“Something’s wrong.” Brooks straightened, his hand already reaching for his phone. “Something’s wrong with Vivienne.”
His phone rang before he could dial.
Vivienne.
“Brooks, something’s wrong. I’m at the shop and?—”
The line went dead.
Brooks ran for his car, Sullivan right behind him. He tried calling back. No answer. He radioed for backup, navigating the wet streets toward Harbor Street.
“Lynch?” Sullivan demanded into his own radio.
“Unit 7 reporting. I’m at The Mystic Cup. Front door’s open. No sign of Ms. Hawthorne,” the current trooper said.
Brooks’s stomach dropped. Maine. The credit card hit at the border had been a diversion. Winston hadn’t fled north. He’d doubled back.
“Secure the scene,” Brooks ordered. “Get more units there now. He has her. He took her to the lighthouse. I just know it.”
Sullivan was already on his phone with Porter. “Your fugitive didn’t go to Vermont. He’s here. He has our witness.”
Brooks pushed the accelerator harder, rain blurring the windshield. He’d promised to keep Vivienne safe. He’d promised this would be over soon.
And Winston had outplayed them all.
His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
Lighthouse. Come alone. Or she dies.
Brooks showed it to Sullivan.
“You’re not going alone.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“The hell you don’t. Porter’s redirecting her team. We’ll have backup in position within twenty minutes.”
“Vivienne might not have twenty minutes.” Brooks pulled up to the station. “I need to go now.”
Sullivan grabbed his arm. “Then I’m coming with you. No arguments.”
Brooks wanted to refuse, wanted to follow Winston’s demands exactly to keep Vivienne safe. But Sullivan was right. Going in alone was suicide, and that wouldn’t help anyone.
“We go quiet. No sirens. No visible backup. But we go together.”
Sullivan nodded. “I’ll drive. You call Porter and tell her we need eyes on the lighthouse from a distance. No one moves in until we have the situation assessed.”
Brooks made the call as Sullivan navigated toward the coast. The lighthouse stood dark against the rain-heavy sky, its beacon dormant since the FBI had seized it as evidence.
Winston had chosen his battlefield carefully. The place where his family’s crimes had originated. The place where they’d killed Lily Morgan twenty-five years ago.
Now he’d brought Vivienne there. And Brooks would walk into that trap to save her, whatever the cost.
His phone buzzed again. Another text from the unknown number.
Ten minutes. Then I start hurting her.
Brooks typed back:
