Page 14 of The Ashes of Summer

"We go to the station," I say. "Pull everything—anything you can find on Rivers Ridge."

Carter nods. "We'll check old case files. See if there's any info."

"Patterns matter," I say. "Men like him don't improvise as much as they think they do."

Because that helicopter—that wasn't random. That was planned. Timed. Prepared. I know if I make a hasty decision he’ll have another plan, and another.

"We'll check flight logs too. Private landings."

"Chase the FAA," I add. "Follow it until something breaks." Because every second we sit here—he's taking her further away.

"And Benny. Whoever the fuck he is." Carter asks.

"I want my face to be the first thing he sees when he wakes up."

A grim smile pulls at his mouth. The truck turns back onto the road. The town sleeps around us. Somewhere out there—Summer is still breathing. I hold onto that like it's the only thing keeping me upright.

She's alive. She's waiting. She's fighting.

And every second she's away from me cuts deeper into my soul.

My teeth grind hard enough to ache. Let him believe he has time because while he's sitting there thinking he's in control—I'm already taking it back piece by piece, and when I get to him—I won't just take her back.

I'll make him understand exactly what it cost him to touch what's mine.

Chapter 4

Something Worth Finding

Summer

It's dark when I open my eyes. The kind of darkness that feels aware of itself, like it's watching, like it's waiting for me to understand exactly where I am.

Above me, the rotors begin to slow, but every movement of the helicopter makes my head throb harder. The ache sits behind my eyes, spreading until it feels like it's pushing against the inside of my skull, making it difficult to focus on anything except the relentless pounding. I swallow without thinking and instantly regret it. Pain rips through my throat so violently that my eyes water, and I have to clamp my teeth together to stop myself from crying out.

My hand finds my neck on instinct. The pain in my fingers is numbed by the pain in my throat—swollen and so tender that I barely brush it before pulling away with a sharp intake of breath. I don't need a mirror to know what I'll find. The bruises will come. Dark fingerprints wrapped around my throat like something he's left behind for me to carry.

My nose feels wet.

I wipe at it with the back of my hand, then stop when I see the streak of red smeared across my skin. For a second I just stare at it, my stomach tightening as another slow wipe leaves more blood behind. My chest starts to rise faster, because all at once I'm back there. His hand crushing my throat. The desperate burn in my lungs as every instinct in my body screamed for air that never came. I fought. I know I fought. But somewhere between the panic and the darkness... I'd lost.

I lift my head an inch, ignoring the protest from my neck, and search the cabin. Every shadow makes my stomach tighten until I finally find him. The world still swims around the edges, my vision blurred by tears I can't tell are born from pain or fear. For a moment he's nothing more than a dark shape sitting opposite me, but the longer I blink, the clearer he becomes.

He's already looking at me, as though he's been waiting for me to wake.

Neither of us says a word. We don't need to. The corner of his mouth lifts, slow enough that I watch it happen, and something cold settles deep in my stomach. It isn't the smile itself that terrifies me. It's what sits behind it. Certainty. Like he already knows exactly how this ends.

Above us, the relentless roar of the rotors begins to change. When the engine finally dies, the silence that follows hits like something physical. Too sudden. Too complete. My ears are still ringing, my thoughts sluggish beneath the pounding in my skull, and I can't make sense of the quiet after so much relentless noise.

Then the door slides open.

A rush of cold air spills into the cabin, bitter enough to sting. It smells of wet earth and pine, damp stone, engine oil... and rain. Real rain. Fresh enough that it shouldn't feel threatening, yet it still does. Everything does.

I draw a careful breath. It catches halfway down, my throat protesting, and I grit my teeth against the pain.

A metallic click cuts through the silence. For a beat, I don't understand what’s happening. Then the pressure across my waist disappears.

The seatbelt.