It should’ve been a relief.
Instead, it felt like the moment right before a storm breaks.
My phone buzzed against the clipboard, and the name on the screen tightened every muscle in my back.
Holt.
He didn’t call me at the brewery unless it was an emergency, and Holt didn’t spook easily. He’d stared down blizzards, wildfires, a bull with a bad attitude, and a broken gate. He walked into disaster with a calm face more times than I could count.
So when I answered and said, “What’s happened,” and he didn’t immediately say anything, my chest went cold.
“Where are you?” Holt asked.
“At work,” I said, already moving toward my office. “Talk.”
His breath came through the line like he’d been jogging. “Dani called.”
The name hit like a stone. “Why’s she calling you?”
“Because she couldn’t get you,” Holt said sharply. “And she can’t get Tessa.”
I stopped walking. The back hallway blurred for a second, not because I didn’t understand the words but because my body refused to accept them.
“What do you mean she can’t get her?” I asked, keeping my voice steady on purpose. Panic was loud. Panic was useless. I needed details.
“I mean, Tessa left for work this morning, and she hasn’t come back,” Holt said. “No answer. No text. Nothing. Dani’s tried. I’ve tried. I drove by the Callahan place twice, and she wasn’t there. The house is locked. The yard’s empty. The barn doors are shut.”
“Did she take her truck?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Holt said. “Ray’s old truck. It was gone from the yard.”
A thin sliver of relief tried to slide in. Then Holt added, “Wyatt, she’s not the kind to disappear without a fight. Not with everything she’s up against.”
“No,” I said quietly. “She’s not.”
I stood there long enough for the brewery’s hum to feeltoo distant. I could picture her, jaw set, hands tight on the steering wheel, refusing help because pride felt safer than need. I could picture her doing exactly what she’d said she’d do, finishing errands even when her nerves were raw, just to prove she could still function.
I could also picture a man sitting in the wrong place at the wrong time, watching her like prey, waiting for a moment when her guard dipped.
My hand tightened around my phone. “Where are you?”
“In my truck,” Holt said. “Halfway to town.”
“Come to the brewery. Call Evan and Travis, I want eyes on every road that leads out, but I want it done smart.”
Holt didn’t argue. “On it.”
I hung up and went into my office, shutting the door behind me. The room was small, the kind of space built for paperwork and quick conversations. I stared at my desk for a second, then grabbed my keys, my wallet, and the charger I kept in the top drawer. My hand hovered over the landline, because part of my brain still believed I could call Ray and ask him what the hell to do.
Ray was gone.
So it was on me.
I called Dani before I could second-guess it. She answered on the first ring, voice too tight, like she’d been holding her breath for an hour.
“Wyatt,” she said, and the way she said my name was different now. Less venom, more fear.
“Where are you?” I asked.
