Mrs. Coleman stares at me like she might fall apart if she blinks. “Why?” she whispers. “Why would he?—”
“Because you told his family no,” I say. “Because he’s entitled. Because he thinks he can force leverage.” My jaw clenches.
Mr. Coleman paces like a caged animal. “We call the police.” He grabs the landline in his hands.
“We have,” I say. “I’ve also called Gray.” I nod. “There’s someone you need to call.”
He glares. “Who?”
“Clay Stroud,” I say.
Mrs. Coleman’s eyes widen. “Why would we callhim?”
“Because either Clay knows and he’s complicit,” I say, “or Clay doesn’t know and his son just went rogue. Either way, Clay’s reaction tells us something. And if he’s smart, he’ll want his son found before this turns into a grave.”
No one argues.
Mr. Coleman dials with hands that shake from fury.
The phone rings.
Once. Twice.
Then a smooth voice answers. “Coleman.”
Mr. Coleman’s voice is ice. “Clay. Where’s my daughter?”
A pause.
“What are you talking about?”
I lean in, close enough to hear every breath.
Mr. Coleman’s voice breaks on the edge of restraint. “Kyle took her. Don’t you lie to me.”
Another pause, longer this time. And then Clay Stroud’s tone shifts—sharp, startled, real. “Kyle?” he says. “Kyle isn’t—” He swallows audibly. “Coleman, I swear to you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. My son is… he’s an idiot, but he wouldn’t?—”
“He would,” I say, stepping closer to the receiver. My voice drops into something steel. “He already did.”
Silence on the line. Then Clay’s voice comes back, quieter. “Who is this?”
“Nash Hawthorne,” I say.
A beat.
“I heard you were dating Delaney,” Clay says, and there’s something wary there now. “This is— this is serious.”
“It’s past serious,” I tell him. “If you’re behind this, you’re done in this town. If you’renotbehind this, you’d better start talking.”
Clay exhales, shaky and angry. “I’m not behind it. I made an offer. A legal offer. I don’t kidnap girls.” His voice hardens. “Kyle has been… unstable lately. He’s been drinking. Acting out. I’ve been trying to rein him in.”
Mr. Coleman’s hands shake so badly the phone rattles. “Where would he take her?”
“I don’t know,” Clay says, and the fear in his voice sounds real now. “But— there’s a place. One of our hunting leases outside of town. A little house on the edge of the quarry road. Kyle used to sneak out there in high school. Parties. Stupid crap. I can give you the address.”
Gray’s text pings my phone at the same time:TEAM EN ROUTE. ETA 5.
I meet Mrs. Coleman’s eyes.
