Chapter 31
Boone
I swing my truck into the parking spot across the street from Slice Slice Baby, my heart thumping with a mixture of anticipation and nerves. It’s late, and the moon hangs heavy in the sky. My mind buzzes with excitement—I’ve been waiting for this moment for days, planning how I’d surprise Aubree.
I can practically picture her wide-eyed gasp, the way her soft lips will part in a smile when she sees me. I’ll walk in, she’ll be behind the counter, maybe messing with dough, or closing up shop. I’ll give her that cocky grin and say, “Sorry, ma’am, but is there a special on surprising the girl you love?” She’ll laugh, her cheeks turning that faint pink I’ve come to crave seeing.
But the second I climb out of the truck and cross the street, something feels wrong. There’s a stillness in the air, a heaviness that presses against my chest. The sign on Slice Slice Baby’s door says “Closed,” but the door itself is slightly ajar, letting a wedge of dim light spill onto the sidewalk. Aubree wouldn’t leave it like that, especially not after everything that’s happened. Anxiety sparks, rattling my nerves as I push the door open with more force than necessary.
“Aubree?” I call out, voice echoing eerily in the empty shop. Nothing. Not even the hum of ovens or the clatter of pans. I step inside, searching the rows of booths and tables. The overhead lights are half off, leaving the front area in deep shadow. My pulse quickens.
The shop is deserted—no Stuart, no Aubree, no Lisa. Just silence and the faint smell of fresh dough. I cross to the counter, scanning behind it. The place is deserted. My stomach knots.
She’s not here.
I fight the flare of panic. This is the middle of Nashville, not the middle of nowhere. She could’ve run an errand, right? But she’d never leave the front door wide open, especially not after the break-in and all the threats. Something’s off. All my instincts scream at me that something is very, very wrong.
I grab my phone, calling her, and I hear the distant sound of her ringtone. I move in the direction of it, spotting her keys, phone, and purse on the back table. Something’s not right.
I hang up, and punch in Dean’s number. He answers on the second ring. “Boone?” he says, sounding mildly surprised. “Aren’t you supposed to be—?”
“Dean,” I interrupt, my voice raw. “I’m at Aubree’s shop. She’s gone. The door’s wide open, nobody’s here. I need you to pull up the security feeds. Now.”
“What?” Dean’s tone snaps to attention, urgent. “You sure she’s not just in the back?”
“I checked. She’s left all her things. Her phone. Purse. Keys. Place is empty.” My gaze roves around, searching for any clue or sign of a fight. I grab her keys. “This isn’t normal, Dean. She wouldn’t just up and leave everything like this.”
There’s a flurry of keyboard clacks on his end, the sound of Dean working fast. “Hold on… I’m logging into the cameras. We left the system in place after all that stuff with Charles. The main feed… oh, shit.” His voice drops as he watches something I can’t see yet. “Boone, the feed is glitchy, but it looks like someone came in after closing time.”
My mouth goes dry. “Aubree was alone, wasn’t she? Her mother probably left her alone knowing I’d be here soon. Goddamn it.” I step around the counter, nearly tripping over a stool that’s on its side. Fear spikes through me—why is it knocked over?
“Yeah,” Dean says, still working. “I see a figure… big guy, maybe. He’s… pulling her toward the back. That’s all I can see from this angle.”
A spike of anger and dread slams into my gut, so strong it almost makes me dizzy. “Dean, run the back alley camera. Maybe we got a better angle out there.”
“On it,” he mutters. More typing. A few seconds pass in brutal silence. “Got it. He’s pushing her into a white van. No plate visible from this angle, though. Dammit, it’s too dark.”
I grip my phone, knuckles whitening. I pace behind the counter, stepping through the flour scattered on the floor. “Dean,” I say, forcing my voice to steady. “Send me that footage. Now.”
“Sending,” he confirms, keys clacking. “Done. Pulling it up on my end, too. Trying to zoom in on the face. Wait… I recognize him from the first night at her shop, back when we were watching her more closely. Wasn’t he a regular?”
My lips peel back in a snarl. “Earl,” I grind out. It’s like a punch to the gut, remembering that unassuming older guy who always seemed so friendly. We never had any reason to suspect him. But now, everything clicks into place. “He must have been behind some of this. Maybe he acted alone, or maybe not. But obviously, he got to her.”
Dean’s breath hisses through the line. “I’m tapping into the city’s traffic cams next. Gonna see if we can track that van. You stay put, or—actually, do what you gotta do. But keep me updated. We’ll find her, Boone.”
“Goddamn right we will,” I bark, ending the call. The rage swirling inside me is almost suffocating. I failed her. I was supposed to protect her, but I was holed up in Saint Pierce, tying up loose ends. If I’d come sooner—if I’d called more often—maybe I would’ve known something was wrong.
I swallow down the guilt and force myself to function. This is a crisis, and in a crisis, you don’t shut down, you act. My phone buzzes with an incoming file from Dean—the security footage. I slip behind the counter and open it, watching with a sinking heart as the grainy image shows Earl dragging Aubree, her legs trying to kick, her face a mask of terror. The clip ends with him shoving her into a van. I freeze the frame, trying to glean any detail—a partial license plate, a unique dent, something. But it’s dark, and his van looks painfully generic.
I exhale shakily, shutting off the video. All it does is stoke my fury. I picture her fighting him, screaming for help. That’s all I can see in my head now. The fear in her eyes rips at my insides.
“Not happening again,” I murmur under my breath. “I’m getting you back, Aubree.”
I call Dean again. He picks up, out of breath like he’s running between computers. “I’m into the city’s transportation network,” he reports. “Got a partial shot of the van heading west on Highway 70. Traffic’s not too bad right now, but they’ll have at least a ten or twenty-minute lead on you.”
“I’m heading that way.” I spin on my heel, striding to the front door. “Send me real-time updates. And do me a favor—ping the local precinct, see if they have any cameras near the highway. I want every possible angle.”
“Consider it done. I’ll funnel everything to your phone. We’ll find them, Boone.”
I kill the call, my heart hammering. Tucking my phone in my pocket, I step out onto the sidewalk, bracing myself against the evening breeze. The sign overhead glows with the bright red neon of “Slice Slice Baby,” mocking me with normalcy. The shop was supposed to be where I surprised her. Instead, it’s a crime scene.
I lock the door behind me, pocketing her keys, my chest tight. She might need the shop intact when she comes back. And I vow she will come back. Then I jog to my truck, yanking open the driver’s side door. The engine roars to life, and I tear away from the curb, heading west. I retrieve my phone from my pocket and perch it on the dash, in case Dean calls again.
As I speed down the streets, streetlights whipping by in a blur, my mind churns with guilt. I should’ve been here. If I’d come just an hour sooner, I might have stopped this. Or maybe it’s not about being early; maybe I should never have left her side after we took down Charles. The memory of her shy grin, her messy hair in the mornings, all of it squeezes my heart.
The phone rings again—Dean. I jab the answer button on speaker. “What’s new?”
“I’ve followed the camera feed a bit further. The van got on the highway around exit twelve. I lost it for a moment, but I’m cross-checking other cameras. We need a better vantage point. The city’s got scattered coverage—some cameras are out, some are pointed away.”
“Just keep looking,” I say, my voice tense. “I’m almost on the highway. Let me know if you get a direction. North, south, wherever.”
“Got it. I’ll call you back.”
He hangs up. I let out a harsh breath, eyes scanning the road as I swerve onto the on-ramp. The radio is off, and all I hear is the roar of the engine and my own ragged breathing. I glance down at the speedometer—pushing eighty-five in a sixty zone. Don’t care. If a cop tries to pull me over, I’ll flash my security credentials and keep going.
I dial another number, pressing the phone to my ear. It rings twice before a deep voice picks up. “ Thor speaking.”
“Thor, It’s Boone,” I say, my words tumbling out. “I’ve got a situation. A friend—someone I care about—has been kidnapped. I need a team, fast.”
Thor’s voice instantly sharpens. “Kidnapped? You sure?”
“Dead sure,” I growl. “I was at her shop. The security footage showed some asshole named Earl dragging her into a van. We have partial route intel, but no exact location yet. She’s in danger, Thor. I can’t do this alone.”
“You won’t,” Thor says firmly. “I’m about an hour out of Nashville right now. Who else you want on this?”
“Garrett’s local,” I say, thinking rapidly. “He’s got good recon skills. Let’s bring him in. And any other guys we can trust, the ones who’ll keep it tight-lipped. This is personal.”
“Understood,” Thor replies. “We’ll keep it off the official grid if that’s what you want.”
“Absolutely,” I confirm, jaw tight. “Dean’s still working the tech angle, pulling traffic cams and city feeds. Once we pin down a location, I’ll call you. We’re going to need a strike team—small, quick, and ready for anything.”
Thor exhales, the sound crackling over the line. “We got you. I’ll call a few guys and get them mobilized. Send me the details once you have them.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” I end the call, relief flickering through the panic. Thor’s reliable—he was my commanding officer’s golden boy at one point. He’s got the skills and the network.
Now for Garrett. I tap his number, heart still thrumming. He picks up, sounding casual at first, “Yo, what’s—?”
“Garrett, it’s Boone,” I cut in. “I need your help. Now. Aubree’s been taken. I have partial leads on a white van heading west out of Nashville. I’ve called Thor in, too.”
He curses quietly. “I’m in, no question. Where do you need me?”
“Wait until I have a location,” I reply, muscles tensing as I weave around slower traffic on the highway. “Thor’s building a small team. We’ll coordinate and figure out exactly how to move once we know where she is. She’s my top priority, Garrett.”
“Got it. I’ll prep my gear and stand by. Don’t do anything stupid alone, okay?”
My throat tightens. “No promises,” I mutter, “but I’ll try not to. I’ll call you soon.”
“Stay safe,” Garrett says, then hangs up.
I toss the phone onto the passenger seat, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. The highway unfurls in front of me, taillights streaking by. My mind races, conjuring images of Aubree tied up, terrified, or worse. The thought is like a knife in my chest.
She must be so scared, I think, biting the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. This can’t be happening. We’d already dealt with her stepfather’s betrayal, and we’d thought it was over. Meanwhile, some unhinged regular who’d been lurking under our noses all this time was waiting for his chance. The idea that we never saw it coming makes me want to punch something.
A wave of guilt washes over me again—If only I’d arrived an hour earlier, if only I’d insisted on staying in Nashville from the get-go. But regrets won’t help me now. I need to channel that energy into finding her.
The phone rings again—Dean. My heart jumps as I flip it to speaker. “You got something?” I bark.
“Tracked the van past exit 20,” Dean says, voice clipped. “It took a turn onto a rural road about eight miles from the city boundary. The cameras aren’t great out there, but we have it on a feed from a gas station. I’m scanning ahead, trying to see if there’s another camera. This might be the best lead we’ve got for now.”
“Good,” I say, checking the next exit sign. “I’m coming up on exit 18. That means I’m close. Keep me updated. I’m calling in a couple guys to help.”
“Good call,” Dean says. “You want me to get the local cops on this? Or do you want to handle it privately?”
I hesitate, the thought of the cops launching a slow, bureaucratic response making me cringe. They’d mean well, but by the time they get a warrant, or figure out jurisdiction, Earl could vanish. “Let me handle it for now,” I decide. “If we need them, I’ll pull them in. Right now, speed is critical.”
“Agreed,” Dean says. He sighs, and I sense his frustration. “We’ll do everything we can from this end, Boone. Just… be careful, okay? We don’t know what this guy’s capable of. I read a quick dive on his background—some petty crimes, but nothing major. Still, he’s obviously escalated.”
“He’s got Aubree,” I say, voice shaking with anger. “He’s dangerous enough.”
Dean’s silent for a moment. Then, quietly, “I know what she means to you. We’ll find her, man. Hang in there.”
The call ends, leaving me with the roar of my engine as I push the speedometer past ninety.
I grit my teeth, swallowing hard. “Hold on, Aubree,” I mutter, gripping the wheel. “I’m coming for you.”
Because nothing—no distance, no unhinged stalker, no threat of violence—will stop me from bringing her home.