"That's what we're going to find out. Deputies are heading to the Valley Inn to pick him up now." Sandy looked at Devon. "I know you want to be out there. But the best thing you can do is stay here. If Emery gets free, if she calls, you need to be available."
"She's been gone for over an hour,” Devon said, his voice breaking on the words.
"I know. And we're doing everything we can to find her." Sandy gave him a weak smile. "Hang tight. I'll update you as soon as I know anything."
After she left, the kitchen fell into heavy silence. Everyone standing around, helpless, waiting for news that might never come.
Devon sank into a chair, his head in his hands. Callie showing up here, taunting him. Some stranger named Jim hitting her with his car—fake emails from the Callaway estate.
They had pieces. But they didn't have Emery.
And every minute that passed made it less likely they'd get her back alive.
Eighteen
The man slowed the SUV and pulled off the highway. He made a right turn, then a left, into the truck stop parking lot.
It was one of those nameless places that existed purely for function—gas pumps, a convenience store with flickering neon, a handful of eighteen-wheelers parked along the perimeter. The man—she still didn't know his name—drove past the main parking area and around to the back, where the asphalt gave way to gravel and weeds and the kind of shadows that swallowed secrets.
He put the SUV in park but left the engine running.
They sat in silence. Emery's wrists ached from the zip ties, her head still throbbing. She shifted, trying to find a position that didn't make everything hurt worse.
"How long are we waiting here?" she asked.
"Shut up."
"I just want to know?—"
He raised his hand, his fingers curled around the butt of the gun. He turned, his gaze meeting hers with a coldness that made her shiver. "I said shut up. One more word, and I'll make sure you can't talk at all. We clear?"
Emery pressed her lips together and nodded.
Minutes ticked by. Five. Ten. The man kept checking his phone, his mirrors, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel with increasing agitation.
Then headlights swept across the gravel lot. A silver Mercedes pulled in beside them.
She knew that car. Worse, she knew the owner.
The man got out, circled, and yanked open the rear hatch where Emery sat bound. "Don't even think about screaming."
Emery's heart hammered. Her body trembled. Her mouth grew dry. But heat burned through her veins. The kind of rage that wanted blood. That demanded she rip something apart with her bare hands.
The Mercedes door opened, and Callie Callaway stepped out.
Emery's breath caught. Not from shock—they’d suspected Callie was involved, had known from those text messages that C meant Callie. But seeing her here, seeing her walk toward the SUV in her designer clothes and perfect makeup like this was just another business meeting, made it real in a way that flipped a switch in Emery.
All this to silence her. To make sure a third heir never made a claim on the Callaway estate, regardless of what David Callaway had wanted.
Callie had the audacity to smile. And not just any smile. It was wide, sweet-looking, and almost genuine. She eased into the trunk of the SUV, settling in like she owned the space.
“Well, well, well,” Callie said, in a sing-song voice. “You’ve been a thorn in my side for far too long.”
"You're behind this," Emery said. Not a question. A statement.
“It depends on whatpartyou’re referring to.” Callie picked at the side of her nail, then lifted her gaze with deliberate slowness. "My brother was the mastermind behind getting Harold tohumiliate you. That was all Winston—and while it was a good plan, I did worry it wouldn’t be enough. I warned him that you and Devon had this thing. So, I made sure I was prepared with a contingency plan.” Her manic smile widened. Her eyes lit up.
“You tried to discredit me a second time, and you used Gabe to do it. Why?” Emery wanted answers. She needed them. If she was going to die, she was going to leave knowing.
