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CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Just as she did every day, Olivia slipped out early in the morning to have her quiet time.

The morning air held a gentle chill to it. She’d come to cherish these quiet moments before the house awakened—just her, her Bible, and the rising sun painting the Carolina hills in watercolor hues.

Last night still lingered on her mind. Olivia and Tyson had left the gala early.

Just as she’d suspected, the security cameras hadn’t picked up on anyone leaving those roses for her.

That meant she was no closer to pinpointing who this guy was now than she was before.

The thought weighed heavily on her.

Olivia opened her Bible, losing herself in Psalms. The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear?

She remembered the woman at the picnic on the reservation. She’d said people either brought shadows or light.

Olivia prayed she brought light to those around her. Because sometimes the darkness felt as if it was closing in. That it could swallow her whole.

She couldn’t let that happen.

She prayed it wouldn’t happen.

Just as she said amen, a twig snapped somewhere close.

She glanced behind her, expecting to see one of Tyson’s security guards making their rounds.

The smile froze on her face.

A figure stood between some bushes behind her, in the shadows. Dressed in dark clothes, his face obscured by what looked like?—

Her heart seized.

A white porcelain mask. Expressionless. Hollow-eyed. Casanova.

Her Bible slipped from her fingers.

Run , her mind screamed.

But her limbs wouldn’t respond.

As the figure stepped forward, adrenaline kicked in. Fight or flight?

She had to fight.

Olivia lunged for her phone so she could call for help. But as her fingers closed around it, a hand clamped over her mouth from behind.

The familiar sickly-sweet smell of chemicals filled her nostrils.

Not again. Please, God, not again.

But it was too late.

The drugs on the cloth took effect.

And the world blurred around her.

* * *

Tyson knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into the kitchen.

It was too quiet. Normally at this hour, he’d hear Hobbes preparing breakfast or Olivia moving about upstairs. But the house felt empty.

He glanced at his watch: 7:15.

He’d had an early morning video call with a client in England, so he hadn’t been able to go outside to enjoy the sunrise as he usually did.

However, the security team should have already checked in with their morning report. Reaching for his phone, he dialed Stephen, the guard on duty.

No answer.

A chill crept up his spine. He tried the second guard’s number.

It went straight to voicemail.

That wasn’t normal. Tyson tried not to jump to conclusions, however. Maybe there was a good explanation.

Tyson moved through the house, calling Olivia’s name. Her bedroom door stood open, bed made. But there was no sign of her in the bathroom or any of the guest rooms.

Tension continued to mount between his shoulders.

When he reached the back door, it was unlocked.

His heart beat harder. It wasn’t entirely unusual. But it probably meant Olivia was out there.

Stepping out, the morning sun illuminated the patio, washing everything in golden light. A Bible lay on the ground on the patio beside Olivia’s favorite chair, pages fluttering in the breeze. He paused. It almost looked as if it had been dropped and left there.

Olivia wouldn’t have done that.

His pulse quickened.

Tyson took the patio steps two at a time, scanning the property as he walked.

But he didn’t see Olivia anywhere.

He grabbed his phone to call her.

As he did, a ringing sound came from under a patio chair.

Olivia had left her Bible and her phone? No way.

Something was wrong.

He jogged back into the house, running into Chandler as he emerged from his bedroom.

Chandler raised an eyebrow. “Where’s the fire?”

“I can’t find Olivia, and my guards aren’t answering. I need you to help me look for her.”

Chandler’s eyes widened with alarm. “I’ll get Wes.”

Tyson sprinted toward the guardhouse.

When he reached it, his fears were confirmed.

Stephen lay face-down, a pool of blood congealing beneath him.

Tyson dropped to his knees, feeling for a pulse.

Nothing.

With shaking hands, he pulled out his phone and dialed Scarborough.

“Detective, someone’s taken Olivia.” His voice sounded distant to his own ears. “One of my security guards is dead, and the other’s missing. I need you out here. Now. Before it’s too late.”