Chapter 20
Tyler
Tyler wiped his hands on a shop rag and surveyed the parts spread across the workbench. Three hours of solid work, and he was finally making progress. The familiar rhythm of diagnosis and repair had kept his mind occupied, kept him from checking his phone every five minutes like some lovesick teenager.
Not that he wasn’t lovesick. He definitely was. But he’d left his phone in the office on purpose, forcing himself to focus on work instead of wondering if Brooke had texted.
“I’m heading out,” Robert called from the bay entrance. “The machine’s on, so don’t worry about the phone. Nice to have a slow day today so we can shut down early. You good to lock up?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
“Sue’s making pot roast. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Thanks, but I’m good.” Tyler gestured at the transmission. “I want to finish this up.”
Robert studied him for a moment. “You’ve been working straight through lunch. Everything okay?”
“Fine. Just focused.”
“Uh-huh.” Robert didn’t push, but his expression held a question. “Don’t stay too late. And eat something that isn’t from a vending machine.”
“Yes, sir.”
After Robert left, Tyler allowed himself another thirty minutes before admitting he needed a break. His backached from hunching over the workbench, and his hands were cramping. He needed to call it a day and finish this on Monday. Like Robert said, it was nice to have a slow day once in a while.
He headed to the office, flipping on the light and dropping into the desk chair. His phone sat on the cluttered desk where he’d left it earlier.
Seven missed calls.
Tyler’s stomach dropped. He grabbed the phone and scrolled through the notifications. Three calls from Brooke. Two from Gina. One from a number he didn’t recognize. One from Nick.
His hands shook as he pulled up the voicemails.
He listened to Brooke’s first message: “Hey, it’s me. Can you call me when you get this? It’s important.”
Her voice sounded off. Strained.
Second message: “Tyler, it’s me again. I really need to talk to you. Please call me back.”
More urgent now. Something was wrong.
Tyler’s heart pounded as he listened to Gina’s voicemail.
“Tyler, it’s Gina. Brooke was attacked on the trail this morning. She’s okay, bruised and concussed but okay. She’s at my place, and she’s asking for you. Please call me back.”
The phone slipped from his hand and clattered onto the desk.
Attacked.
Brooke had been attacked.
The note. The threat. This was his fault. Someone had been watching him, had seen him with Brooke, had decided to hurt her because of him.
Tyler grabbed his phone and keys and ran for the truck, his mind racing with fragments of thoughts. Attacked. Concussed. At Gina’s place. Brooke asking for him.
The drive to Gina’s house took less than ten minutes but felt like hours. Every red light was torture, every slow driver an obstacle. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles went white.
Images kept flashing through his mind. Brooke on that trail. Someone grabbing her. Someone hurting her. And he hadn’t been there. Hadn’t protected her. Hadn’t even known she was in danger.
