What happened to her?
Scenarios spin through my mind in a dizzying frenzy.
Was she triggered into a flashback?
Did she remember something new? Something her attacker said or did to her?
Or worse?—
Fuck.
“The alarms didn’t go off,” Ace says, but he doesn’t sound reassured by it. And neither am I. Because I know that no matter how carefully you plan, something can always go sideways.
Couldsomeone have gotten inside? Somehow bypassed the extensive security while we were all sitting in our meeting, never imagining the threat we’ve been investigating was here?
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Bea’s supposed to besafe.
As I near the door to Bea’s apartment, a terrified moan comes from the other side of it.
Fear and relief hit me at once.
She’s alive.
But what if she’s hurt?
“Tyler’s coming,” Ace reports. His gaze is glued to his phone, but he doesn’t miss a step. “Rafe’s getting Eden in the panic room, then he’ll be on his way.”
“Maybe it’s nothing,” Webb offers. But it’s clear he doesn’t believe it.
It takes three tries to get the damn access code right. With each failed entry, my fear keeps growing.
It feels surreal. Only five minutes prior, we were walking back to our apartments, chatting about our predictions for the Super Bowl and what food we should have while we’re watching it. I was thinking—hoping, really—that Bea would still be here for it. Not that I want her to still need our protection by then, but the idea of her sitting beside me, maybe even clutching my hand for the exciting parts…
I like the mental image of it. A lot.
But instead.
She’s in there. In trouble. While I’m out in the hallway, fucking around with this stupid keypad when I should be inside already.
“It might just be a flashback,” Webb suggests. “If she hasn’t had them yet, it’s only a matter of time.”
He’s right. And I should have done something about it already. Arranged for some virtual therapy for her. Even though she’s in hiding, we know people who’d help without involving the police.
Cursing under my breath, I punch in the code a third time. And finally—finally—the damn thing works.
It still takes a few more seconds for the interior locks to deactivate, each one releasing with a tiny click. Then I yank the door open and race inside, ignoring all the tactics drilled into me in the Army.
Never enter an unknown environment without a plan. Have a weapon in hand, if possible. Surveil your surroundings.Communicate with your team. Be logical about it. Because impulsiveness can get you killed.
But how can I wait?
When Bea’s in here—shit.Shit.
Across the living room, I spot cookies half-made on the island. A mixing bowl sits unattended with parchment-lined baking trays beside them. Beyond the island, the oven display is lit up, displaying the temperature at four hundred degrees. The phone Tyler gave Bea lies unattended on the sleek granite.
My training kicking in, I jerk my head at Ace, signaling him to search the short hallway that leads to the bedrooms. To Webb, I angle my chin towards the half-bath off the living room, where a closed door could be hiding anything.
