“Or someone let them in,” Mal says darkly. “There’s a mole?”
If someone had access to Hopper’s home security, that meant they had access to everything—his land, his patients, and worst of all . . .
Maddie.
As we arrive at their house, I don’t wait for the car to fully stop before I throw the door open and run toward them. Hopper is already waiting on the porch, his body rigid, his arms wrapped tightly around Maddie as if someone might try to rip her away from him.
The moment I see them—see her, safe, tucked against his chest, her little arms wrapped around his neck—something inside me snaps.
I reach them in seconds, wrapping my arms around both of them, burying my face in Hopper’s shoulder as I breathe them in.
Hopper doesn’t let go.
Maddie makes a soft noise, nuzzling into me. “Nysa,” she murmurs sleepily. “You comed.”
A broken breath leaves me. “Of course, baby. I’d always come for you.”
Hopper presses a kiss to Maddie’s curls, but his eyes are locked on me, searching, assessing.
“You okay?” His voice is low, rough, laced with something undeniably protective.
I nod, but I don’t step back. Not yet. I can’t let them go now. I just need to feel them, to know they’re okay.
Because whoever is doing this . . . they wanted me to believe they got to Maddie. And that . . . well, that makes me dangerous.
It’s only when Maddie wiggles slightly, rubbing her sleepy eyes, that I finally ease back. And that’s when I see it. The stuffed pony in her hands.
Lala.
But . . . no, Lala is . . . something’s off.
The fur of the pony she holds is too bright, though, the stitches too neat, the eyes not as worn down as they should be.
I freeze.
Hopper notices immediately. “What?”
I swallow hard, my pulse picking up. “That’s not Lala,” I whisper.
His brow furrows, his gaze flicking between me and the stuffed animal. “What are you talking about?”
I reach out, fingers shaking slightly as I brush over the toy.
“This is new,” I whisper.
Maddie blinks up at me, confused. “No, it’s Lala.”
Malerick joins us and he says, “I thought we had Lala. We’re taking it for evidence.”
I point at the pony Maddie’s holding. “That looks different.” Then narrow my gaze while asking, “Have you lost track of Lala in the past few days?”
He frowns, thinking. Then his face changes.
“Yeah. Last Sunday,” he says slowly. “At the park. We looked everywhere before we finally found her in the mud. We washed her, that’s why she looks different.”
Malerick growls. “They’re playing mind games, making you believe they got you. Making sure you know they’re not gone—they’re still watching you.”
“Can I have Lala, Maddie?” Malerick says with a gentle voice.
