Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
He curses quietly. “I’m in, no question. Where do you need me?”
“Wait until I have a location,” I reply, muscles tensing as I weave around slower traffic on the highway. “Thor’s building a small team. We’ll coordinate and figure out exactly how to move once we know where she is. She’s my top priority, Garrett.”
“Got it. I’ll prep my gear and stand by. Don’t do anything stupid alone, okay?”
My throat tightens. “No promises,” I mutter, “but I’ll try not to. I’ll call you soon.”
“Stay safe,” Garrett says, then hangs up.
I toss the phone onto the passenger seat, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. The highway unfurls in front of me, taillights streaking by. My mind races, conjuring images of Aubree tied up, terrified, or worse. The thought is like a knife in my chest.
She must be so scared, I think, biting the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. This can’t be happening. We’d already dealt with her stepfather’s betrayal, and we’d thought it was over. Meanwhile, some unhinged regular who’d been lurking under our noses all this time was waiting for his chance. The idea that we never saw it coming makes me want to punch something.
A wave of guilt washes over me again—If only I’d arrived an hour earlier, if only I’d insisted on staying in Nashville from the get-go. But regrets won’t help me now. I need to channel that energy into finding her.
The phone rings again—Dean. My heart jumps as I flip it to speaker. “You got something?” I bark.
“Tracked the van past exit 20,” Dean says, voice clipped. “It took a turn onto a rural road about eight miles from the city boundary. The cameras aren’t great out there, but we have it on a feed from a gas station. I’m scanning ahead, trying to see if there’s another camera. This might be the best lead we’ve got for now.”
“Good,” I say, checking the next exit sign. “I’m coming up on exit 18. That means I’m close. Keep me updated. I’m calling in a couple guys to help.”
“Good call,” Dean says. “You want me to get the local cops on this? Or do you want to handle it privately?”
I hesitate, the thought of the cops launching a slow, bureaucratic response making me cringe. They’d mean well, but by the time they get a warrant, or figure out jurisdiction, Earl could vanish. “Let me handle it for now,” I decide. “If we need them, I’ll pull them in. Right now, speed is critical.”
“Agreed,” Dean says. He sighs, and I sense his frustration. “We’ll do everything we can from this end, Boone. Just… be careful, okay? We don’t know what this guy’s capable of. I read a quick dive on his background—some petty crimes, but nothing major. Still, he’s obviously escalated.”
“He’s got Aubree,” I say, voice shaking with anger. “He’s dangerous enough.”
Dean’s silent for a moment. Then, quietly, “I know what she means to you. We’ll find her, man. Hang in there.”
The call ends, leaving me with the roar of my engine as I push the speedometer past ninety.
I grit my teeth, swallowing hard. “Hold on, Aubree,” I mutter, gripping the wheel. “I’m coming for you.”
Because nothing—no distance, no unhinged stalker, no threat of violence—will stop me from bringing her home.
Chapter 32
Aubree
My head throbs, and my wrists ache from the tight cords binding them. I’m wedged in the back of Earl’s van, the stale smell of oil and dust filling my nostrils every time I breathe in. Every jolt and rattle along the uneven road makes the rope bite harder into my skin. My heart won’t stop hammering, a frantic drumbeat that roars in my ears.
I have no clue how long we’ve been driving. Minutes? Hours? The windows in this old, beat-up vehicle are covered with some kind of tarp, letting only slivers of light in. The darkness is suffocating, broken only by the dim glow from the front dash. I can vaguely see Earl’s silhouette through a small gap in the seats as he navigates, his hands gripping the wheel.
Every so often, he mutters something to himself, so quiet I can’t quite make out the words. I inch myself forward to try and unlatch the back doors. But the second I move, his gaze flicks to the rearview mirror, and I freeze, heart racing. He doesn’t say anything—just sets his jaw like he’s daring me to try it again. I see the mania swirling in his eyes, and it sends a cold shudder through me. I can’t risk provoking him further.
Eventually, the van slows and bumps down a rutted path. The ride grows rougher. Every rock we drive over makes me grunt as I’m tossed about on the dirty floor. My stomach knots—where is he taking me? The overhead branches create a flickering pattern of light and shadow inside the van, telling me we’re probably deep in the woods. Far from anyone who could help.