Emery pressed her back against the side of the cargo area, her bound hands aching, her head throbbing, terror making it hard to breathe. She thought of Devon's face, the way he'd kissed her forehead before leaving for the vineyard—the promise she'd made to stay safe, to keep the doors locked.
She'd broken that promise by opening the door. By thinking the shadow was him.
And now she was going to die because of it.
The backyard felt too small for the rage building in Devon's chest. It expanded like a balloon, growing to full capacity and dangerously beyond, close to the breaking point. He paced from the deck to the edge of the lawn and back again, his phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline. Every thirty seconds, he checked it. No calls. No texts. No miraculous email from Emery saying this was all a mistake.
Just silence.
The sun had climbed higher, warming the October morning, but Devon felt cold all the way through to his bones like ice was forming in his bloodstream.
The back door opened, and Bryson stepped out, his expression careful.
"Mom made breakfast," he said. "There's food on the table if you want?—"
"I can't eat."
"Devon—"
"I can't sit in there and eat pancakes while Emery's out there with whoever took her." Devon glanced at the time. “It’sbeen almost an hour, and I can't pretend everything's normal. I can't?—"
"Nobody's pretending anything's normal." Bryson moved closer, his voice calm and presence as big as their bond. They’d been best friends since they were kids. Of course, there’d been brotherly rivalry, but they were always there for each other. Always willing to be the pillar of strength for the other. Bryson was the one person he could always count on not to judge or scold but who’d also be brutally honest when he needed it the most. “You need to eat. You need to do something other than concentrate on something you can’t control.”
"What I need is to be out there looking for her."
"The police are looking. Sandys got every unit in the valley searching. She’s called state, and I think she even called in the Feds. Roadblocks on every major route out of town and the valley. They're doing everything?—"
"It's not enough.” Devon hurled the words at his brother like a grenade. "She's been gone for an hour, and the cops don’t have a single clue. And we're sitting here doing nothing."
"We're doing what we can. Staying here in case she comes back or contacts us.” Bryson stared at him with sheer determination and resolve. "I get it. I understand why you feel powerless. But running around without a plan isn't going to help her."
Devon wanted to argue. Wanted to get in his truck and drive every road in the valley until he found her. But he knew Bryson was right. Knew that leaving meant possibly missing a call, missing information, missing something critical.
"Just come inside," Bryson said. “It’s not good for you to be out here, alone. Come be with family.”
"I need a few more minutes." Devon turned away, looking out at the winery. "I'll be along in a bit. I just need to clear my head."
Bryson was quiet for a moment, then sighed. "Okay. But if you're not inside in fifteen minutes, I'm coming back out."
After he left, Devon resumed pacing. He kept replaying the scene—the open door, the dropped mug, blood on the grass.
He snapped his head up at the sound of tires on gravel. A car was coming up the driveway.
Sandy? Please let it be Sandy with news.
Devon raced around the side of the house, his heart hammering. But the vehicle pulling to a stop wasn't Sandy's patrol car.
It was Callie Callaway's silver Mercedes.
Devon reached for his phone, pulling it out to text his family. But before he could type a word, Callie was out of the car, striding toward him in designer jeans and a cashmere sweater as if this were a social call.
A million things ran through his brain like an electric current. But only one popped like a firecracker.
Why wasn’t Callie in custody? Or at the very least, being detained for questioning. So many things pointed to her. She’d been jealous the last time they dated. And while he’d never experienced her vindictiveness, he knew other people who had.
"What are you doing here?" Devon demanded. Heat filled his muscles. It worked its way through his body like a drug.
"I heard about Emery." Callie tilted her head and gave him a half smile, as if she cared. As if that concerned expression meant something. "I'm so sorry. I wanted to check on you."
