Page 101 of Found by the Pack

“Boone,” I cut in. “When you’re done, come straight home. Don’t stop. Don’t get sidetracked. Straight here.”

He goes silent for a beat, the weight in my tone registering. “What happened?”

“She got a message. From him.” I keep my voice low, even though Sadie’s still distracted with Gus. “Video from today. New number. Message said ‘Found you.’”

Boone swears softly. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.” My hand grips the counter edge tight. “So finish what you’re doing and then come here. We’ll figure this out together.”

“I’ll be there.”

The line clicks dead.

I pocket my phone and glance back at Sadie. She’s still on the floor, bouquet laid aside, Gus’s head pressed to her chest like he knows exactly how much she needs him. Her eyes are closed, but her lips move faintly, whispering something against the golden fur.

And in that moment, one truth cements itself in me.

Scott might have seen a video. He might think he can reach her again. But he’s not getting through us.

Not through me. Not through Boone. Not through Gabe.

This time, she isn’t alone.

CHAPTER 24

Boone

The highway is chaos.

Metal twisted in on itself like crushed soda cans, smoke curling off a hood that should’ve been cold an hour ago, the stench of antifreeze and scorched rubber thick in the air.

My gloves are already blackened from hauling wreckage, my muscles screaming with the effort of pulling one more door open, one more body out.

Sirens wail in the distance, layered over the chatter of radios and the clipped shouts of paramedics moving in and out. It’s all hands on deck: the police, us, and the firefighters. Everyone working together to figure this out.

Pile-ups are the worst. One second of distraction, one patch of ice or slick, and it’s dominoes—car into car into truck into whatever unlucky bastard was driving behind them.

Tonight, it’s a six-car chain reaction just outside Driftwood. Nothing fatal, thank God, but injuries up and down the line, every one needing a hand.

I’ve got adrenaline pumping through me, but under it there’s a steady hum of exhaustion. It’s been weeks of running on fumes—station, firehouse, back to Sadie, trying to keep the world from falling apart around her while I feel myself coming undone.

“Walker!” one of the younger firefighters yells. “We need the spreader!”

I grab the jaws of life and jog toward the crumpled sedan pinned between two SUVs. My shoulders burn with the weight, but I keep moving. There’s no stopping when people are trapped.

I’m so focused that I don’t hear him until he’s right behind me.

“What the hell’s going on, Boone?”

I whip around, spreader in hand, to find Gabe standing there in his deputy’s jacket, expression sharp, eyes narrowed. Of course he’s here—accidents pull everyone in. Fire, EMTs, police. He looks like he’s been running all day too, tie shoved in his pocket, shirt rolled at the sleeves.

“What?” I grunt, shoving the spreader into the hands of a firefighter.

“You’ve been on edge since you got the call.” His voice is lower now, for me alone. “Your face looks like you’re waiting for another bomb to drop. What’s wrong?”

Normally, I’d bite back. Normally, I’d tell him to mind his own business.

Gabe and I haven’t exactly been brothers lately. He’s been short with me, I’ve been short with him, and Sadie’s caught in the middle more than she should be. But right now, the fight isn’t in me.