The House Wife Had Secret Identities (Niamh Rivers and Jonathan) novel Chapter 471

Chapter 471

Prescott’s words made every worker on site–including the foreman–nod in agreement.

It was the middle of the night, with thunder rolling and rain pouring down. If it weren’t for the fact that Jonathan was involved, and the order had come straight from higher up, none of them would have dragged themselves out of their warm beds to stand in this godforsaken construction site, getting drenched to the bone.

Jonathan stood silent for a moment, then signaled for the motionless bodyguards to bring over rain gear for everyone.

Next, he slid his own umbrella across to Prescott.

“Mr. Thomas?” Prescott prompted.

“I’ll be fine,” Jonathan replied tightly.

He stepped out into the rain, striding through the site again, his figure quickly getting soaked. His face was as cold and expressionless as ever, giving nothing

away.

But as he walked, Jonathan’s pace picked up, so much so that even Prescott struggled to keep up with him. He could sense the tension radiating from Jonathan–the growing urgency, the mounting anxiety… and something that felt an

awful lot like fear.

Prescott was worried too. By now, Niamh had been missing for almost a full day and night.

The moment word of Niamh’s disappearance got out, Elmer, Lana Guthrie, Peter, and Michael had all either joined the search themselves or sent people out to look everywhere she might have gone.

The only thing the surveillance footage showed was Niamh’s car leaving the creative complex–after that, the cameras had gone down in the storm. Repairs would take time, and even then, there was no guarantee the footage could be

recovered.

Right now, the only real lead they had was this construction site.

But for Prescott, his top priority was Jonathan’s safety.

It was obvious that standing around in a thunderstorm, in the middle of a half–built site, was a terrible idea.

09:44

“Mr. Thomas… Prescott tried again, following Jonathan an he headed for the of shipping containers stacked at the edge of the lot.

But these containers led nowhere–just a dead end.

Jonathan was soaked through, rain plastering his suit and shirt to his skin. Prescott’s heart twisted with concern. Even though Jonathan refused, he still reached up and held the umbrella over Jonathan’s head.

“Mr. Thomas, you need to head back. If you stay out here, you’re going to catch your death.”

“Keep searching.” He repeated, firmer.

Prescott fell silent. When Jonathan said it twice, it wasn’t just a request anymore–it was an order.

Just as Jonathan turned to move away, something caught his eye in the corner of the containers.

He stopped short:

Prescott saw Jonathan crouch down, reaching for something in a puddles containers‘ base.

The first time, Jonathan couldn’t pick it up–It was stuck.

Something was pinned underneath the container, only a small piece jutting out. Jonathan tried twice, then finally managed to yank the exposed part free.

Prescott stepped closer. In Jonathan’s palm was a tangle of plastic beads.

Wiping the rain from his eyes, Prescott squinted. The beads were broken, but when whole, they’d probably formed some kind of shape.

Jonathan stared at the beads, eyes widening as he realized what they were.

“Open these containers!” he shouted, desperation cracking through his calm. His voice rang out, urgent, above the roar of the storm.