he smiled, gesturing for me to walk closer.
May you like
I forced myself to move forward, my eyes searching frantically for Madison.
"Where is she?" I demanded, stopping ten feet away from him.
