Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gideon
“Imogene?”
My voice echoed as I walked into her townhouse, carrying a takeout bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
“Take a break for a minute. I brought sushi.”
Setting the bag onto the kitchen island, I grabbed a couple of plates and glasses. I worked quickly, pouring the wine and arranging the sushi.
When Imogene still hadn’t appeared by the time I finished, I called out to her again. But I didn’t hear her footsteps. She probably had her earbuds in, completely absorbed in her audiobook or music. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d have to track her down in her own house.
I made my way down the back hallway and toward the office, peeking my head inside. It was empty. The boxes she’d packed up earlier this week were still lined up neatly against the wall, untouched since the last time I’d seen them.
Frowning, I climbed the stairs to the second floor. The door to her bedroom was open, and the subtle scent of her coconut body wash hung in the air. But the room was empty, too.
I glanced out the window, wondering if she was packing up the garage. While the automatic door was closed, the side door was cracked open.
I headed downstairs and continued onto the back deck, the wood creaking underneath my feet.
“Imogene,” I called out as I approached the side of the detached garage, an uneasy feeling washing over me.
Something was off. But nothing appeared out of place. There was no sign of a break-in or struggle.
Shaking it off, I continued toward the side door and pushed it open, stepping into the dimly lit space.
The scent hit me first. Oil and dust, mixed with something faintly metallic. The garage was cooler than outside, the hum of the overhead light breaking the silence.
“Imogene?” I called again, my voice firmer now.
No response.
I scanned the space, taking in the rows of shelves stocked with plastic bins, tools hung on the walls. Everything looked normal. Or it should have.
But the unease prickling at the back of my neck only grew.
I stepped farther inside, my shoes scuffing against the concrete.
That’s when I saw it. A small, dark smear on the floor near the workbench.
I forced myself to move closer, my heart hammering as I crouched down. With a trembling hand, I reached out and touched the edge of the smear, coming away with a wet streak of crimson.
Blood.
Fresh.
A cold knot twisted in my stomach as I rose to my feet, my gaze darting across the space. My heart thumped loudly in my chest, drowning out any other noise as I searched the garage for answers. There were more droplets, faint but distinct, leading away from the bench and toward the automatic door.
I fought against the rising panic, telling myself there had to be an explanation. Maybe she’d cut herself while moving something. Maybe she’d gone inside to clean up, and I’d find her in the bathroom, annoyed that I was making a big deal out of nothing.
Gripping my phone, I called her as I dashed back inside, the tone ringing loud and relentless in my ear.
“Pick up, Imogene. Please.”
I strained to hear it, hoping to catch the sound of her voice from somewhere in the house, despite having just searched it. Instead, it was silent except for the hum from the central air.
But then I heard it.
A subtle buzzing.
Not from the phone pressed to my ear, but from deeper inside the house.
I froze, my chest tightening as I followed the sound down the hallway and into the living room.
Imogene’s phone sat on the coffee table, the screen lit up with my name. The harsh vibration rattled through the room, each pulse like a knife twisting inside of me.
My hand clenched around my own phone as the call disconnected, leaving the room eerily quiet.
I grabbed her cell, scanning it for any messages or calls. Nothing. The last text she’d sent was to me a few hours ago, telling me she was happy with sushi for dinner.
She promised me she wouldn’t leave. That she’d keep the doors locked. That she’d be careful.
After everything that had happened — after Liam — I thought she understood how serious this was.
But the blood on the garage floor told a different story.
“Fuck!” I shouted, my voice raw with a mixture of panic and fury. I paced back and forth, tugging at my hair as dozens of different scenarios played out in my mind.
If someone had taken her — if they’d hurt her — I would find them.
And I would make them pay.
I needed to think straight. Not let my emotions get the better of me. That was when people made mistakes. And there was too much at risk to make a mistake now.
Yanking my phone from my pocket, I called the one person who I knew would have a level head in this situation. Who always did, no matter what.
“She’s gone,” I blurted out before Henry could say anything in greeting.
“Slow down. What do you mean?”
“Imogene,” I replied, my voice tight with barely restrained panic. It killed me to even say her name. It took everything I had not to weigh myself down with guilt over this.
If I’d left my last meeting when I was supposed to, I would have been here. I could have stopped all of this.
“What happened?” Henry asked, remaining collected as always.
“I’ve been helping her pack up her townhouse, but when I got here, she wasn’t inside. The side door to the garage was open, so I figured maybe she was packing things up in there. When I went inside…” I swallowed hard. “I found blood. And no sign of Imogene except for her phone here in the living room. If she was safe…”
“Hang tight,” Henry interjected. “I’m pulling up the cameras now.” I could hear the rapid clacking of keys in the background. “Do you know what time she got to the townhouse?”
“I don’t know.” I paced the living room once more, feeling useless.
Every second I stayed here was a second wasted. Was another second whoever had Imogene could be taking her farther and farther away.
Could be harming her more.
“On non-game days, she usually leaves the stadium around five. I’ve been driving her and picking her up, but I had a meeting scheduled today, so she took one of my cars. I?—”
“Don’t put this on yourself,” Henry admonished. “That won’t do you any good right now. It won’t do Imogene any good right now. Okay?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and nodded. “Okay.”
“I’m sending a video to your phone from about thirty minutes ago.”
I put him on speaker, then clicked on the message as it came in with the link to a video.
The footage displayed a wide shot from the back of Imogene’s house, captured by one of the cameras. The garage stood to the right of the frame, its door closed and unassuming.
Within seconds, Imogene came into view, walking toward the trash bins with a bag in hand. She tossed it inside and turned back before stopping in her tracks. My heart hammered as I silently pleaded with her to keep walking. To continue into the house, even though I knew it wouldn’t happen.
After several long moments, she turned back toward the garage and slowly approached it. She pulled the door wide and walked inside.
I held my breath, waiting for her to reappear. Five seconds passed. Ten.
“Come on, Imogene,” I whispered.
Then a movement in the corner of the screen caught my attention. A man stepped into frame, emerging from the shadows of the backyard.
He was of average height and build, dressed in dark clothing, with a baseball hat pulled low, obscuring his face. He moved with purpose, his gait deliberate. He never once looked directly at the camera, as if he knew exactly where they were, making my blood run cold.
“Who the hell is that?” I demanded.
“I don’t know,” Henry replied. “He keeps his face completely hidden. My guess is he knows his way around surveillance. That’s not random.”
On the screen, the man made his way to the garage. He hesitated for a moment, then slipped inside.
I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to keep watching. But nothing else happened.
“I’ve got the driveway camera,” Henry stated. “Sending it now.”
I clicked on the link he sent from the camera on the exterior of the garage and saw a nondescript van reversing up to the garage door, stopping in a spot where he could have tossed Imogene into the back without the camera picking up on it.
As if he knew exactly where the blind spots were.
“Can you run the plate?” I asked frantically.
“There is no plate. He must have taken it off for this very reason.”
I clenched my fists in frustration as I watched the same man jump out of the van and head into the back yard. After about five or so minutes, the man reappeared, climbed in behind the wheel, and drove away.
“Goddammit!” I shouted, desperation bubbling inside of me once more. I may not have seen him take Imogene, but the fact that she was last seen walking into a garage before disappearing didn’t ease my mind.
“It’s okay,” Henry remarked. “We’ll find her.”
“How are we going to find her without a fucking license plate? How?—”
“Oh ye of little faith. This guy may have known about all the cameras on Imogene’s townhouse. But he didn’t know about the one I had installed at the apartment complex across the street.”
I heard the unmistakable sound of his fingers flying over the keyboard once more. Within seconds, there was another video, this one with a direct view of Imogene’s townhouse.
Including the driveway.
While it wasn’t possible to get a clear view of what he was doing in the garage, it was obvious he dragged a body into the van. More importantly, the front license plate was in clear view.
“I’m texting you an address right now,” he stated, then hesitated. “Unless you’d rather I call the police.”
“I’m handling this myself,” I said through gritted teeth. “There’s too much at stake.”
“I’ll be on the next flight out. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid before I get there.”
“I can’t make any promises,” I answered darkly. “Not when it comes to her.”