The Unwanted Wife and Her Secret Twins (Mia and Kyle) novel Chapter 202

Kyle's POV

Time became a physical entity, something I could feel slipping through my fingers as I raced across the Atlantic. Seven hours had never felt so eternal.

As soon as the plane touched down in New York, I was already on my phone. "Status update," I demanded, not bothering with pleasantries.

"No response from Ms. Williams," Matthew replied, his usual professional detachment wavering slightly. "Her phone appears to be turned off. We've checked her apartment—she's not there. Her mother hasn't seen her since this morning."

"And Nate Pierce?"

"Still tracking. His digital footprint is... unusual. Almost professionally scrubbed."

"What about the surveillance feeds? I know you have access."

Matthew hesitated. "We've been searching traffic cameras near her building, sir. Nothing conclusive yet."

"Keep looking," I said, already striding toward the waiting car. "And tell the security team at her apartment to stay alert. I want to know the instant she returns."

But she hadn't returned. Four hours later, I sat in my office, surrounded by screens displaying various surveillance feeds from across the city, the unease in my gut hardening into something darker.

"Sir?" One of my security analysts looked up from his station. "We may have something."

I was beside him in an instant.

"Facial recognition picked up Ms. Williams at this location," he explained, pulling up a frozen frame from a security camera. "East Village, approximately 1:47 PM today."

The image showed Mia emerging from a small Mediterranean restaurant, one hand resting protectively on her swollen belly, the other clutching what appeared to be a takeout container.

"Do we have anything after this?" I demanded.

"Working on it," the analyst replied, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "The next camera in sequence would be—"

"There." Another team member called out. "Street corner camera, 1:52 PM."

The new feed showed a black sedan with tinted windows pulling away from the curb, barely visible in the frame.

"Enhance and run the plate."

"Already on it, sir," Matthew replied. "Registered to a shell company, but we're tracking its movements through the city's camera network. Heading north on FDR Drive, then east toward Queens."

I felt ice form in my veins. "That area has multiple industrial complexes. Warehouses. Places where someone could be held without witnesses."

"Sir, I recommend we inform the police—"

"No time," I cut him off. "We don't know who's involved or how deep this goes. Get me our highest-level security team. Full tactical gear. We move in fifteen minutes."

"Kyle," Matthew said quietly, using my first name for perhaps the first time in our professional relationship. "This is beyond our scope. These people are clearly dangerous."

"Then I suggest you arm yourself accordingly," I replied, already moving toward the elevator. "I'll meet you in the garage."

The drive to Queens was interminable, each second stretching like an hour. The black SUV cut through traffic with practiced precision, its reinforced frame and bulletproof glass suddenly inadequate protection against the fear clawing at my chest.

Matthew examined the system. "Biorhythm scanner. We'd need Porter's fingerprint."

I looked at the fallen guard, calculating. "Take his security badge. We'll use the stairs."

The ascent was methodical, each floor cleared systematically. The fourth level revealed offices, the fifth executive suites. All empty.

"Sir," Matthew called from a stairwell. "Secondary elevator. Private access. Leads to a penthouse level not shown on the building plans."

"That's where they're holding her," I said with certainty.

The security panel beside this elevator was more sophisticated—retinal scan, fingerprint reader, keycode.

"We can't bypass this," Matthew said. "Not quickly, anyway."

I studied the control panel, then the surrounding walls. "We're not using the elevator. Find me the access shaft."

Five minutes later, we'd located the maintenance hatch. The climb was treacherous—two hundred feet up a narrow metal ladder, in near darkness, with only tactical flashlights to guide us.

At the top level, I paused, signaling the team to hold position. Voices filtered through the thin maintenance door—male, authoritative. And then, faintly, a voice that stopped my heart.

Mia.

She was alive.