I think about yesterday. How she'd smiled when I called her Shortie, like maybe the nickname meant something to her too. The way she'd leaned into me for just a heartbeat when I'd trapped her against the supply cabinet, like maybe she wanted to be caught. How I'd almost kissed her but chickened out because I'm a coward who thinks he doesn't deserve good things.
Should've kissed her. Should've told her she makes me want to quit drinking, quit running, quit being such a royal fuckup. Should've done a lot of things.
My phone buzzes. Text from Beau:Nothing on main road. Checking side roads.
Then Gabriel:No sign on eastern routes. Expanding search.
Twenty minutes of nothing. Thirty. Each second stretches like taffy, and I'm about to turn around, try another route, when I spot fresh tire marks veering off onto a side trail I almost missed.
Heart hammering, I follow them. The tracks are erratic, too fast for these conditions. Like someone was running scared.
Or being chased.
Then I see it, and my world tilts sideways.
The van sits crumpled against a massive pine like a broken toy, front end accordioned, airbag hanging out like a deflated lung.
Driver door gapes open like a scream.
My vision tunnels, narrows to that destroyed vehicle and what it might mean.
I'm out of my truck before it fully stops, boots hitting gravel at a dead run. Gabriel's number is already dialing as I sprint toward the wreckage.
"Found the van. Side road off the forestry trail, quarter mile past the old Mitchell place." My voice sounds like I've been gargling gravel.
"On my way. Don't touch anything."
"She's not here." The words crack like whipcords as I reach the van, taking in the systematic destruction.
Seats ripped out, panels torn off, everything mangled with the methodical fury. "Someone tore it apart looking for something. There's blood on the steering wheel."
"Crime scene. Keep back. Two minutes out."
Two minutes might as well be two centuries.
I circle the van like a wolf, careful not to disturb evidence but desperate for any sign of Lucy. That's when I spot them. Footprints in the soft earth. Multiple sets, including smaller ones that have to be hers.
"Lucy!" Her name rips from my throat like it's tearing something vital. "Lucy, can you hear me?"
Nothing but mountain silence and the whisper of wind through pine needles.
Beau's truck roars up the trail, and he's out before it stops rolling. Takes in the scene with one sweep of those sharp gray eyes that don't miss much.
"Jesus Christ." It comes out more prayer than curse. "What the hell happened?"
"Someone chased her." I point to the footprints leading into the woods.
We don't need a committee meeting. We both plunge into the trees, following the trail of broken branches and disturbed earth like bloodhounds. Behind us, sirens announce Gabriel's arrival, but we don't wait for backup.
"Lucy!" Beau's voice carries farther than mine, ranch-trained to project across acres. "Lucy, it's us! You're safe now!"
The trail leads to a ravine, steep and treacherous as hell. My stomach drops into my boots when I see where the footprints end. Where the earth is torn up like something heavy went over the edge.
"No." The word comes out strangled. "No, no, fucking no."
"There!" Beau points down the slope, voice cracking. "Movement. I saw movement down there."
We're both scrambling down before Gabriel can tell us to wait. Rocks scatter under our boots, branches tear at our clothes like claws, but nothing matters except that splash of blue at the bottom. Dark hair. Too goddamn still.
