"Make it thirty if you can. We need our best on this."
I hung up and found Stephy watching me, her playfulness completely gone, replaced by understanding and something else—concern.
“Six-year-old girl got kidnapped,” I said, the words grating like sandpaper on my tongue.
"Go," she said simply, but her hand found mine, squeezing.
"Steph—"
“Missing child trumps everything. Go."
I kissed her, quick but fierce, trying to put everything I couldn't say into it. "I don't know how long?—"
"Doesn't matter. I'll be here." She touched my face, grounding me for a moment, her thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “Go do what you do best.”
I took the fastest shower of my life, scrubbing off sweat, hay, and the scent of her that I already missed. Dressed quickly—dark slacks, pressed button-down, boots polished enough to pass inspection, holster fitted, badge clipped over my heart.
By the time I shrugged into my jacket and checked my weapon, I didn’t look like the man who’d spent the morning tangled up with Stephy in a barn.
I looked like the man the state of Texas expected me to be.
Still, the clothes felt heavier than usual.
Or maybe it was just the weight of walking out that door and leaving her behind.
When I came back out, Stephy was waiting by my truck, arms wrapped around herself despite the warm afternoon.
"Be careful," she said.
"Always am."
"Be extra careful. For me."
Something twisted in my gut—not about the case, but about leaving her. We'd barely been apart since I'd brought her here, and something about this morning, about how happy and free she'd been, made me want to stay.
"Maybe I should?—"
"Go," she said firmly, but I caught the slight tremor in her voice. "That little girl needs you. I'll be fine. I'll work with Poet, maybe plant some veggies, and write some songs. Ivy said she might come by later to check on her breeding program."
"Keep your phone on you."
"I will."
"And stay close to the house."
"Lee." She grabbed my shirt, pulled me down for one more kiss, this one slower, deeper. "I'll be fine. I promise."
But even as she said it, I saw something flicker in her eyes. Fear? Uncertainty? It was gone before I could identify it.
My hand was on the back of her head before I knew it, pulling her into me. I planted a kiss on her forehead, savoring having her in my arms. And sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening that she’d be okay while I was gone.
I drove away, watching her in the rearview mirror as she stood there in those illegal shorts and my stolen hat, waving. The image burned into my memory—Stephy in the afternoon sun, golden and beautiful and mine. The unease grew with every mile I put between us, which was ridiculous. She was on the ranch. She was safe. The stalker was in LA with no idea where she was.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that I should turn around. That I should stay. That something was off, like the calm before the storm, everything too still, too perfect.
Twenty minutes into the drive, I almost called her just to hear her voice, to confirm she was okay. But that was paranoid. She was fine. She was strong. She didn't need me hovering every second. She'd been making such progress, feeling safe even when I wasn't right there.
The missing child case took priority—a scared little girl somewhere, parents going out of their minds with worry. Hannah Sullivan, six years old, who should be safe in her yard playing with dolls, not missing, not taken. That's where I needed to focus.
