“No.” The word comes out sharp. “No more questions about her. We’re done here.”
“But Beau?—”
“I said we’re done.” I’m off the podium, ignoring the confused look from the press coordinator. “Thank you all for coming.”
What the hell is wrong with me?
It feels like someone’s wrapped a fist around my lungs and is slowly squeezing. Like the air pressure has dropped, and I’m at altitude without oxygen. I’ve never felt anything like this before.
A surge of adrenaline floods me. Something is wrong.
The east entrance is three corridors away. I take the stairs two at a time, the sound of my boots echoing off the concrete walls. The crowd in the main concourse parts reluctantly in front of me, and I can hear the annoyed mutters as I push through.
When I round the corner into the meeting spot, I see Jake and Charlie leaning against the wall, but the space beside them where Willa should be standing is empty.
The bottom drops out of my stomach.
“Where is she?” The words come out harsher than I intend, sharper.
Jake straightens immediately, and I can see my own concern reflected on his face. “We thought she was with you.”
“What? No. I was still doing interviews. She said she’d meet us here.” I’m already pulling out my phone, my fingers clumsy on the screen. There’s nothing, no missed calls, no texts. I pull up her number and hit call.
It rings once. Twice. Three times. Each ring feels like an eternity.
Voicemail.
“She’s not answering.” The pressure in my chest tightens another notch.Where is she?
Beau: Where are you?
Beau: Willa, answer your phone.
Beau: This isn’t funny.
The messages show as delivered but not read. The tightness in my chest becomes a vise.
“Maybe she got caught up talking to someone?” Charlie offers, but there’s no conviction in his voice. His scent—usually such calming sage and sweetgrass—has gone sharp with anxiety. The tension coiling in both my pack mates rides me hard through our bond. Where is she? “With Eli? One of the other vets?”
“Call Eli.” I can’t stop this restless need to move. I pace the small area in front of the exit. “Is there anyone else here she knows? Anyone she might have?—”
“No.” Jake’s already shaking his head, his brown hair falling into his eyes. “Not that I know of.”
Charlie’s on the phone now, his free hand raking through his hair as he speaks in low, urgent tones. I watch his face, watch theway his expression shifts from hopeful to grim, and I know the answer before he says it.
When he hangs up, the look he gives us confirms what I’ve already guessed.
“Eli hasn’t seen her, not since her shift ended. Says as far as he knew, she was with us.”
The vice around my chest becomes a crushing weight. I can feel my Alpha rising to the surface, can feel the control I usually maintain so carefully starting to slip.
“Something’s wrong,” Jake says, and having it out in the open doesn’t make it any better. “She wouldn’t just disappear. Not without telling us. Not after?—”
He breaks off, but we all know what he means. Not after Felton. Not after the threats.
“The supply room,” I say suddenly. “Maybe she went back there?”
Maybe she’s waiting for us. Maybe she’s fine, and we’re all panicking over nothing.
