Page 68 of The King of Hearts (The Raven Group #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

HIM

J ust as I approach the library door, my mother’s wheelchair appears with Beatrice behind it.

“Oh, hello, Ryker,” she says with a slight jump. “You startled me.”

I bend over my mother and place a kiss on top of her head. On her lap, under her hand, there’s a yellow flower.

“How is she today?” I ask. I always ask this, and the answer is always the same.

“She’s fine. She was out in the garden today for a while with Savina and her guests. I believe that’s where the flower came from. I was going to put it in water and set it on her bedside table.”

I remember Savina mentioning that the mother and young daughter Bishop and I brought to the Rivers’ house a while ago were going to visit today. The mother, Liliana, is The Raven Group’s latest client.

“She’ll like that,” I lie. My mother won’t even notice the flower, but it’s still a kind gesture.

She starts pushing my mother’s chair, but I stop her. “Do you know where Savina is?”

“I believe she was going to spend some time in her art studio.”

I dip my chin at her and head off toward the back of the house.

It’s only been a few hours since I’ve seen my wife, but I’m impatient to set my eyes on her again.

This need I have for Savina grows each day.

You’d think having her in my home would have eased that need somewhat, but it’s only grown stronger.

I wouldn’t have left today, but I had a meeting on the mainland with the private investigator I hired to find out who’s been sending me those notes and pictures.

He’s currently working on a lead that might shed light on the situation.

Unfortunately, the meeting took longer than I expected.

Mrs. Myers must still be out because the kitchen is empty.

Not that she spends all of her time here, but this is the room she can be found in more often than not.

The doors to Savina’s art studio are open, but when I step inside the room, it’s empty.

The glass has been tinted, and with the doors open, she must have been in here at some point.

I spin on my heel and go back to the front of the house where the stairs are.

I take them two at a time. Obviously, she’s not in the library because that’s where Beatrice and my mother just came from.

Her art studio, the library, and our room are the only places Savina frequently visits.

The garden is a possibility, but Beatrice said Savina’s already been out there, so the chances are she’s in our room.

The lingering scent of her perfume permeates the air as I walk through our empty bedroom to the adjoining bathroom. It’s empty, and so is the walk-in closet.

Where in the fuck is she?

The car Marcelo uses to escort my wife around was in the driveway, so her being out isn’t a possibility. Besides, Marcelo would have informed me before he took her off of the property.

I’m descending the stairs three at a time, unease in the pit of my stomach growing stronger by the minute. Something isn’t right.

Just as my foot touches the last step, Marcelo rounds the corner, coming from the direction of the sitting room. His one good eye looks hard, and his body is strung tight.

“I just found Max with his throat slit in the sitting room.”

“Fuck,” I grit out. “Where in the hell is she?”

“I left her here while I escorted Liliana and Harper back to the Rivers’. I was only gone for twenty minutes. I got back five minutes ago, but I haven’t seen her.”

I spin on my heel to go back to her art studio. It looks the exact same as it did a few minutes ago. Nothing is out of place. Savina has always been meticulous when it comes to her art supplies. Each item has a place, and she’s particular when she puts her supplies away.

No, there is something out of place. I stalk over to the end of the table where all of her paints are. I didn’t catch it at first because the table leg was in the way. A small puddle of red coats the floor, and if it wasn’t for the small jar tipped on its side, I may have mistaken it for blood.

No fucking way Savina would have left this. I’m pretty sure she would have hyperventilated when she saw this mess because she’s so anal about her supplies and keeping her work space as clean as possible.

I hear Marcelo come inside the room, but I ignore him as I take out my phone and pull up a tracking app.

I told Savina the birth control she had inserted in her arm a while back was a placebo, but the small device is actually a tracker.

I didn’t tell her about it to avoid the shitstorm I know she would have caused.

That device wasn’t leaving her body, no matter how much she fought me on it.

She’s not aware of the notes and pictures I’ve received, or the threat they pose, and I felt no reason to inform her of them.

That tracking device was put in place for this very fucking reason.

If by some chance the person managed to get to her.

I don’t know if that’s what happened or if she left on her own. The spilled paint on the floor indicates she didn’t leave of her own volition.

The small red dot on my phone flashes, indicating Savina’s exact location.

The Reef.

“Follow me,” I order Marcelo, striding past him. “She’s at The Reef,” I toss over my shoulder.

Our rapid footsteps echo against the walls as we rush for the front door.

We’re halfway down the front steps when I briefly notice Mrs. Myers pulling her SUV around to the side of the estate where she’ll unload the mountain of groceries she bought.

Marcelo makes it to his side first, as I’m forced to walk around the car to get in the driver’s side.

Dust and rocks kick up behind the car when I slam my foot down on the gas.

The Reef is only a few miles away, along the coast between my estate and the Rivers’. But the mile-long driveway that leads to the lighthouse is full of potholes. I give no fucks to the damage that’s done to my car as I race down the uneven road.

The tires slide against the sandy dirt when I pull to a stop in front of the lighthouse a few minutes later.

I don’t bother shutting off the engine, and barely manage to put it in Park, as I get out and run to the door of the old lighthouse, pulling the gun out of the back waistband of my pants.

Marcelo is hot on my heels. I left the keys in the ignition, so I use a well-placed kick against the wood to open it.

It bangs against the wall, barely held on at the hinges.

As I look from one door to another, deciding which to check first, my thoughts go in all different directions. I have no fucking clue what I’m about to walk into. Or what I’m going to find. The worst-case scenario is finding Savina dead, but I refuse to entertain that option.

I point my gun to the door on the left. “Check that one,” I tell Marcelo.

While he goes to that door, I take the one on the right. There’s one more room if these come up empty.

The grip on my gun tightens as I approach the door. I stay quiet and listen carefully. When I hear nothing coming from the other side, I twist the knob and push the door open.

What I find inside isn’t what I expected.

Nor is it what I wanted to find. The room is empty.

After the bodies of the people who are brought here are disposed of, a couple of guys come in to clean the rooms. They’re never spotless—you can never get that level of cleanliness in a place like this—but all of the walls and the floor are hosed down, and the tools are given a basic rinse.

This room, which is the one Savina and I used to torture Joseph in a week ago, seems to have gone through the same treatment. Since the murder was off the books, one of my personal guys did the cleaning.

Marcelo walks in the room behind me. “Both rooms are clean,” he informs me.

Ignoring him, I walk farther into the room, some instinct calling me forward.

This is where her tracker led me. Over by the table of tools where the light doesn’t quite hit the floor, there’s a small wet spot.

I go to it and squat down. I touch the spot with my index finger and lift it to the light.

Blood. I look back at the spot and notice something on the floor, just under the edge of the table.

It’s Savina’s fucking tracking device.

“Fuck!” The word explodes from my mouth as I stand up. Raw anger and abject fear hit me square in the chest. With a roar, I upturn the table full of tools. They go flying and land wherever the fuck they do.

Whoever took her knew about the tracker and cut the goddamn thing from her arm. They fucking put their hands on her. Came into my house and took her away from me. They made her bleed. Made her feel pain. And made her feel the one emotion I swore she’d never feel again.

Fear.

How in the hell did they even know about the tracking device? The only person, other than myself, who’s aware of it is Dr. Markus Bale, and I’m positive he wouldn’t have opened his mouth. The shit I’m blackmailing him with ensures that. There’s not a chance he would have given away that secret.

I shove the small tracker in my pocket and spin on my heel, leaving Marcelo in the room. I go to the one next to it and check that room over. Finding nothing, I go to the first one Marcelo checked. I don’t expect to find anything, but I’m not taking the chance of missing something.

When that room comes up empty as well, I stalk out of the lighthouse and go back to the car. Marcelo follows without being told. I spin away from the structure, leaving a cloud of dust behind.

“There’s a black envelope in my safe in my office,” I tell Marcelo as I speed back toward my estate. “Grab it and meet me back at the car.”

He nods in my peripheral vision. I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. Rage, hot and blinding, courses through my veins, and the need to eviscerate the person or people who took my wife fills every thought in my head.