“Sheriff,” his voice crackles, too rushed, too clipped. “We’ve had a call from a neighbour. Black SUV parked outside Constance Bishop’s place. Reports of shouting, glass breaking. Possible domestic disturbance.”
My blood goes cold. Not a chill. A freeze that locks every muscle tight.
Constance. Adelaide.
I glance down at Summer—at the woman curled into me, finally breathing easy, finally letting herself rest. My woman, who I swore I’d never fail again.
And yet here I am, staring at the knife-edge of failure.
If I wake her, I rip her peace away. I throw her headfirst back into panic, back into the kind of nightmares I’ve been fighting to burn out of her.
But if I don’t….
My hand shakes against the phone, but my voice doesn’t. “How long ago?”
“It was called in four minutes ago,” Carter answers. “Units enroute, but….” He hesitates, and that hesitation is a death sentence. “Sheriff, neighbour said the SUV was tinted. They didn’t see anyone leave. No plates, either. It’s likely it could be?—”
“Moore,” I snarl. The name tears out of me before I can stop it.
Summer shifts against my chest, murmuring something in her sleep. I freeze. Hold her tighter. Pray she doesn’t wake.
I’m split in half. One side of me is the man she just confessed to loving, the man who swore his world would spin around her. Theother is the sheriff, the predator, the monster who knows the hunt has already come knocking at our door.
And I don’t know how the fuck to tell her.
What do I do? Wake her? Lie to her? Leave her behind and deal with it myself like I did last time?
Every option tastes like blood. But I do the only thing I can think of doing.
Carter’s still in my ear, waiting for orders, but my brain’s already running ten steps ahead. I know these roads like the veins in my hands. If I push my truck, I can get to Constance’s place in under six minutes. Maybe less if I don’t give a shit about the lights.
“Carter,” I bark on a whisper when he answers. “Get Haywood to my house. Now.”
There’s a pause, hesitation on the line. “Sheriff?—”
“Don’t fucking argue. Summer knows him. He’s one of the only men I trust. Tell him I’ll be back in half an hour,” I whisper, making sure she doesn’t hear.
“Sir—”
“Half an hour.” My voice is quiet but steel, final, the kind that doesn’t leave room for anything but obedience.
He swallows whatever argument he has and hangs up.
I turn my gaze back to Summer. She hasn’t stirred. Her face is soft, lips parted, a little crease in her brow like she’s fighting shadows even in sleep. Christ, she’s been through hell. And I’m about to drag her deeper into it if I tell her now.
It’s2:30 a.m.The world outside is dead quiet. The chances of her waking in the next thirty minutes are slim.
I’ll lock every door. Leave the hall light on so it looks like I’m still home. Haywood will park out front in his truck, the sight of it enough to make anyone think twice.
She’ll be safe. She’ll sleep. And I’ll sort this before she even knows there’s a threat.
Because if Moore is at Constance’s house—if he’s waiting there with his hands around the throats of the only two people Summer still has left—then I know exactly how this will play out.
He’ll threaten to kill them. He’ll dangle their lives in front of melike bait, make me hand Summer over in exchange. And here’s the truth I can’t even say out loud. The thought that would scorch me if she ever knew. I’d kill the girls myself before I let Moore touch Summer. I’d snap their necks, bleed them out on the floor, if it meant keeping her safe. Because Summer isn’t just mine. Sheisme. My axis. My obsession. My only reason for breathing.
The night air cuts against my skin as I step onto the porch. It smells like damp earth and woodsmoke, but underneath it all I swear I can taste blood, like my body already knows what’s waiting. I pace once, twice, my boots grinding against the boards, then stop when headlights swing around the corner.
Haywood’s cruiser.
