“Call Noah!” The gravel-rough command fires from me. “He’s working today. Tell him everything. And tell him to meet us at Jess’s house. Now.”
It feels like a lifetime before the van tires screech to a stop outside Jess’s home. Police sirens scream in the evening air.
Flashing red-and-blue lights turn onto the street. The sirens cut off abruptly.
During the drive here, I compartmentalized everything Jaxon and Nigel told me, locking my fears away. But now that I’m in front of her house, those fears surge through me like a rogue wave. I might have pushed Jess away once and for all, but I haven’t stopped loving her.
And now it might be too late to snatch back the words I hurled at her four weeks ago.
No. No. No.I’m going to find her. I’m not letting her down like so many other people have.
I sprint to the front door and turn the doorknob. It’s locked. I use the spare key I never got around to returning to Jess and rush into the house.
“Jess!” I yell, even knowing that she’s not here. I feel her absence in the cold air.
I race upstairs to the guest room and go into the closet. The bookcase is in place, and there’s no sign Jess is hiding in the secret room. No heartbreaking sound of her crying like there was the day I learned about the space behind the shelves.
I pull the bookcase away from the wall. The blankets and pillows that were in the secret room are gone.
Noah enters the house as I jog down the stairs. I don’t acknowledge him. I walk into the living room, searching for signs of where she could’ve gone.
A floral box I haven’t seen before sits on the coffee table. I lift the lid, but the only things inside the box are the Morse-code messages I left around the house for her. I hadn’t realized she’d kept them. I still have the ones she gave me. They’re in my sock drawer.
An ache pulls in my chest at how she saved the messages I wrote for her—like they still meant something. I close the box lid and head for the kitchen.
The medicine container on the granite counter catches my eye. I pick it up and read the label. Sertraline. The prescription belongs to Jess. One of the physicians in town wrote it for her.
I google the drug. It’s an antidepressant. According to the date on the container, she’s been taking it for almost a month, starting after we broke up.Shit.I look up what could happen if she stops the drug cold turkey and read the list of withdrawal symptoms: headache, nausea, mood changes, sweating, tremors, seizures.
“Troy?”
I spin around to face Noah. “Her brother-in-law, Lincoln Townsend, might know where Jess is.” The words come out in rapid fire, fear and anger pulling the trigger. “You should talk to the man you arrested. He could be linked to Lincoln.”
“I don’t think he is. Someone tried to break into Jess’s garage. I thought the man I arrested was responsible for the damage. He claims the door was already like that when he was causing mischief, and I believe him. The evidence doesn’t suggest he did it.”
“Shit.” My hand tightens on my phone. I would’ve been happier if the man Noah arrested was responsible. Now we have no idea where Jess might be.
“Before you do something rash and stupid,” Noah says, a harsh command to his tone I’ve never heard from him until now, “let the police deal with this, Troy. We don’t need a hotheaded civilian messing up the evidence and the case.”
“I don’t give a damn about that. I just want Jess back.” Never have spoken words been any truer. I’ll only rest once she’s in my arms again.
64
JESSICA
October, Present Day
Maple Ridge
The cold seepingthrough the concrete floor and walls chills me to the bone, but it’s not enough to numb the pain wracking my body. Every single part of me hurts.
I shiver, which only intensifies the pain. My soaking wet clothes aren’t helping. Dousing me with icy water was Lincoln’s idea. To torture me into telling them what they want to know.
“Where is it, Savannah?”
I still don’t know why he thinks I know where Wayne’s insurance policy against him is hidden. And at some point, I stopped caring.
I also don’t know what it has to do with the other man, who hasn’t spoken to me since the kidnapping. Lincoln has done all the talking. Not a hint of remorse exists in the other man’s eyes to suggest I might be able to convince him to make it easier for me to escape.
