Not her. Not Stephy.
“She was alone,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. My throat was tight, strangled. “I left her alone. I told her she was safe. I promised her?—”
The memory sliced through me like a blade:
You’re safe. You’re with me now. I’ll always come for you.
Lies. All of them lies.
Cold fury flooded my veins, sharp enough to cut. It was the only thing keeping me standing.
Owen’s voice shook. “Son, we’re searching. Every unit in the county is here—we’re on it.”
No. They didn’t understand. They couldn’t.
This wasn’t a case.
This was the monster from my childhood come back to life. This was fate spitting in my face. This was the universe testing whether a boy who once couldn’t save anyone had grown into a man who could.
“I’m leaving,” I said, the words raw and final.
“Liam—”
I was already moving. Already unraveling. Already becoming the version of myself I’d sworn I’d never have to be again—the one born the night my parents died.
The one forged in helplessness. And terror. And the promise that I wouldneverbe too far away to save someone I loved again.
Except I was. And now the person who meant the most to me was gone.
“Fuck!” The word ripped from me with the force of a man losing everything.
I punched the wall, my fist going through the drywall like it was paper. Pain flared up my arm, but it was nothing compared to the agony ripping through my chest. Then I punched it again. And again. Until Baker grabbed my arm.
"Walker! What the hell?—"
I ripped my arm out of his grasp, stumbling back. ”I need every resource we have," I said, blood dripping from my knuckles, voice deadly calm. "My girlfriend's been abducted. Steph—Stevie Wilson, the country singer. The stalker from the LA case. He has maybe an hour head start."
Bakers's face went from confused to grim in a heartbeat. "Done. Whatever you need."
I was already moving, heading for my truck, phone pressed to my ear with my bloody hand. "Wyatt, tell me everything. Every detail. Don't leave anything out."
As he talked, describing the scene, the shattered lamp, the blood smear at shoulder height—Jesus, he'd slammed her into a wall—I started making calls on my work phone, juggling both devices.
"This is Ranger Walker, badge number 4782," I barked at dispatch. "I need immediate mobilization. Code red. Officer’s family member abducted."
"Confirming code red?—"
"Confirmed. Victim is Stephanie Wilson, thirty-one, five-foot-five, blonde hair, green eyes.” My throat nearly closed as I spat out her description, while racing to my truck. “Goes by Stevie Wilson. Yes, the singer. Suspect is unknown. Consider armed and extremely dangerous."
"Description of vehicle?” the dispatcher asked.
"Unknown. Check all traffic cameras, stolen vehicle reports from the last week. He would have needed transportation."
I was driving now, truck engine screaming as I pushed it past one hundred. Every second counted. Every second he had her was one too many.
Baker’s voice crackled through the radio. "Roadblocks going up on all major routes."
"He won't take major routes. He's planned this. Check back roads, farm roads, anything isolated, he can't have gone far."
