I told myself to get a grip and shifted focus to the bookcase where Gage and I had decided to install a motion-activated camera that would alert Rose of an intruder if she wasn’t home—and also, me. Rose could access the system remotely to check inside before coming home. The camera wouldn’t avert someone from breaking in but it would give her peace of mind, and that was priceless. Besides, Gage and I had already installed a truckload of things to avert—and capture—peeping toms.
I walked over to the bookcase and began removing the alphabetized self-help section—an irony that wasn’t lost on me. I picked up a book entitled “Own Your Emotions, Own Your Life,” and stopped cold. The thick book was significantly lighter than the others. I turned it over in my hands and spotted a small, black circle in the spine.
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
Gage was on his feet in an instant. “What?”
I peeled the clear tape from the cover and flipped open the book. The center had been gutted and replaced with a tiny black video recorder. A red light blinked.
“Another one?” My gaze skittered around the shelf. “The internet’s still off.” Gage reminded me. “No way it’s streaming.” I zeroed in on the red, blinking light. “It’s on, though. Whoever implanted it didn’t realize the internet wasn’t on.” My blood turned cold. “And it’s new.” “Since when?” “Since today. This morning. Since Rose and I left for breakfast.” I grabbed my cell phone from the counter. “How do you know?” Gage asked. “I did a detailed check last night after Rose fell asleep. I went through every book in this case. Someone broke in after we’d left this morning. Someone was watching us.” I dialed Rose’s number.
I grabbed my phone and dialed. Ring. Ring. Voicemail.
I swallowed the rising nausea and met Gage’s eyes. “Get your keys.”
We bolted for the door.
The moment we stepped outside, lightning fractured the sky. Rain sheeted around us, thick and blinding. The wind had picked up—howling now, bending trees like matchsticks.
I helped Spirit into the trailer attached to Gage’s truck, hands shaking with urgency.
“Where to?” Gage asked as he climbed into the cab.
“Kline and Associates. Go.”
I hit redial.
Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
I slammed my fist against the dash. “Christ, can this thing go any faster?”
“Not unless we want to hydroplane into a ditch.” Gage’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “We’ll get her.”
“Just get there. Fast.”
Raindrops the size of walnuts pounded the windshield, the wipers struggling to keep up.
Wind swirled around us, beating against the sides of the truck. Debris skipped along the dirt road ahead.
Gage flicked on his headlights. The day had turned to midnight in an instant it seemed, a green-tinted darkness coloring the woods around us.
I couldn’t sit still. My foot tapped. My knee bounced. Every second we weren’t there was a second something could be happening to her. And I couldn’t breathe through that.
I’d promised her. I’d promised myself.
I would never let her down again.
“Turn on the radio,” Gage barked, eyes squinting through the deluge. “Local news.”
I clicked the knob.
”…tornado warning has been issued for Berry Springs and surrounding counties. All residents are advised to take immediate shelter. Do not wait for the sirens. Again, a tornado warning is now in effect?—”
“Dammit…” Gage muttered from the driver’s seat. My brother could single-handedly eliminate a group of tangos with AK47’s, but there was something about tornados that made him jumpy. As if on cue, the truck slid around a flooded corner. Gage and I both looked back at the trailer. Still there.
