Because I knew the scene of an altercation when I saw one.
An end table was overturned. A lamp had been knocked to the ground, the shade bent. A cup of tea had overturned and spilled across the coffee table. And, fuck, was that a streak of blood on the wall?
I moved forward, touching the tea, finding it still warm to the touch.
And, upon closer inspection, yeah, that was definitely blood. But it was impossible to know if it belonged to Steph or the bastard who’d broken into the sanctuary of her home.
Still, I stormed through her apartment, tearing open doors, looking for any signs of her.
There was a fresh towel on the towel holder. And folded pajamas on the counter.
Her heels were peeking out of the trash.
Like she’d been getting ready to take a hot shower.
But there was no sign of her.
“Fuck!” I snarled, standing dumbly in the center of her living room.
It was standing there that my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Thank fuck.
Help.
Backup.
Someone who could help me track Stephanie down and get her back safely.
But it was Steph’s name on my screen.
My gut cramped.
Because it would be a page right out of the kidnapper playbook to call from the victim’s phone.
I picked it up, ignoring the ice in my veins.
“Venezio!” Steph’s voice shrieked. My heart seized.
“Babe, put him—”
“Help,” she cut me off, her voice a choked cry.
“What’s going on?” I asked, hearing my phone ding, knowing the battery was draining.
“He came…”
“Where are you right now? I’m coming for you. Where are you?” I asked, running out of her apartment, slamming the door behind me.
“Central—”
My phone died.
“Goddamnit!” I yelled as I shoved my useless phone back into my pocket while I ran through the lobby of the apartment building.
I shoved open the front door, seeing fat snowflakes drifting wildly down from the sky.
Great.
