I’m going to lose my mind.
Coach made me play the first ten minutes of the game. He said we had to keep up appearances for the scouts. For my future. I felt sick every second I was on the ice. When he finally switched me out, I left. I hired a car and got back to Crown Point as fast as I could.
Willow met me outside my house. I went inside and checked every room, even the basement. Just in case. Her phone has been off, rendering her location tracker I gave myself access to ineffective.
There was no sign of Violet. No sign that she came back from her audition.
So we kept looking. I kept in touch with Willow as we searched. The hockey team got back and joined in, and eventually, the sky started to lighten.
All night, and nothing.
We meet back at my house. Willow is distraught, her eyes red and watery. I don’t have the patience for that. For any of it. I just want Violet back—safe and in one piece.
I punch the wall, and Willow makes a tiny peep of surprise. It’s the only sound she’s made since she followed me into the living room, her mouth pinched with worry.
Violet was transparent with her about everything.
Maybe she can figure out who her best friend’s stalker is. And I just haven’t pushed hard enough to jog her memory.
I wheel toward her, uncaring at the flash of fear that crosses her face. She’s never had a reason to fear me, but here we are. “Tell me what you know.”
“I know what you know,” she snaps. “She went to Crown Point Ballet. She’s been paranoid about someone following her for months, but no one did anything. We couldn’t prove it.”
I growl. “This isn’t helping.”
“You’re the obsessive one,” she argues. “Don’t you have some way of finding her? You’re psychotic enough to plant a tracker under her skin. Didn’t think of that, did you?”
Well, there’s a fucking thought. An idea I should’ve had already.
“I’ll track her phone again.” Even as I say it, I’m doubtful it’ll work. I last checked less than an hour ago. In fact, I’ve repeatedly checked when I felt my mind fraying.
Willow creeps closer as I pull up the app and try to ping Violet’s location.
Sure enough, a blue dot appears in the middle of fucking nowhere. Her location shows as having only just updated twenty minutes ago. At four o’clock in the morning.
“Oh my god,” Willow breathes.
I glance at her. “You recognize where this is?”
“On the edge of a state park. There’s just one road in or out.”
Good. “Call the cops,” I order her. I storm out the door, my keys clenched in my hand. I don’t know that I’ve ever been so strung up, the need to get to her so badly. Not even when I realized she was with my father.
I get all the way to my truck when I realize it’s a little tilted to one side. I circle it, and my heart stops. Two of my tires are cut, the front and back on the passenger side. Flat all the way down to the rim.
Someone cut them, but I don’t have time to throw a fit about it.
I go back inside and lift Erik’s keys off one of the hooks by the door. He’s still out searching with Jacob, the two of them checking the library—again—while Knox and Steele are checking her and Willow’s apartment.
Erik will be mad as hell that I took his car, but I can deal with that later. Before I get in, I grab the crowbar out of the back of mine. My heart is beating out of my chest by the time I make it out onto the road. I grip my phone in one hand, the steering wheel in the other.
Twenty minutes later, I’m bumping down a narrow dirt lane. My headlights swing wildly against the trees pressing in, and I spare a thought about turning them off. To sneak. It doesn’t really matter—the sun has risen, casting the forest in streams of golden light.
Plus, I’ve never snuck up on anything—and I’m not about to start now. As bull-headed as it may be, I don’t give a fuck.
Violet’s stalker has nothing on me.
The road finally dead ends at a log cabin. There’s a porch light on, and a dog immediately rises to attention from its spot on the porch. It snarls at me, drool dripping from its mouth. No car, though. Nothing to indicate anyone is actually here.
Maybe it’s a dead end.
But I recheck the tracker on her phone, and it has mine practically on top of hers. Sure enough, I spot the slim phone on the porch step. Like it was waiting for me.
I eye the dog, but it doesn’t move when I climb the steps up onto the leaning porch. The boards are loose under my feet. The dog seems to be chained to the house far enough away as to not impede the people coming and going.
Vicious thing. The growl that comes out of it is steady and low, a warning that doesn’t explode until I grasp the handle.
I shove the door open and raise the crowbar, ready to attack. Not sure what I’m going to find—and terrified that I’m going to see Violet dead. Or hurt.
The room is a mess. All the furniture has been shoved aside, leaving an empty expanse in the middle. There’s a lingering smell of rot, like stagnant water and mold under a heavy artificial pine scent.
I keep the crowbar up and step farther inside. The door creaks as it drifts closed behind me.
Then I see her.
She’s curled on the floor off to the side, next to a stereo speaker. Someone draped an ugly blanket over her, obscuring her form.
I rush to her side and fling the blanket off, running my hands over her body. Checking for damage, I guess. I don’t know.
She’s still breathing. And she moans when I shake her shoulder.
Blue and red lights slip in through the partially open door, and the dog barks in earnest. I drop the crowbar and tip my head back, letting out a disbelieving laugh. I fucking hate the police. The last time I saw their lights, I was arrested.
Of course, I deserved it back then.
I cup the back of Violet’s neck and pull her halfway into my lap. “Wake up, baby,” I urge.
She blinks up at me, her expression going from sleep to surprise in an instant. She reaches for me, and I curl my hand around hers.
“I’ve got you.”
Then the police swarm inside.
