“I’m going to need everyone to calm down,” The deputy says, his tone gruff. “Just why do you think Mrs. Calloway is missing?”
“Sheismissing.” I grind out.
“Roman,” Remy steps away from the officer, “Wright never handed in the evidence. He never submitted the report. There was no warrant.He set us up.”
I feel the blood drain from my face, but I can’t figure out the connection. Why would he do that? What the fuck does he gain?
It’s not important right now; whatisimportant is figuring out where the hell she is and getting my wife back. Pushing past the deputy, I head back to Silas’s truck, getting behind the wheel with them following.
There’s only one place to start.
Time ticks down, my heart thumping as the world rushes by in a blur, Knight Falls Ranch passing by and then I swerve the truck, following the narrow drive toward the crumbling ranch house that’s been fucking haunting me for the past twelve years.
A silver truck sits out front, and brown fields stretch on either side, not a single animal in sight, no livestock, no horses or even fucking chickens. It’s as desolate as my father’s soul.
My legs eat up the distance between the truck and the door, and the wood creaks and splinters as my boot meets it. One kick. Two, the frame snaps and the door swings open, smacking against the back wall. A shrill scream meets my ears as a woman comes running down the stairs, her hair somewhere between blonde and gray, creases at the edges of her eyes and mouth.
“Who are you!?” She cries.
“Where the fuck is she?” I growl at her.
“Who?”
“My wife!” I don’t wait for an answer as I go looking myself, forcing my way through the house as I yank open doors but find the house empty, as withered and bleak as the land beyond the windows. “Niamh!” I yell her name.
“I don’t know anyone by that name!” The woman chases after me. “Who are you?”
I spin on her. “Where’s Jenson?” I demand instead.
“I haven’t seen him for days.” Her wide eyes hold mine. “Please, what has he done? Is he in trouble?”
A picture beyond her frail frame catches my attention. There’s three people in it. My father, this woman and… Oscar Wright.
“How do you know this man?” I point to him as I snatch the frame off the table. “Tell me!” I roar when she doesn’t answer.
“That’s my son!” She finally answers on a sob.
Dread sinks in low, making me want to double over and vomit.
It was both of them. All along.
The frame slips out of my hand and hits the wooden floor, glass shattering.
I look up to see both my brothers staring; I know they heard. There’s a ringing in my ears, and I can feel my pulse thumping in my throat.
“I need you to tell us everything you know,” Silas takes control, “Any cabins you have, any places you think they could have gone.”
“Why?” The woman asks. “What’s happening?”
“Your husband has my wife,” I stutter out, “Please. Where are they?”
For a long moment, silence settles like a dead weight around us, making the air feel heavy, suffocating.
“My son,” She swallows, “He has a hunting lodge, about five miles from here.”
I meet Silas’s eyes, desperation and straight fear weighing down every bone in my body. She writes the location down on the back of an overdue bill, and hands it to me.
“Don’t hurt them,” The woman begs, “Please.”
