Page 33

Ethan

My phone screen blurred as my eyes refused to focus. Thirty-six hours without sleep would do that to you. Thirty-six hours of nothing. No ransom demand. No taunting message. No proof of life.

Nothing .

Not one fucking thing.

I rubbed my burning eyes and refocused on the laptop where the security footage played for what had to be the hundredth time. The quality was shit—typical for strip mall cameras—but it was all we had. Mel’s silver Audi pulling into the coffee shop lot. Her walking inside, phone in hand. The oversized panel van pulling up next to her car, completely blocking the camera’s view of her driver’s side door.

Then Mel returning with two cups, disappearing into that blind spot.

The van sat there for exactly three minutes and fourteen seconds before pulling away .

And Mel was gone.

“You need to sleep.” Logan’s voice came from behind me, low and steady. “You’re no good to her like this.”

I didn’t bother turning around. “Not happening.”

“Ethan—”

“I said no.” I rewound the footage again, hoping to catch something I’d missed in the previous ninety-nine viewings. “If this was Nova’s stalker, why haven’t we heard anything? It’s been a day and a half. No demands, no contact, nothing.”

Logan pulled up a chair beside me, his normally impassive face showing signs of the same exhaustion we were all feeling. “Maybe it’s not about Nova. What if this is something else entirely?”

I’d been considering the same possibility. If the stalker had taken Mel to get to Nova, there would’ve been a message by now. Something. Anything .

“We’re missing something.” I stared at the screen where the van’s image was frozen just before it pulled away. No license plate visible. Make and model impossible to tell with certainty due to the distance and grainy quality. White male driver, so that fit with the other details we had about the stalker, but didn’t narrow down the pool of suspects. His face was just a blur of pixels.

“Police are getting nowhere with the missing persons report,” Logan said, sliding my coffee toward me. It was cold, but I drank it anyway. “Maybe it’s time to try a different angle.”

I finished the brew, tossed the empty cup into the trash, and stood, my muscles protesting after sitting in the same position for hours. “I’m going to call Corey Hollis. I already owe him a dozen favors, might as well add one more.”

“Good idea.”

I stepped outside into the blinding Texas sun. It felt wrong somehow, the day being so bright when everything else was so dark. I pulled out my phone and dialed .

“Hollis.” His voice was gruff, professional.

“Corey, it’s Ethan Cross.”

A pause, then, “Cross. I’ve been expecting your call. Heard about what happened.”

Of course he had. Bad news traveled fast in law enforcement circles.

“I need to know if there’s anything— anything at all —that might help us find Mel. We’ve reached a dead end.”

Corey sighed heavily. “Nothing concrete yet. We’ve got people looking into it, but?—”

“I don’t need the official line,” I cut in. “I need help.”

Another pause. “Meet me at the coffee shop in thirty minutes. I have a break between shifts. Let’s go over the scene again together.”

“Thanks, Corey. I owe you.”

“You already owed me, Cross. This just puts you deeper in the hole.” He hung up without saying goodbye.

Thirty minutes later, I stood in the exact spot where Mel’s car had been parked, scanning the area for anything the police might have missed. The coffee shop’s morning rush was in full swing, customers flowing in and out without a care in the world. None of them knew that two days ago, a woman had been taken from this very spot.

Corey’s unmarked cruiser pulled up beside me. He stepped out, looking exactly as I remembered—salt-and-pepper hair cropped short, eyes that missed nothing, and a perpetual five-o’clock shadow.

“You look like shit, Cross.”

“Thanks for the update.” I ran a hand over my face, feeling the rough stubble there. “What can you tell me?”

He glanced around, then gestured toward a bench away from the crowded entrance. Once seated, he pulled out his notebook, flipping through pages.

“Not much to tell you that you don’t already know. There were no prints of interest in the car. No forced entry. Nobody saw anything. Only thing weird was the rose petals.”

“The petals were what made us think this was tied to the stalker to begin with.”

“Because of the roses the stalker sent to Nova a few weeks ago,” Corey finished.

I nodded. My exhausted brain had forgotten that Corey had been on-scene for that incident.

“Exactly. But there’s been no word. No demands. So now I feel like we need to consider other options. Is it possible this was a run-of-the-mill crime not related to Nova at all?”

“This area doesn’t see many kidnappings.” Corey tapped his notebook thoughtfully. “It’s an upscale neighborhood. Property crime, sure. Car break-ins, occasional shoplifting. But violent crime? Rare.”

“So, this wasn’t random?”

“Doubtful.” He scanned the parking lot, eyes narrowing. “Most kidnappings we see are domestic—custody disputes, that sort of thing.”

I followed his gaze across the lot. “What about gang activity?”

Corey shook his head. “Wrong part of town. The organized gangs operate mainly on the east and south sides. We get some drug deals in the parks a few miles from here, but nothing this brazen.”

“So we’re back to this being related to Nova.”

“Most likely. But…” He trailed off, his expression thoughtful. “If that’s the case, where’s the ransom demand? Where’s the proof of life? That’s standard procedure for kidnappers who want something.”

My thoughts exactly. “Could be they’re waiting for something.”

“Like what? ”

“Tour resumes in a few days. Maybe they’re trying to maximize pressure, give us minimal time to react.”

I thought about Adam Foster, Brooklyn Reed’s manager, who’d been determined to make Mel’s life as difficult as possible. But we’d searched him inside and out. He definitely hadn’t been involved with the raccoon roadkill and was currently taking his break from the tour in Seattle—I’d have Jace double-check that.

“Yeah, that would make sense.” Corey nodded slowly. “Look, I’m happy to interview the barista myself, but it doesn’t seem like she remembers anything distinct about Mel beyond her trying to use a fake coupon.”

I rubbed the back of my neck against the ever-present tension there. “No, that’s not necessary. Logan also got the same info from her.”

“I know this is frustrating, Ethan, but—” His phone buzzed. He checked it, his expression shifting. “I’ve got to go. Homicide downtown. Female victim, gunshot wound.”

My heart stopped. “What do they know about her?”

He looked back down at the info. “Caucasian. Late twenties, early thirties.”

Fuck. “I’m coming with you.”

Corey frowned. “That’s against protocol.”

“I need to know, Corey. If it’s Mel, I need to know right now.”

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded sharply. “Follow my car. Stay in the background. Touch nothing.”

“Understood.”

I trailed his unmarked vehicle through downtown Dallas, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. The logical part of my brain knew the odds of this homicide being Mel were low. But after thirty-six hours with no sleep and no leads, logic wasn’t exactly in the driver’s seat.

We arrived at an abandoned warehouse surrounded by police cruisers, their lights flashing silently in the morning sun. Yellow crime scene tape cordoned off the area. Officers moved with purpose, collecting evidence and taking statements.

Corey parked, and I pulled in behind him. He spoke briefly to another detective, then motioned for me to join him.

“Stay behind me,” he murmured. “Don’t say anything.”

I nodded, following him into the building. The interior was dark and damp, with graffiti covering the walls and debris littering the concrete floor. The smell hit me immediately—the unmistakable metallic scent of blood mixed with the beginnings of decay.

In the center of the room, a body lay covered with a white sheet. A female medical examiner crouched beside it, making notes on a clipboard.

“What do we have, Dr. Chen?” Corey asked, approaching the scene.

She looked up, her expression grim. “Female, Caucasian, approximately thirty years old. Single gunshot wound to the chest. Time of death estimated between twelve and eighteen hours ago.”

My breath caught in my throat. The description could match Mel.

“Do we have an ID?” Corey’s voice betrayed nothing of the tension I knew he must be feeling for my sake.

Dr. Chen shook her head. “No identification found on the body. We’re running prints now, but it’ll take time.”

Corey glanced at me, then back to Dr. Chen. “I’d like to see the victim.”

She hesitated, then nodded, carefully pulling back the sheet.

I steeled myself, expecting the worst. But the moment I saw her face, relief washed over me like a physical force. It wasn’t Mel. The woman had similar coloring but different facial features—sharper cheekbones, thinner lips, a longer nose.

Not Mel. Not Mel. Not Mel.

I repeated it like a mantra in my head, guilt immediately following the relief. Some other family would be getting devastating news today.

“Thank you,” Corey said quietly to Dr. Chen, who replaced the sheet and returned to her work.

As we walked back to our vehicles, Corey placed a hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

“Go home. Get some sleep. I’ll call if anything comes up.”

But I couldn’t go back to Nova’s estate. Not yet. Not without something concrete to report. The thought of facing her questions, her fear that mirrored my own, was unbearable.

“I need to do something,” I said. “I can’t just sit around waiting.”

Corey studied me for a moment. “We’re doing everything we can, Ethan. Every available officer knows about this case.”

“It’s not enough.”

“It never feels like enough when it’s someone you care about.” His voice softened with understanding. “But running yourself into the ground won’t help her.”

He was right, but it didn’t matter. Sleep was impossible. Food was irrelevant. Nothing mattered except finding Mel.

“I’ll keep digging into local connections,” Corey continued. “See if there’s any pattern to similar cases in the region. You focus on the Nova angle. Between us, we’ll find her.”

I nodded, forcing myself to take a deep breath. “Thanks, Corey.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Thank me when we bring her home.”

When , not if. I clung to that distinction like a lifeline as I drove back to Nova’s estate. Thirty-six hours had passed with no word from Mel or her kidnapper. Every minute that ticked by pushed us further from a good outcome.

But she wasn’t the woman in that warehouse. She was still out there somewhere.

And I would find her.

I had to.