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Chapter 17: Blindsided

Chapter 17: Blindsided 

"We'll walk from here," Grey says and stops his car some way out of the unsavory area to avoid it getting stolen.

I nod, agreeing easily. "Fine."

I make a move to get out of the car but he pulls me back by my wrist. "What's our play here? To just waltz in?"

I forgot how meticulous he can be. He and my husband-thing don't like to go with the flow. They always want every step mapped out for them.

"I prefer to saunter in," I joke and flash him an innocent smile.

He shakes his head, unimpressed. "That's not going to work for me."

"I have a plan," I lie, for his sake.

"Ah, the four words that humanity fears the most," he replies, in turn. "And you don't really have a plan, do you?"

I shake my head and grin. "Nope."

He sighs expectantly. "Let's go over some things."

I nod. "Don't negotiate with terrorists, don't call any of them methheads to their face, realize that just because we're going in peace doesn't mean that we won't leave in pieces. I think that about covers it, right?"

He flicks me on the forehead. "Wrong."

"Ow!" I pout childishly. I glower at him and angrily rub at my head.

"Stop sulking," he orders, having no sympathy for me whatsoever. "I think the biggest take from this is for you not to lose it when we find him," he tells me casually as if he's actually making sense.

"This coming from you?" I raise my eyebrows at him and place my hands on my hips. "I feel like you're on the wrong end of this lecture."

"You can be a bit of a hothead sometimes," he reminds me candidly, unafraid – he shouldn't be!

"Say that again and you leave me no choice but to punch you in the face, multiple times," I retaliate with a civil solution to this argument.

"Spoken like a true hothead," he huffs under his breath before getting out of the car, giving up on talking sense into me.

I hop out of the car and follow him down the street with a skip to my step. I immediately detect a few people lingering on corners and in alleyways but other than that, downtown is pretty quiet tonight – I wish I knew whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.

"Okay," Grey interrupts my gazing around; he stops walking and points at the area of dilapidated houses down the street, "this is where JT traced his phone to. He's probably somewhere around here."

I yawn, already tired. "I guess this is where we start knocking on doors and talking to people." My favorite part.

Zac has to be here – it's his kind of scene. This street is busier than all the other streets we've been down. People are out, in front of their houses, drinking, and smoking. Judging by the odd, sweet scent in the air, drugs are definitely around too.

Unfazed, I stroll over to the first house. Before I can lift my fist to knock, the door swings open and a disheveled man ushers me in. He reeks of booze and his eyes are bloodshot. He grabs me by the waist roughly and stares at me in confusion. "You don't look like the girl in the picture? And you're not dressed like her either?"

My eyes widen in realization and slight panic. "I—what?"

"Doesn't matter," he waves it off and pulls me closer. "You'll still do."