Page 30

GAGE

“I swear, it’s like you guys know she’s bringing back treats for you.”

As three pairs of eager dog faces whip towards me in unison, I immediately realize my mistake.

A rookie one, really.

I said the magic word. Treat . The one word guaranteed to get a dog’s attention. Or in my case, three of them. Since I’ve been staying over at Rory’s every night, it just makes sense to bring Dewey with me, and much to my relief, he gets along great with Elmore and Toby.

Not that I thought they wouldn’t. Dewey is a great dog, well socialized thanks to all the hard work Rory put in after rescuing him, but thinking they’ll get along isn’t the same as actually seeing it in action.

Now that I’ve watched the three dogs playing in the yard together and cuddled into a mishmash of noses and tails on Toby’s bed, any lingering worries about him fitting in are gone.

Looking down at their furry snouts sniffing madly—searching for the t-r-e-a-t-s, as I should have said—an image of the future superimposes itself over the present.

I’m not standing in the GMG cabin, making a second cup of coffee while I wait for my girlfriend to get back, her two dogs flanking mine. Instead, I’m in our kitchen. Surrounded by our dogs. And Rory’s not my girlfriend. She’s my wife.

I never thought I wanted that life before. First, back before I lost my foot, I thought commitment only led to bitterness and disappointment. I was happier staying single.

And then after, I eliminated it as a possibility. I was certain that even if I changed my mind, if I decided what my friends were finding was something I wanted, no woman would ever want to be with me.

Then I met Rory, and everything changed. I changed.

Am I going to ask Rory to marry me? Not yet. Logic tells me there’s no rush. That it’s better to wait, to get to know each other better, to see where our relationship leads once things get back to normal.

But my heart tells me she’s the one. And that’s why my mind keeps wandering to a future with Rory.

Moving in together. Helping her with the shelter.

Meeting each other’s friends and family.

Proposing. Taking her as my wife. Spending years, decades, a lifetime by her side, protecting her and making sure she always knows just how beautiful she is.

I can see her years from now, sitting beside me in the gazebo I built for her on our own property, her face lit by moonlight as she looks up at the stars.

Streaks of silver run through her hair, and her features are lined with fine wrinkles, but she’s just as stunning as the first day I met her.

She turns to me with that soft smile, the one that always makes my heart roll over, and I tell her how much I love her. How much?—

A wet nose nudges my hand, jarring me back to the present.

Back to the three expectant doggie faces staring up at me.

Dewey pushes his nose into my hand again. Elmore sits back on his haunches and raises his paw. Toby chooses a different tactic, flopping onto the floor with a doleful sigh and splaying his legs up to the ceiling.

I chuckle as I tell them, “Sorry, guys. Rory’s not home yet. You’ll have to wait a little longer.”

Now that I’m thinking about it, how much longer will she be?

I glance at my phone, sitting face up on the kitchen counter, and do a quick mental calculation.

She left the house at eight-twenty-five, just before my conference call at eight-thirty, and it’s nine-thirty now.

That should be plenty of time to get into town, stop at Breakfast Bliss, and make the ten-minute trip back home again.

So why isn’t she home?

I can feel my thoughts sneaking into places I’d rather they didn’t.

Rory in trouble. Rory hurt. Scared. Upset after someone in town was cruel to her.

What if making the trip on her own was too much and she had a panic attack?

What if she’s somewhere between Bliss and here, crying in her car, wishing I was there to comfort her?

That damn band around my chest tightens. Squeezes the air from my lungs. The back of my neck prickles with cold sweat. My hands go clammy.

No. She’s fine. Rory is more than capable of driving into Bliss and back. She probably stopped to talk to someone. Or she made a quick detour to the pet shop. Breakfast Bliss could have been extra busy. There are a dozen reasons why she’s not home yet, all of them perfectly reasonable.

Still. I’m not going to feel okay until she gets home.

I pick up my phone, debating whether to call her. It would make me feel better hearing her voice, but I don’t want to be that guy. Yes, I know I tend to be overprotective—okay, I am —but I’m really trying not to let it get out of control. I don’t want Rory to feel smothered.

Maybe I could just text her? Ask her to pick up something else in town?

My finger hovers over the screen as I try to make up my mind. Text or wait?

Then the screen flashes red.

An alarm blares, loud and insistent.

It’s so sudden, so unexpected, I nearly drop the phone.

As I scrabble to hang onto the slick plastic case, my heart rockets to triple speed.

Frantic questions ricochet in my head. What’s wrong? What happened? Who’s in trouble?

I’m already running towards the front door as I jab at the screen, missing the button for the tracking app several times before I finally hit it. As I wait for the tracking app to load, I distractedly notice my finger is trembling.

It might not be Rory , the rational part of my brain says. It could be anything. Alec could be testing the tracking system and forgot to tell us about it. Someone could have accidentally triggered their alert, and I’ll get a call any second with an apologetic explanation.

But my gut disagrees. My gut is shouting, Rory’s in trouble! She’s alone, in trouble, and she needs me.

The damn app finally opens just as I leap off the front porch. I hit the ground unevenly and my leg wants to buckle, but I force myself to stay steady. If it’s Rory, if my worst fears are realized, I need to get to her. I need to?—

A tiny map blinks onto the screen, a red dot flashing madly in the center of it.

And beside it, Rory’s name.

My lungs seize. Cold terror freezes my heart.

Rory’s in trouble.

Her tracker is just off the road that leads to the GMG property, no more than a mile from here.

So close.

What could have happened?

Did she get into an accident? Have a panic attack?

I have to get to her.

Of course, my truck is parked at my house, so I’m forced to run over there, wasting precious time. Halfway there, my phone rings, and a burst of hope ignites in my chest.

Maybe it was an accident. Maybe Rory’s calling with a sheepish explanation. Maybe she got a flat time and?—

But it’s not Rory. It’s Enzo.

Without preface, I answer the call, barking into the phone, “Rory’s in trouble. I need to get to her.”

“I know,” Enzo replies calmly. But there’s an undercurrent of tension in his voice. “I’m at the house. So is Knox. We’re heading there now.”

“She’s close,” I reply as I fling myself into the truck. “Maybe she got into an accident. Had a panic attack. Or—” A fresh blast of fear paralyzes my throat. “Ford? Mavers? Did they get out? Did the judge grant bail after all? An accomplice?”

“Alec’s on it. He just texted.”

“Ronan? If she’s hurt—” Though I’m trained in first aid, Ronan’s our team medic, so if Rory’s injured, he’s the best one to help.

“Ronan’s on the way. But he’s ten minutes out.”

“Shit.” I bite out the curse as I punch the ignition. “I’m in the truck. Heading there now.”

There’s a pause. A soft thud of footfalls sound in the background. Then an engine turns over. “Same. We should be there in a couple of minutes.”

Steering one-handed, I hold the phone in my other, splitting my attention between the road and the tracking app. As I’m watching, Rory’s dot inches its way away from the main road and into the woods. “She’s moving,” I say through gritted teeth. “Why is she going into the woods?”

“I don’t know,” Enzo replies. “If she got into an accident, she could be disoriented…”

His words evoke a terrifying image. Rory; hurt, bleeding, stumbling into the woods. Confused. Frightened. Needing me.

My foot presses harder on the gas. The tires spin, kicking up bits of rocks and dirt.

Then I hit the main road, turning onto it with a fresh burst of speed. My heart thunders in my head, an echoing bass drum drowning out everything but my fear.

She has to be okay. She has to be.

Please.

Desperate hope leaves me breathless. Please. Let Rory be okay. Let this not be as bad as I fear.

But when I spot her car up ahead, my hopes plummet.

It’s off the road, twin tracks of dirt dug into the grass behind it. The hood is crumpled against a maple tree, wisps of smoke rising from it. One door hangs open, revealing an empty driver’s seat inside.

Though I knew Rory wouldn’t be in the car, it’s still a blow.

I come to a screeching stop on the side of the road, jumping from the truck as it’s still rocking. Heart pounding in a frantic rhythm with my feet, I race towards her car. My hand is still clutched around the phone, my only connection with her.

Enzo and Knox come running up on either side of me. “She’s not in the car,” Knox says. “Her tracker puts her about two hundred yards into the woods.”

“I know,” I snap, veering away from the car even as instinct urges me to it. I need to know how badly she’s hurt, how much the car was damaged, if there’s blood…

Fuck.

Is there blood?

How much?

“I’ll check the car,” Knox says. “You guys go after Rory. Keep the call going. If I find anything?—”

“Take a look at the other one, too,” Enzo replies. He jerks his chin, gesturing ahead of him. It’s only now that I realize there’s a second car—a large pickup, actually—parked on the side of the road, about a hundred feet back from Rory’s.

A truck with a dented hood.

And as I glance at Rory’s car again, I spot something new. Not the damaged hood, but deep gouges in the rear bumper. Dents marked with paint that matches the pickup truck behind us.

“They hit her,” I choke out. “Someone hit her. Was it an accident? Did they… Fuck. Someone fucking hit her. Is she running? Trying to?—”

“Come on.” Enzo clamps his hand around my arm and drags me along with him, away from the scene of the accident and into the woods. Over his shoulder, he calls back, “I’ve got the line open. Check for evidence. Call Alec?—”

“I know,” Knox replies. A quick glance shows him half in-half out of Rory’s car, inspecting it. “I’ll keep him in the loop.”

“Come on,” Enzo repeats, turning back to me. “She’s not too far from here. We’ll find her.”

“She has to be okay.” But even as the words come out of my mouth, I’m terrified they’re wrong. With every step, my fear blossoms bigger, until it’s all I can see. All I can think of.

My Rory in the woods, hurt. Scared.

And the driver of the pickup. Who is it? Did they hit her on purpose?

“What if they’re chasing her?” I ask through a narrowing throat. “What if they hit her and she ran off, trying to escape?”

Enzo doesn’t answer right away. For a few seconds, it’s just our feet crunching through dried leaves and grass.

A thin branch smacks me in the face and I bat it away, barely noticing the sting it left behind.

“They could be trying to help,” he finally suggests.

But from his tone, he doesn’t believe it, either.

What’s the likelihood that Rory would leave her car after an accident? Especially knowing how close she is to GMG? Knowing how quickly I could get here to help her?

I look down at my phone, searching for her blinking red dot again. It’s no longer moving, but static, stopped about three hundred yards from us.

“She’s up ahead,” I say, pitching my voice low so it doesn’t carry. “If someone’s after her, we need to be prepared. We need?—”

“I found something.” Knox’s voice comes through Enzo’s phone, even grimmer than it sounded just a minute ago.

Enzo glances at me. His eyes convey a message without needing words. Then he holds the phone up to his ear and replies quietly, “What is it?”

As he listens, we keep running, closing in on Rory’s dot on the screen. I keep stealing glances at Enzo’s face, feeling worse by the second. His features are hard. Shadowed. His jaw twitches.

Part of me wants to yank the phone from him. Demand to know what Knox is saying.

It’s Rory , my heart insists. My girlfriend. The woman I’m falling in love with. I’m the one who should be hearing this.

But I’ve been trained better than that. I know I can depend on my team. So I wait.

Not ten seconds later, Enzo says, “We’re almost there. Get my extra Sig from the cab. The Ka-Bar, too. Call the police if you haven’t already.” Then he ends the call and pockets his phone. His pace slows.

“What are you doing?” I hiss. “Hurry.”

“Gage.” He touches my shoulder. “You need to hear this first.”

I’m about to argue until I notice the look in his eyes. The anger. The worry. The regret. Reluctantly slowing to a jog, I ask tightly, “What is it?”

His gaze flickers to mine. “Knox found a fingerprint in the car. A bloody one. Big enough to eliminate it as Rory’s.”

Ice spears through my heart. “Blood?”

“Knox took a picture of it. Sent it to Alec. Remember that program Alec was working on? The fingerprint analysis one?”

“Yes.”

“He ran the image of the fingerprint through it. And it came up with a match.”

“ Enzo . Tell me.”

Another glance at my phone shows Rory less than a hundred yards away. Close enough to see her if not for all the trees. I try to listen for some sort of sound, a voice crying for help, something, but all I can hear is my pulse rushing through my head.

“It’s Wade Denning.”

For a second, there’s no recognition.

Then it hits me. “You don’t mean?—”

“Rory’s sister’s husband.”

It’s like a sledgehammer crashing into my chest. “But we checked him out. Alec said he was clean.”

“I know.” It’s quick. Strained. “We missed something. I don’t know. But it’s him.”

“ Fuck .”

Emily’s husband. How can it be? And why?

Does it matter?

“Here.” Enzo passes me a sheathed knife as we run. “As soon as we get in range, I’ll distract him. You go in and get Rory.”

My jaw sets. Determination floods through my body.

No mission has been more important than this.

I have to get to her in time.

I have to.