Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
He reaches in, grabs my arm, and hauls me out. Viola cries out as another man drags her after me.
They shove us toward a rusted warehouse door. Darkness waits inside.
I hold Viola’s hand as tightly as the zip ties allow.
And in my head, over and over, one desperate plea…
Find me, Mack.
Please.
Find me.
TEN
MACK
The Gilded Hart Hotel’s loading dock alley is a war zone of flashing lights and shouting voices when I burst through the service door. Heartline’s black SUVs are already blocking both ends, red and blue strobes cutting through the night from the local PD cruisers that rolled in minutes behind Cass’s team. The air smells like burnt wiring and panic sweat. My boots pound concrete as I scan every shadow, every corner, gun drawn low and ready.
Cass meets me halfway, tactical vest strapped tight, comms earpiece glowing blue. “Mack. Perimeter’s locked. No sign of the principal or the sister yet. Witnesses say two women matching descriptions were dragged into a black panel van—plates obscured. Happened maybe five minutes ago.”
Five minutes. A lifetime in a snatch-and-grab. My chest feels like it’s caving in.
“Indigo,” I rasp, the name tasting like blood. “She was right here. I had her. Then the crowd—”
Cass grips my shoulder, hard. “We’ll get her back. Focus. You good?”
No. I’m not good. I’m terrified in a way I haven’t been since the day we got the call about Dad. But fear doesn’t get people home. Training does. I force a nod. “I’m good. Let’s move.”
We fan out—Heartline operators sweeping the dock, flashlights carving paths through the debris of dropped purses, shattered champagne flutes, and glitter that still clings to everything like fallout. I head straight for the spot where I last saw her silhouette disappear into the throng. My eyes drop to the ground near the open bay doors.
There.
A thin strip of red satin flutters against the concrete, caught on the edge of a discarded program. Her hair ribbon. The one she’d worn during the finale walk-through—bright crimson against her dark waves, tied in that loose bow that bounced when she moved. She must have pulled it free on purpose. A signal. My girl is smart. She left me a breadcrumb.
I crouch, pick it up between gloved fingers. Something cracks open inside my ribs—sharp, painful, almost tender.
“Cass.” My voice is rough, barely controlled. I hold up the ribbon. “This is hers. She was wearing it on stage. Dropped it here deliberately. Means she’s alive, thinking, fighting.”
Cass’s jaw tightens. He takes one look at my face and understands. “Trail’s fresh. We can use it.”
I stand, tucking the ribbon into my pocket like it’s evidence and a talisman at the same time. “She’s counting on me. We don’t waste time.”
He nods, already keying his comms. “All teams, principal left a marker—red ribbon at loading bay exit. She’s mobile and aware. Corbett, get traffic cam feeds from the last ten minutes. Look for black panel vans heading east or south—most logical egress routes. King, you’re on satellite if we can pull it. Local PD, we need eyes on every major artery out of the entertainment district.”
A chorus of “Copy” crackles back.
I pace while they work, replaying every second. The confetti burst—shrapnel mixed in, non-lethal but meant to create panic. Rico Hale. Viola’s bassist. The betrayal stings worse than a blade. He used her sister to get close, to draw Indigo out. And I let the crowd separate us. My fault. If anything happens to her—
Don’t go there.
Cass steps up beside me, phone to his ear. “Yeah, this is Rhodes, Heartline. We’ve got a confirmed 207—two adult females, high-profile. Suspect vehicle black panel van, partial plate unknown. Last seen exiting Gilded Hart loading dock approximately eight minutes ago.” Pause. “Appreciate it. Sending coordinates now.”
He hangs up, and turns to me. “PD’s pulling cams. They’ve got three possible vans matching the description leaving the area in that window. One’s headed toward the industrial park off Route 17—old warehouses, mostly abandoned. Good spot to hole up.”
My pulse kicks harder. “That’s it. Isolated, defensible, easy in and out. We move.”
“Already moving.” Cass gestures to the nearest SUV. “You ride shotgun. We breach as soon as we confirm location.”
The drive is a blur—sirens off to avoid spooking the kidnappers, but lights flashing, weaving through late-night Valentine traffic that parts like water when they see the convoy. I stare out the windshield, fingers clenched around the ribbon in my pocket. I can still feel her lips on mine from that last kiss backstage. Hear her laugh when she teased me about being soft. Smell her vanilla-and-citrus skin from the shower this morning.
I’m in love with her.
The words hit like a suppressed round—quiet, but they punch through every layer of armor I’ve built. I’ve never said it out loud, never even let myself think it fully, but it’s there, undeniable. She’s not just a client. She’s mine. And someone took her.