We’d gotten a call late last night from homicide detectives about a murder that looked gang related. It had ended up being a drive-by involving a newer gang that we’d come across recently, and one of the two victims was a thirteen-year-old Mason had been trying to get off the streets over the last few months named Lil Tay. And though Mason was acting like this was just another case, I knew this was harder for him than the rest.

Knowing there was nothing I could say, I clapped his shoulder and let him be alone with his thoughts. Grabbing my phone, I smiled when I finally saw Rachel’s text from last night.

SOUR PATCH:

Just so you know . . . cleaning up from a whipped cream war without you isn’t nearly as fun. See you when you get home. Love you.

We just finished up, be home soon babe. Love you too.

Rachel had moved to Tampa Bay the week after she showed up in my apartment and I’d never been happier. My parents loved her just as much as she loved them, and she fit in with my life well. Mason’s younger sister and Rachel were practically inseparable and his parents viewed her as an extension of their family, the same way they did me.

Candice was graduating at the end of this month and we were taking a two-week vacation to be there and spend time with the Jenkinses in California before Candice came back with us for a month. Rachel couldn’t wait to see her, and honestly, I think Mason was excited to have that particular hookup back.

Work was going well; Mase and I—as well as our parents—were happy we were out of the inner parts of narcotics. Living that way isn’t something that any cop would want; the reward of bringing down an entire drug ring was what had made it worthwhile. For us to go to the gang division was natural. We knew the ins and outs of different gangs, already knew a lot of the members, and were no longer undercover. It was perfect for us, and we were good at what we did. Most importantly, Rachel supported me one hundred percent.

A month after Rachel had moved here, I’d asked her to marry me again. This time, there was absolutely nothing between us and everything about it felt different . . . felt right. We talked about everything, there were never secrets kept unless there was a surprise involved, and there were never any lies. And even when my family and Mason’s asked for her side of the story about our time in Texas and when we broke up, Rachel never held it against me. She’d gotten everything out the night she came here and left it there. She wasn’t one to hold grudges, and I loved her for it. I would always hate myself for what happened, but whenever I started to bring it up, she would kiss me to shut me up and say we were moving forward.

We were getting married at the end of June, and Rachel and my mom had been busy planning the wedding since we set the date. I loved that she was enjoying this and that she was going to get the wedding she deserved, but I didn’t care about the details. I just wanted her to be mine, and in a month and a half, she would be.

The doors to the elevator opened and we stepped in. Just as they were closing, someone started yelling my name from down the hall and Mason caught the door just in time.

“Ryan! Gates!” Sergeant Ramirez ran toward us and as soon as he was in the elevator, he started pounding on the Close Doors button.

I suppressed a groan. I was exhausted and wanted to get home to my fiancée.

“We already have three units at the scene, and I’ll be following you there.”

Ramirez was a K-9 unit; why did they want his dog, Crush, there? And what scene? “Wha—”

“I know you’re anxious to get there, but you know we’re doing everything we can for this.” The elevator was already moving but Ramirez kept stabbing at the ground-level button. “How are you holding up? You look really calm, are you in shock? Maybe you should let Gates drive.”

That seemed to snap Mason out of his thoughts. His head jerked up and his eyes widened. “Why would I need to drive?”

“And why would I be in shock?” My heart started racing as Ramirez started hitting the Open Doors button.

Ramirez gave both of us an awkward sympathetic look before ushering us out to the underground parking lot. “You weren’t informed?”

“Of what?” I was supposed to be the one in shock. So it had something to do with me. My parents, my— Oh God . . . “What happened?!”

“I’m sorry, I thought someone already told you, you were supposed to be informed already. I didn’t understand why I saw you two walking down the hall. I figured you would have already been there.” He mumbled to himself as he kept walking toward the lot. “Look, I’m sorry I’m the one who has to tell you this.” He stopped walking abruptly and turned to look at me. His expression was one I had seen so many times and had even had to use myself. My stomach dropped and it felt like time slowed as I waited for him to tell me one of fifty scenarios that were flashing through my mind. “A call came into dispatch about an hour ago. It was your fiancée, Ryan. The only thing that came from her end of the call was her saying her name, that someone had broken in—”

I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I took off running for my truck and had just gotten to the driver’s door when Mason slammed me into the side and ripped the keys from my hand. After barking at me to get in the passenger seat, he fired up the engine and peeled out of the lot.

“This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening, Mase, tell me this isn’t fucking happening!”

“Kash—”

“Damn it!” I roared, and punched at the dashboard. “I don’t even know if she’s okay, Mason! What was Ramirez saying, did he say if she’s okay?! Is she—oh God. Rach, baby, please be alive,” I whispered, and slumped into my seat, raking my hands over my face.

I heard Mason on the phone calling into dispatch and asking questions about what happened, but I couldn’t focus on his exact words or the muffled response coming from the dispatcher. I just kept praying over and over again that she was okay. I could deal with our place being broken into. I could replace our things. But I couldn’t replace Rachel. Ramirez came up next to us running code three and pulled in front of us so we could follow him safely with his lights and sirens going.

Mason nudged my arm and I snapped my head to the left to look at him. “Sorry, you weren’t responding.” He looked quickly back and forth between me and Ramirez’s Tahoe in front of us, his face solemn. “They don’t know if she’s alive.” I sucked in air quickly, and Mason continued, loud enough so I would listen. “But there’s no blood. So just focus on that, Kash.”

“W-what?! No . . . what do you mean?”

He took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel. “From what units at the scene—uh, your place—are saying, whoever broke in . . . they, uh, they took Rachel.”

Mason was saying something else, but I couldn’t hear anything past the blood rushing through my ears. This had to be a nightmare. There was no way something like this was happening to us again. I grabbed my phone and called her number, praying that all this was a misunderstanding and they had the wrong girl, the wrong address. It rang until her voice mail picked up. I quickly hung up and called again with the same result.

By the time her voice mail came on the second time, we were pulling up to our house and I didn’t wait for Mason to stop; I threw open the door and sprinted past the neighbors standing around in our cul-de-sac and ducked under the crime-scene tape before rushing into the house. The front door was hanging like it had been kicked in, and my first thought was, No one heard that happening and came to help her? It had been barely eight in the morning when Mason and I had started to head home; someone had to have been awake, or at least woken up when all this happened.

Officers were trying to talk to me, but all I could see was that other than the front door being kicked in, the front of our house looked completely normal. Save for the dozens of officers and detectives who were walking in and out of it. Someone tapped my shoulder but I walked quickly to the hallway, barely paying attention to the other officers taking pictures of our bedroom, which looked like a hurricane had just gone through it. I turned into the bathroom and went to the large closet. We had a faux wall set up that was really just flimsy material. But with all the clothes around it, it looked legit, and I’d put it up for times just like this. Rachel had joked that I was going overboard, and at the time I’d agreed I probably was. But now, I hoped like hell she’d used it and that I would find her behind it. Alive.

Opening the closet door, I flipped on the light, and my heart sank when I saw the drag marks on the carpet. I called one of the officers over to take pictures before I walked in there. The female officer snapped photos and I stepped in cautiously.

“Rach?” I said softly. Please, God, be in here. “Rach?” With one last breath, I grabbed the edge of the faux wall and yanked it back. I sank to my knees and a sound of pain left my chest as my eyes fell on our puppy, Trip, backed into the corner whining softly. There was no Rachel. She was really gone. “C’mere.” I grabbed him and pulled him into my chest as I fell back against the wall and the tears that had been threatening started spilling over.

“Kash, you need to see this,” Mason said softly from the doorway to the closet. I looked over at him, rolled to my knees, and stood. “Give me Trip. Go into the bedroom and look at the wall. We’ll find her, okay? I swear to you we’ll find her.”

I handed him the golden retriever and rushed into the bedroom, my eyes widening when they finally landed on the wall opposite our bed. A roar filled the room, and before I could realize it had come from me, two officers were holding me back and trying to get me to sit down on the bed.

On the wall in red spray paint were the words DID YOU THINK WE WOULD FORGET? Underneath was a symbol both Mason and I’d had tattooed on our left forearms before we’d gotten them covered up. The sign for Juarez’s gang, the one we’d had to join on our last undercover narcotics assignment.

“How?” Mason was asking a detective who was in the room with us. And that was a damn good question. The hit on Mase and me had died when the guys hired were thrown in prison for murder. And I knew for a fact Juarez and his boys were all in prison. “Recruiting people from the inside who got out? Or just using people he trusts? Set up questioning with each of them separately.”

I looked up when Detective Byson’s cell rang. His mouth snapped shut as he stopped talking to Mason and took the call. “Byson.” His eyes flashed over to me and a grim look crossed his face as he listened. “Mmm-hmm . . . Yeah. Set up something with Romero Juarez and his attorney immediately. I’m on my way.” He turned to face me fully and slid his phone back in the holder on his belt. “Rachel is alive.”

“Thank God,” I breathed, and tried to stand, but the officers were still holding me there.

“A call was placed about fifteen minutes ago, they said they had Rachel and demanded that every charge against Juarez’s gang be dropped. Before the dispatcher could ask anything, the caller said they would call back in two days and expected progress on the charges being dropped, and would continue to call every two days until the gang was released. They said if there wasn’t progress, there would be consequences, and if they aren’t released within the month . . . she dies.”

“Kash, Kash, Kash, calm down. Come on, man. Calm down. I know.”

Mason gripped my shoulders and I tried to focus on him. The other two officers were now struggling to keep me down as I thrashed against them. Where I was going to go when I got away from them, I didn’t know; I just needed to go. They had my girl. I needed to find out who they were and I needed to get her back.

“I know this is hard. But we’ll find her. I swear.” Mason looked just as panicked as I felt, and it was then I noticed the wetness in his eyes he was trying to keep back.

When I finally stopped struggling, the officers let me go at Mason’s request, but he kept me seated on the bed. “I need to get her back, Mason. I have to.”

“We will.”

“I’ll do anything.”

A determined look settled over his face and he whispered low enough that only I could hear him, “Anything to bring the fuckers down, right?”

I slammed my fist against his and replied, “Always.”

The End for Now . . .

Excerpt from Deceiving Lies