"And yet, no results," Bruce observed dryly.
"I can imagine it wouldn’t look good for him, his son losing a Consort." The words hit like a physical blow. Five weeks ago, I might have hesitated, might have had to examine my own motives. But now?
"It’s not like that. I love her," I said simply, the words feeling strange and raw on my tongue. "I didn't realise how much until she was gone. I've made mistakes, unforgivable ones. But I want her back safe because the world is emptier without her in it, not because of what it means for me or my family name." Something shifted in Bruce's expression, not softening, exactly, but a reassessment.
"Good," he said, though whether he believed me or not was impossible to tell. "Because I'm going to need all of you if we're going to find her. Every connection, every resource, every scrap of information." He turned to Blake. "Even you, Dominic. I know you keep tabs on the depraved side of the elite world." Blake inclined his head in acknowledgment.
"I'll see what I can discover. For a price, of course." Bruce's smile was all teeth.
"The price is that I don't remove your spine through your throat, old friend." To my surprise, Blake actually laughed. "Fair enough."
“There is one more person I am bringing in,” Bruce said as he reached for his phone again, punching in a number with deliberate precision.
"It's me," he said into the receiver, his voice transformed, colder, more brutal, the voice of a man who had made hardened criminals tremble. "Remember that favour you owe me? I'm calling it in now." I heard a voice on the other end, but couldn’t make out the words. “I don’t give a shit, Lynch. It’s Cade, she’s in trouble.” He listened for a moment, then ended the call without another word.
Bruce turned back to us, his expression grim. "I want a full account of everything that's happened since Cade became your Consort. Every detail, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. Starting with exactly what went down at thatAlumni Dinner with her mother." I exchanged glances with Cole and Ryder. The full story would implicate us in countless ways, expose our cruelty and failures. But if it helped find Cade, nothing else mattered.
"It's a long story," Cole warned.
"Then you'd better start talking," Bruce said, lowering himself into a chair for the first time since entering the room. "Because until I have my granddaughter back, none of you are going anywhere."
Flickering code reflected in the darkness of my bedroom, the blue light casting eerie shadows across the walls. I hadn't opened the blinds in weeks. What was the point? The outside world held nothing for me while Cade remained missing. Each day that passed made it more likely we'd never find her. Or worse, that when we did, it would be her cold, dead body. I shookmy head violently, trying to dislodge the image. I couldn't think like that. She was alive. She had to be.
Sebastian Lynch stood behind me like a statue, arms folded across his chest, watching as I frantically tapped at the keyboard. The man Bruce Turner had called in to help. If it had been any other time, I would have been fucking high as hell at the prospect of working with Sebastian Lynch. He was legendary in certain circles, ruthless, brilliant, and utterly merciless when crossed. Even my father kept his distance. Yet here he was, silently judging me as I tried to trace the fake texts sent from what appeared to be Cade's phone. He was here watching me fail in the worst possible moment of my life.
"Another fucking dead end," I muttered, running my hands through my unwashed hair. I hadn't showered in days, and barely slept. The screen taunted me with another collapsed trace route. "Spoofed IP address, routed through servers in Moscow, China, and fucking Ecuador before disappearing." Lynch said nothing, which somehow made it worse. At least Logan and Cole would have offered hollow reassurances. Lynch just watched, those cold eyes taking in every twitch, every failure.
"They're good," I said, more to fill the silence than anything else. "Burner phones, VPNs, encryption. Professional setup."
"If you're hoping for me to pat your back and tell you that you're doing your best, you're going to be disappointed," Lynch finally said, his voice clipped and emotionless. I ignored him, focusing on the next attempt. Someone, someone with resources and technical skill, had been sending fake texts to Cade's grandparents for months. Whoever it was, they were almost certainly the same person who'd sent her those threatening notes, who'd tried to attack her at Halloween, who'd eventually taken her. I'd been chasing digital ghosts for weeks, and every time I got close, they slipped through my fingers like smoke.
The code scrolled by, another trace attempt failing spectacularly. A wall of red error messages flashed across the screen.
"FUCK!" I grabbed my half-empty whiskey glass and hurled it against the wall, glass shattering and liquid spraying across my gaming posters. The sudden violence did nothing to ease the pressure building in my chest. "Every fucking trail goes cold! Every single one!" Lynch didn't even flinch at my outburst.
"Are you done acting like a child yet?" I rounded on him, rage bubbling up hot and thick in my throat.
"A child? Do you have any idea what this is like? Every second I waste here is another second she's-" I couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't voice the horrors playing on a loop in my mind. "I'm failing her. I'm fucking failing, and she's out there somewhere, and I can't reach her. I'm losing her!" My voice cracked on the last words, raw with desperation. Lynch regarded me coolly.
"With that attitude? Yeah. Probably."
Something in me snapped. I lunged up from my chair, getting right in his face.
"You don't understand what it's like to watch the person you love disappear, to know you're not enough, that you're too fucking late, that she's suffering because you weren't good enough to protect her!"
"I understand all too fucking well." There was something in his voice that made me pause. A darkness, a razor-sharp edge that cut through my manic energy. I took a step back, finally seeing the predator beneath the composed exterior.
"My wife was taken," Lynch said, each word measured and precise. "Three years ago. A sick bastard who'd been obsessed with her for years finally made his move. He had been manipulating both of us for years. Manipulations that mademe do fucking awful things to the woman I love. And then he fucking took her, right out from under me, at a fucking party." I swallowed, suddenly uneasy. Lynch never spoke about his personal life. The fact that he was doing so now made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"I found her," he continued, his eyes fixed on some point over my shoulder. "In an underground hellhole. Being violated in the worst ways imaginable." His face remained impassive, but something flickered in his eyes, a flash of such pure, concentrated rage that it made my own anger seem childish in comparison. "I killed that bastard that night. I would have burned the fucking world down to find my girl, anything less and it’s not love, it’s a mild infatuation."
The silence that followed was deafening. I couldn't speak, couldn't move. The raw confession had stripped away all my defences.
"So don't tell me I don't understand," Lynch said quietly. "I understand better than most what it is to hunt monsters who take what's yours." I sank back into my chair, properly chastened.
"I didn't know," I muttered. "About your wife."
"Few do." Lynch stepped closer to the monitors, scanning the code. "And those who do know better than to mention it. But here's what I learned from that experience, Purcell: I know every detail about my wife now. Every word she's ever used, every habit, every preference. I track her phone. I know her schedule by heart. I have cameras installed in our house, in her studio. Some would call it obsessive. I call it survival."
