Vivi slides next to Henrik, jotting notes. Mom grabs a water bottle and presses it into my hands, like hydration will fix the hole in my chest.
“He wouldn’t risk flying her out,” Dad mutters as he paces and rubs his hands together in thought. “Too much exposure.”
“Wouldn’t drive far either,” Henrik adds. “Gives too much of a chance for Willow to fight, and it sounds like she’s a fighter. He needs control. Somewhere close.”
“Somewhere private,” Mormor says with that scratchy voice.
“Lucky,” Mom says, hesitation in her words. “I have to ask it: would he hurt her?”
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
My heart goes off in my chest like Thor’s hammer against my ribs.
Would he hurt her? Yes. He already has. The real question is: would PhoenixkillWillow?
“He’s taken her,” I say as my pulse pounds in my ears. I stare at the floor, trying to keep myself from spinning off. “We’ve gone after him. He knows what this is now. So, yes, I think he would.”
Henrik curses and works faster.
Five minutes later, even though there’s no way he should have been able to get there in anything less than seven minutes, Einar’s call comes through to Dad’s phone.
“Mother fucker’s house is empty,” he breathes. “This guy’s a rich asshole, isn’t he? Likes leopard print.”
I actually chuckle at that. “I wouldn’t know about the leopard print, but yes,” I confirm.
“He isn’t here,” my uncle confirms. I hear his heavy footsteps as he walks through Phoenix’s house. “I’ll call you from his clinic.”
Except it’s empty too.
Willow’s tarot shop is locked.
And no one is home at Willow’s house.
Each one hits harder than the last.
I’m pacing again. My head feels like it’s going to split open. Mom tries to stop me—“Lucky, your ribs might be broken. Sit down,”—but I can’t. If I stop moving, I’ll start screaming.
Henrik curses under his breath. “The guy’s smart. Covers his tracks pretty good.”
“But he’s arrogant,” Dad counters. “That’s his flaw. He’ll think he’s invisible.”
Vivi flips through her notes. “Einar, I’ve got some addresses for you to check. Some registered business properties. He’s got more than the clinic—small holdings, storage lots, rentals under different LLCs.”
“Send them,” Einar says through the phone. “I’ll keep checking.”
Minutes stretch into an hour. Every new update—nothing.
Finally, after what feels like a fucking eternity, Henrik looks up from the laptop. “Wait.”
We all freeze.
“There’s a property registered under one of Phoenix’s shells,” he says, scrolling fast. “Just over an hour outside the city. The middle of nowhere. It’s not listed under his personal name, but under his company’s insurance.”
Vivi’s already pulling it up on Google Maps. “Private road. Lake nearby. Only one structure for miles. It’s a cabin.”
