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31

JAMIE

W hen I see the name Allendale, everything stops. The world narrows down to a sense of dread.

I search the net for Sawyer’s photogram account. Once I locate it, I start scrolling.

Years of searching for Jude’s kidnapper ends with a single picture on her page. It’s Sawyer’s high school graduation. The asshole brother stands a couple of feet away, trying to get out of the frame. Next to her, with an arm around her shoulder and a smile that causes my guts to knot, is the man from the top of the hill. He’s older, so there are deeper brackets around his mouth, and his hair has gray strands woven through it that weren’t there in Ireland. But the eyes and face are still familiar. A whole lifetime passed in the time between when I locked eyes on him and the moment he grabbed Jude.

Thinking back, trying to compare every detail, my muscles contract in protest. I don’t want to relive those moments. But I have to.

Some pieces are vague or lost. I can never remember dropping the fishing pole or scrambling up the hill. Time skips, like a rock across the surface of a lake. The parts I remember vividly never change… I see the intent in the man’s expression as he looks at Jude. It starts an adrenaline rush of fear and dread inside me. He grabs my brother. In what seems to be an instant later, I am standing on the roadside, watching the car speed away.

I chase, following it with my eyes until it turns and disappears.

Bits of the long run are still with me. How quiet the road was. Praying for help. Praying I would get there in time. Or that I’d find Jude hiding on the side of the road because he’d jumped from the car to escape and was just waiting for me.

The blackness surrounds me again now.

I don’t realize I’ve knocked a glass from the counter until War is standing a few feet away.

“J?” he barks.

Turning my head, I stare at him. “What?” My tone is as flat as the surface of the water that day.

With a narrow-eyed gaze, he shifts his attention to the shards of broken glass. “What’s up?”

My own glance passes the laptop where it sits open on the counter, the offensive picture glaring at me. I flip the screen down, snapping the computer closed.

“Knocked a glass over,” I say with a shrug I hope appears casual.

Something in my features gives me away. Or perhaps it’s something else. He may have called my name a few times. I’m not sure.

War watches me like I’m an unknown quantity, which in this state, I am. My subconscious mind is five steps ahead of coherent thought. All my instincts are screaming at me to get the long rifle with the scope.

Calm the fuck down, I finally tell myself. You have the man in your sights now. A picture on the computer is as good as having him in the room.

Internally, I shake off my racing heart and racing thoughts.

Meanwhile, War is perfectly still. Like an animal scenting trouble in the distance. It’s something I’ve seen before in him and admired. In moments of chaos, there is no wasted motion from War. No wasted energy.

Drawing in a breath, I frown. “Everything’s all right.” This time, I’m sure I’ve made my voice sound normal.

My shift toward calm is something he must recognize because he turns and walks away.

Good. I need to be alone to think.

In the time it takes me to clean up the broken glass, I’ve made my first decision.

Robert Allendale will lose his only son, and if his grief doesn’t level him, I will keep going until I find something that does.