Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
COLE
What the fuck is going on? I got out of the bedroom and you’re gone.
I got news about Peter. It’s not him. There’s more evidence that points to Michael.
I wait for several agonizing heartbeats and still don’t hear anything back. Fuck. Where is she?
Where are you?
Answer your phone.
I’m pacing back and forth in the living room, waiting for Hannah Grace to either call me back or text me. What the fuck? Why did she leave without telling me?
There’s still no response and I call Sawyer.
“She’s gone,” I say as soon as he answers the phone.
“Hannah Grace?”
“I came out of the bedroom after talking to you and Sydney and she’s gone. The car is in the garage but she’s not answering her phone and not responding to the texts I sent. I’m freaking the fuck out and have no idea what to do.”
“Did you have her share her location with you when you got there?”
“Huh?
“That answers that question,” he mumbles.
“Sawyer, I’m scared. Fuck, if anything happens to her…”
A lump forms in my throat, making it hard to breathe.
“We’ll find her. First, check your phone. Open your text thread with her.”
I put him on speaker, opening the text app and clicking on my thread with her.
Below the four text messages I sent her is a new message from the app.
Hannah Grace is now sharing her location .
“Holy shit.”
“What?” Sawyer asks.
“She just shared her location with me.”
“Good. Click on the info icon at the top. From there you can scroll down and check her location.”
I do as instructed and see her about twenty minutes away. She’s headed straight for the address I just texted her.
“What the fuck is she doing there?” I murmur, more to myself, but Sawyer answers.
“Where is she?” he asks.
“She’s headed straight for Campbell’s address, but she’s almost there and I only texted her that a few minutes ago.”
“Call O’Connell. Give him the address and meet him there. I can only think of a few reasons why she would go somewhere and not have you with her. And none of them are good.”
“Fuck.” I drag a hand through my hair, the same reasons pinging through my thoughts like a pinball bonus game.
“Keep me posted,” Sawyer says and the phone beeps in my hand.
Pulling up Murphy’s number, I press the call button and he answers on the first ring.
“That was spooky. I was just getting ready to call you,” he says.
The phone is still on speaker, and I scan the hook by the garage door looking for Hannah Grace’s keys and come up empty.
“Hannah Grace is gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean gone?”
“After you left, I called my team in LA to discuss the video. By the time I got back to the living room, there was no sign of her. She’s not answering her calls or her texts, but she shared her location with me, and she’s headed for an address my team found for Michael Campbell.”
I rattle off the address.
“Campbell isn’t there. He’s in our morgue. Someone slit his throat and dumped his body in a dumpster downtown.”
Numbness overtakes my body followed by a wave of fear. If Michael Campbell is dead, where is Hannah Grace going?
“I’m leaving now.” Murphy’s words echo like they’re being spoken through a tunnel, but it’s enough to bring me back to what I need to do right now.
Hannah Grace needs me.
I eye her purse, loathe to riffle through her personal belongings. But this can’t be helped. Upending the bag on the kitchen table, I scan the contents for what I’m looking for. But still no fucking keys.
“Shit. How far away are you?” I ask.
“I’m at the lab. It’s about ten minutes from you guys. Actually, I’m about halfway between you and the address you just gave me.”
Thank God for Google that allows me to pull up the location and tells me it’s a thirty-minute walk. We’ll see about that.
“I’m leaving the house now and heading your direction. Can you pick me up?”
“Yeah.”
I’m already out the door and pick my pace up to a jog as soon as I confirm the door is locked.
“I can’t find Hannah Grace’s keys. Anything off the rental?”
“That’s what I was calling you for. Right after I left your place I asked my guys at the lab to do a rush job on those prints. They were in the system.”
“Tell me,” I say, moving from a jog to a run.
“They’re not in the criminal database. They’re in the database for people who need to be fingerprinted for employment. Do you know Zach Nolan?”
The name settles in my stomach like a rock.
“Yeah. That’s Hannah Grace’s best friend. They work together at Meadow Ridge.”
The amount of information both Hannah Grace and I have shared with Zach is staggering—he never crossed my mind as a threat. Well, maybe at first, but I knew how much he cared about her.
“The prints are registered to him,” Murphy says.
Wrong. And now every interaction I had with Zach, every look I witnessed from him when Hannah Grace wasn’t paying attention, takes on a different light.
“Are you picking him up?” I puff into the phone, following the turn I need to make.
“I have two officers on the way to his address to question him,” he says.
Only something tells me we’ll have better odds of finding him where we find Hannah Grace.
“I don’t think he’s there,” I say.
“Where do you think he is? Wait, is this you?” A car moving in my direction flashes its headlights.
“Yeah.” I slow down, crossing the street, and drop into the passenger side of the car.
We’re already moving before I can buckle my seat belt.
“Damn, you move fast.”
My lungs are burning, my heart pounding. But I refuse to let any of that stop me.
I grunt, too focused on trying to control my breathing.
“Where do you think he is?” Murphy asks, glancing at me as we speed in the direction of the address.
“Can you call backup for the address I gave you?” I ask.
“You think he’s there?”
I nod. “I do.”
He lifts his portable radio from the cup holder, calling in the request.
Belatedly I realize I don’t have my gun, having locked it in the house earlier.
“You think he’s dangerous?” he asks, squealing his tires as he takes a turn.
“I think any cornered animal is dangerous. Plus, you saw the video.”
The car jumps forward as he presses on the gas and lifts the radio, relaying the additional information to his dispatcher.
Potential hostage situation. Dangerous.
Fuck.
It’s been more than thirty minutes since Hannah Grace left the house. Twenty since I texted her. While Murphy is speeding faster through town than I could, I can’t help but worry that we’ll be too late.
That Zach is going to hurt Hannah Grace. Or worse.
Hold on, Honey Girl . We’re coming .