"I know what it looks like when someone tries to manipulate you. I've been a target for gold diggers and social climbers since the day I turned eighteen and inherited my first trust fund."
The words come out measured, deliberate.
"Lucy never asked me for anything. Not once." I can hear the incredulity in my own voice, the bewilderment of a man who's spent years having his wallet targeted by every pretty face that crossed his path.
Colt nods emphatically, his pacing finally slowing. "She worked her ass off at my clinic."
"And she flinched every time I mentioned background checks," Gabriel adds, his voice getting quieter as the pieces start falling into place. "Not because she was hiding something criminal. Because she was terrified of being found."
The truth is assembling itself in front of us like a puzzle we should have solved before.
The silence that follows is different from before. Heavier. Loaded with the weight of understanding that comes too late to matter.
"So what do we do now?" Colt asks, looking between Gabriel and me with the desperate hope of a man drowning in his own mistakes. "They're probably halfway to some facility by now. Some place where they can lock her up and throw away the key."
"We go after her," I say, the words coming out with surprising firmness. "We bring her home where she belongs."
Gabriel runs a hand through his hair, and I can see the cop warring with the man who loves her.
"It's not that simple, Beau. Richard Kensington has legal guardianship. Court orders. Official documentation. We can't just..."
His phone rings, cutting through his protest like a blade. He glances at the caller ID and frowns. "Unknown number."
"Take it," I say. "Could be important."
Gabriel swipes to answer, his voice automatically shifting into professional mode. "Sheriff Maddox."
I can't hear the other end of the conversation, but I watch Gabriel's face go through a series of expressions. Confusion, recognition, then something that looks like pure horror.
"Matthew Carter?" Gabriel says, his voice sharpening with attention. "Yeah, I left you a message about Lucy. About Lucinda." A pause that seems to stretch forever. "Yes… I know she is Lucinda Kensington-Reid. Her uncle was here just now—"
Something he is saying alarms Gabriel. He puts the phone on speaker before I can ask what, and suddenly a young man's voice fills the kitchen, scared, urgent, desperate.
"...Sheriff, I don't know what you think you know about Lucinda, but whatever Richard Kensington told you is complete bullshit. She was never mentally ill. She was imprisoned at Rosewood because she was inconvenient, not because she was unstable."
My blood turns to ice water in my veins. "Who is this?"
"Matty Carter. I was at Rosewood with Lucinda. We escaped together two years ago." His voice cracks with emotion. "That place isn't a hospital, Sheriff. It's a prison for rich kids whose families want them to disappear."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Rosewood. The place her uncle claimed was helping her. The place he said she needed to return to for treatment.
It was a prison. And we just sent her back to it.
Gabriel leans forward, his sheriff's instincts kicking in even as his personal world crumbles. "That's a serious accusation, son. You're talking about kidnapping, false imprisonment..."
"I'm talking about the truth," Matty's voice cuts through the static, raw with desperation. "Lucindas's uncle had her committed because she was about to turn eighteen and inherit billions. He wanted control of the money, and she was inconvenient."
The words slam into me like a freight train. Billions. Lucy.Lucinda, is worth billions, and she was living in a beat-up van.
"The records showed..." Gabriel starts, but Matty cuts him off.
"Sheriff," Matty continues, his voice cracking with urgency, "if Lucinda is with him now, she's in real danger. He's not taking her to get help. He's taking her somewhere to finish what he started."
Colt is already moving, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair with sharp, jerky movements. "We need to go. Right now."
We pile into Gabriel’s patrol car, the big diesel engine rumbling to life with a sound like controlled thunder. He already has his radio in hand, coordinating with dispatch to track the SUV's route. Colt sits in the back, his leg bouncing with nervous energy, hands clenched into fists.
Gabriel pushes the patrol car hard down, the speedometer climbing past eighty as we race through ranch country. Fence posts blur past the windows, cattle scattering as we roar by with sirens blaring and lights flashing.
