He grabbed his gun from its holster, the familiar weight both comforting and terrifying. He never wanted to use it. But if it came to that—if Garrick gave him no choice . . .
He pushed the thought away and focused on the trail ahead.
The light was nearly gone, shadows pooling between the trees. He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight, sweeping the beam across the ground.
There. Footprints in the soft earth. Too large to be Millie’s.
And beside them, smaller prints.
Small enough to be Biscuit’s.
His jaw clenched.
He followed the trail, Hamilton at his side. He moved quickly, straining to hear any sound.
Behind him, he heard the rumble of an engine. Headlights swept across the property.
Wyatt’s truck.
Caleb backtracked to the driveway. Wyatt was already out, Thunder at his side.
“What happened?” Wyatt asked, clipping a long lead to Thunder’s harness.
“I think Millie’s ex found her.”
Wyatt’s expression hardened. He knelt beside Thunder as Max returned with a sweatshirt he’d grabbed from Millie’s room. “Thunder, search.”
The dog sniffed the fabric, his tail going rigid. Then his head snapped up, nose working the air.
“Search,” Wyatt repeated.
Thunder pulled forward, his body tense with purpose.
They moved into the woods, Thunder leading the way. Caleb kept his flashlight trained on the ground ahead and his weapon ready at his side.
Every second felt like an eternity.
Please let Millie be okay. Please.
They sprinted deeper into the forest.
Were they still out here?
What if Garrick had a car waiting? If he’d somehow left town with her?
His pulse pounded harder.
Please, Lord. Keep her safe.
They kept moving at a fast pace, following Thunder’s lead.
The dog suddenly stopped, his ears pricking forward. A low growl rumbled in his chest.
Then Caleb heard it.
Voices.
Someone was out here.
