Blake slammed the receiver in the cradle, swearing under his breath. He had just spoken to a woman from the phone company, who had informed him that there was no way she could trace a call coming from a disposable cell phone. The bastard who called Nicola last night knew what he was doing.
Seething, Blake pounded his fist on the desk. Coffee sloshed over the rim of the cup and onto the document in front of him. He grabbed several tissues from the box and dabbed at the piece of paper.
If the sick son of a b***h wanted to play games, Blake could play them too.
His mind began to formulate a plan, one that would ensure Nicola's safety.
“Blake,” Daphne said, entering the office.
“What?” he exclaimed, irritated at being interrupted.
“I need to talk to you…”
He tossed the tissues in the t
