Adriana Serrano.Helped to traffic pills through a university club. Protected by her sister who destroyed evidence to prevent Adriana from being charged.
Colt’s chest tightened as he reached the last three photos. His own face stared back at him. So did Harlan’s. And then Brenna’s.
No captions. No typed out crimes. Only one line beneath each.
You stood in the way of justice.
Colt heard Brenna’s sharp exhale behind him. Harlan’s quiet curse followed. The air felt colder in this room, the weight of judgment pressing down from every photo.
Harlan let out a low curse, stepping closer to the wall of photos. “This is it,” he said. “This is the motive. This is why the hostages at Timberline were killed.”
They hadn’t known that for sure until now. Some of the info had surfaced later during the investigation. Background checks flagged a few things. But none of it was enough. Not to justify what had been done to them. Kidnapped, tortured.
Murdered.
Colt’s gaze landed on Zachary Grayson’s picture again. “It was vigilante justice. Someone decided those people didn’t deserve a trial. That they only deserved punishment.”
“And according to that list. Some of their families are next,” Harlan said, voice grim.
Brenna nodded, her expression hard. “Because to whoever’s doing this, protecting them is just as bad as committing the crimes they committed.”
Colt turned away from the wall and looked toward the bedroom doorway, his instincts shifting. This was no longer about defense. This was a hunt. And they were already behind.
“Leah’s not here,” Colt said, his voice low.
“No,” Brenna murmured. “But someone else obviously was, and they took their time, getting this all right for us to see.”
And they had made their message clear.
Colt turned away from the wall of photos, unease burning a hole through his gut.
“Where the hell is Leah?” he muttered, scanning the bedroom again. “If the killer had her, why not leave a message? A taunt? Something?”
Brenna moved toward the closet, checking it with quick, practiced efficiency. Empty.
Harlan lifted the bed skirt, crouched, then straightened. “Nothing. Not a drop of blood in here either. Just the display.”
Colt’s mind ran circles. Was the plan to take Leah somewhere? To gather all the family members in one place like the original Timberline hostages? Maybe even gather Colt, Brenna, and Harlan, too? And then what… execute them together?
He didn’t have the answers. Not yet.
But he knew Leah Grayson was in danger. That much was clear.
He pulled out his phone and sent a quick, clipped message to Noah:Leah Grayson’s missing. Could you get local cops you trust on this?
The screen lit up with Noah’s typing bubble, but Colt didn’t wait to read it. He turned back to the others.
“Let’s do a full perimeter search,” he said. “Front and back.”
They moved fast but carefully, retracing their steps through the kitchen. Colt’s gaze swept the windows, the corners, every inch of shadow as they passed through.
He pushed open the back door, stepping out first. His boot crunched over something sharp. He paused, tilted the light from his phone down, and frowned.
Broken glass.
Colt shifted his foot and saw the source. The light above the door had been shattered. Not by accident.
“This door was jimmied,” Harlan said, crouching to inspect the splintered edge near the deadbolt.
