“Fuck!” I knew we should have stayed home.
The festival. Where she'd been so happy, so normal, so free. And it had led him right to her.
Another call. Sheriff Cooper again. "Convenience store footage from Archer City. Dark Honda, matching the stolen vehicle. Heading north on County Road 87 about forty-five minutes ago."
North. I mentally mapped the area. Isolated. Rural. Perfect for someone who wanted privacy.
"What's up there?"
"Not much. Few farms. That old resort that closed in '08."
The resort. Abandoned buildings. Including—my blood went cold—a wedding chapel. The Whispering Pines Wedding Chapel,where hundreds of couples had gotten married before the economy killed the resort.
The white dress. The wedding chapel.
"That's it. That's where he's taking her."
"Walker, wait for backup. FBI tactical team can be there in?—"
I hung up. Pushed the truck harder, engine screaming, temperature gauge climbing toward red. The speedometer hit one-twenty and stayed there.
Levvett called back. "Walker, more on Fitzgerald. He's dangerous. Previous targets reported feeling watched for months before he made contact. He builds elaborate fantasies, believes the women are sending him secret messages through their work."
"How does it end?"
"We don't know. The women always got restraining orders, increased security. He'd disappear, find a new target. But Stevie—she's been his focus for at least three years. We found archived websites, thousands of photos, analyzed lyrics. He believes they're meant to be together."
Three years. This sick bastard had been fixated on her for three years, and now he had her.
"If he's had her for over an hour—" Levvett started.
"Don't," I cut her off. "Don't tell me statistics. Don't tell me probabilities. She's alive. She's fighting. And I'm going to get her back."
One hour and twenty-eight minutes to the resort at this speed. Eighty-eight minutes while she was with him, while he enacted whatever sick fantasy he'd constructed.
The blood at the scene. Wyatt said there was blood.
She'd fought. Of course, she'd fought. My brave, fierce girl would have fought with everything she had.
"Hold on, baby," I said to the empty truck. "Just hold on. I'm coming."
My phone rang constantly—Baker ordering me to wait, Levvett updating tactical team positions, Owen trying to be the voice of reason. I ignored them all.
County Road 87 stretched ahead, empty and dark. The moon was full, painting everything silver and shadow. Five miles to the resort. Four. Three.
There—the broken entrance gate, the sign readingWhispering Pines Resortbarely visible under years of vine growth.
I turned off my headlights, driving by moonlight alone. The access road was cracked, weeds growing through asphalt, but fresh tire tracks cut through the overgrowth.
He was here. She was here.
Chapter 19
Liam
I pulled off the road and killed the engine at the broken gate, my heart slamming so hard it felt like it might crack my ribs from the inside. Every second I stood still was another second she was with him. Another second she was scared. Hurt. Alone.
I forced myself to breathe once—sharp, controlled—then stepped out and scanned the ground for tracks.
