Page 26

CHAPTER 26

ELLIOT

T he white house in front of me shouldn’t be nearly as intimidating as it is. I’ve faced down killers on a battlefield, enemies both stateside and abroad, yet sitting here staring at a blue door is bringing me far more anxiety than any battle has.

I told myself that coming to Dallas right after Nova did was a mistake, but when I woke this morning in Riley’s guest room because I was too afraid to go home and face Nova, I had a feeling in my gut that I needed to do this. That it was finally time to try to put the past behind me.

So, here I am.

Staring at a blue door from the safety of my truck.

“Just do it, Hunt.” Before I can talk myself out of it, I push the door open and head up the steps. Pretty purple and pink hydrangeas are blooming in pots on either side of the door, and the sight of them makes my heart hurt.

Jesse’s favorite color was pink.

Renee’s purple.

I raise my fist and knock, seriously hoping no one is home. But seconds later, the door is pulled open, and Renee’s father, James, steps into view. “Sir.”

“Elliot. Finally made it to the door?”

I swallow hard, embarrassment heating my cheeks. I’m a coward. An absolute coward. “May I come in?”

“Absolutely.” He steps aside and lets me through.

The living room still looks exactly the same as it did the last time I was here, the only thing missing: Renee smiling from the floral-printed couch. Something sweet fills my lungs, the aroma of baked goods wrapping around me.

“Who is it?” I hear Susan call out.

“Elliot Hunt.”

“What?” She steps out of the kitchen, brown eyes wide. They’re the same shade as Renee’s. Her hair the same bright red, though now there are strands of gray woven through.

“Hi, Mrs. Young.”

She smiles softly. “Come, have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you. I was hoping I could have a few minutes of your time.” I take a seat on the couch. “I know it’s out of the blue, and I’m sorry for that.”

“Not a problem, honey.” She takes a seat beside her husband on the couch across from me.

Leaning forward, I clasp my hands together. “I’m sorry that I haven’t reached out before now. I’d say it’s because I’ve been busy, but that’s a lie. The truth is I’m ashamed.”

“Of what?” Susan asks, gaze narrowing.

“Of failing you. You lost both of your girls because I was distracted.” Emotion sears my throat. “I let my personal feelings cloud me, and I missed signs.”

“Oh, honey.” Susan leans forward and covers my hand with hers. “We’ve never blamed you, Elliot. No one saw his true intentions. No one could have possibly seen that he was after Renee.”

“I failed. You hired me to help, and I let you down.”

“You brought our girls justice,” James replies. “Because of you, he’s serving two life sentences in prison without the chance of parole.”

A tear slips down my cheek. “I should have seen it. I should have stopped it.”

Susan squeezes my hand. “We’ve seen you outside the house every year on her birthday since we buried her.”

“You have?”

“Your big truck isn’t exactly a discreet white van,” James quips.

I chuckle. “Fair enough. I wanted to be here. To apologize. But I couldn’t get myself out of the truck. The guilt over my failure and the pain of losing her—of losing them both. It’s weighed on me every single day.”

“You got out of the truck today,” Susan replies. “And that’s what matters.” She stands. “I’m going to go get us some coffee.”

“I would be lying if I didn’t admit my anger after we lost them,” James says. “The fury I felt at both of my angels being so brutally ripped away.” He closes his eyes a moment, and when he opens them, they’re full of tears. “But my anger was never at you, Elliot. And if I had known you were struggling with that, well, I like to think I would’ve reached out myself.”

“It wouldn’t have changed how I felt,” I admit.

“Renee cared for you,” he says. “And we all know that you did your absolute best. It was you piecing together the puzzle that brought him to justice. Without you putting it all together, he might have gotten away.”

“I just can’t help but think that if I’d have just realized it sooner?—”

“Things don’t work that way,” he says. “It’s taken me three years to get to where I am today, and I certainly still have bad days. But I know that God has a plan. He can take even the darkest circumstances and make something good come out of it.”

“What good came from their deaths?” I ask, vocalizing a question I’ve been too afraid to ask myself.

He smiles. “Come here. I want to show you something.” James stands and heads down the hall. I follow, doing my best to keep my focus straight ahead and not on the photographs lining the walls.

We head into the first room on the right, a bedroom that used to belong to Jesse. It’s now been turned into an office with a bulletin board and a desk. James sits down behind it and opens his laptop. After a few moments of typing, he turns it to face me.

“What’s this?”

“The good,” he replies. “Susan and I started a nonprofit that helps educate college students on self-defense and recognizing red flags before they become deadly. We’ve had no less than eleven girls, in the two years since we started, come to us and tell us that it was this class that helped them get out of dangerous situations.”

Pride swells in my chest. “This is fantastic.”

He smiles. “It’s still a work in progress, but we’re doing what we can to expand our reach. We have an anonymous tip line where people can report things they’ve seen, in hopes we can intervene and offer help.”

“Mr. Young, this is?—”

“James,” he interrupts. “It wasn’t just them who inspired us. What you and your brothers do is amazing. While we’re not trained like you are, Susan and I knew we wanted to do something—anything—that might keep other families from going through what we did.” He takes a deep breath. “I would rather have my daughters back, Elliot. But this feels like a good thing.”

“It’s a great thing,” I tell him. “You’re honoring them with this.”

He smiles, and tears glisten in his eyes. “That’s all I want.” He shuts the laptop and stands. “Now, let’s go have that coffee.”

* * *

Feeling lighter than I have in years, I climb into my truck. I’m just turning over the engine when my phone rings and Lani’s contact pops up on the screen. “Hey, you won’t?—”

“Elliot, you have to get to her!” Lani’s panicked voice washes away all the peace I’d had only moments ago.

“Who? What’s wrong?”

“Nova! He’s attacking her. I could hear the whole thing. He?—”

Fury coils in my belly, a viper poised to attack, even as fear laces my blood. “Who hurt her?”

“Brett. He’s hurting her, Elliot.”

My hand clenches on the steering wheel. I’m going to tear him apart. “Where is she?”

“Her apartment. But I don’t have the address.”

“I’ll get to her.” I end the call and phone Tucker.

“What’s up?”

“Get me Nova’s address now,” I demand. “She’s in danger. I’m already in Dallas, so text it to me.”

All humor from his tone is gone when he replies, “On it.”

Lord, please let her be okay.

Seconds later, a text comes through with Nova’s address. Nova, please hang in there. I’m coming.