Grinder’s mouth twists. “I can’t tell you that yet. But I can tell you where it was.”
The room goes silent.
Grinder points at a map on the screen. “First call—Reeves’ inbound—originated from a tower near the hospital. Second call—this morning—originated from a tower near the spot where her car was dumped.”
My skin crawls.
They were there.
They were right there.
And they called Reeves.
Why? To taunt him? To use him? To check something? To make sure he’d look guilty? Or because Reeves is connected to someone connected—My mind tries to build a conspiracy out of thin air. I force it down.
Wrath’s voice is calm but edged. “Can you track the burner now?”
Grinder shakes his head. “It hasn’t lit up again.”
Smoke pushes off the wall. “Then we find the van. Dove is running the partial plate with his guy.”
Wrath nods once. “We find the van.”
I can’t stand the words. Find. Track. Wait. Danae is out there right now, and time is the enemy. I step closer to Grinder. “What about her phone?”
Grinder looks at me carefully. “Her phone went dark about the same time the car died.”
“They took it,” I state hoping it’s near her and will come back online soon.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Or it died with the car. But either way—no pings.”
I clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache. “Then how do we?—”
A crash of female laughter from the back room makes me flinch. Women who aren’t in this moment. Men who haven’t fallen in love with a woman they didn’t mean to love or drag into a world she was never meant to be in.
Wrath notices. “Miles,” he says, and his tone changes—less command, more grounded. “We’re gonna get her.”
My hands curl into fists. “You don’t know that.”
Wrath holds my stare. “I know what we do in this town when somebody takes one of ours.”
The word ours hits me like a blow. Because she is mine now. Not property in the traditional sense. Not possession. Something else. Something bigger.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
For one wild second I think it’s her. I yank it out so fast I nearly drop it.
Josie.
I answer without thinking. “Josie.”
Her voice is tight, controlled the way it gets when she’s scared but refusing to fall apart. “Miles. Grandpa’s okay.”
Relief slices through me so sharp I almost stagger.
“Where is he?” I demand.
“He’s got a neighbor who came over,” she says. “A deputy came by, they’re keeping someone with him and arranging caregivers from the home health company until I can get there and sort a better schedule.”
