12. Twelve
Twelve
Ghost
A few minutes ago, I called Sabrina, and her phone rang. She didn’t pick up, so I called again. She’s painting pottery, not too busy to answer, especially if what Flame told us is true… she wants a relationship with the three of us.
I’m hoping she understands how serious it is that she convinced him to set a Christmas tree up and add decorations through the house. Seems she has a thing for reindeer. I tuck that knowledge away for later.
We need to make sure she knows we have to hide the relationship until after the promotion, and I can’t wait to talk to her about it.
Now my call goes straight to voicemail. This isn’t like Sabrina.
“Flame, are you sure everything was good between you two? You didn’t just see what you wanted to see and run her off?” I pace across our living room, muscles tense, my sixth sense telling me something’s wrong.
Flame narrows his gaze at me. “We kept our space afterward, but that was because I had to get this data sorted, and it was the only way to keep my hands off of her. What’s going on?”
“She didn’t answer. Replay the conversation from when you came on her face.”
Flame spells everything out as I request, then it hits him. He pauses and says, “She never actually said she wanted it. She asked questions and posed problems. Did I push too hard?”
I shrug.
Ruckus keeps trying her phone. “She never turns her phone off. And she’s religious about keeping it charged.”
“Maybe she doesn’t get reception in the studio?” Flame suggests, but his voice wavers.
Something cold settles in my gut. “Call the studio.”
Ruckus finds the number on the internet. As he’s dialing, he says, “According to this, they closed ten minutes ago.” There’s a pause. “Answering machine. They’re closed.”
“This isn’t right.” I grab my keys. “Sabrina wouldn’t ghost us, especially not after…” I trail off, my worst fears realized. I’ve failed to protect her.
Flame’s already heading for the door.
We pile into my truck, tires squealing as I peel out of the driveway. The fifteen-minute drive to the pottery studio stretches like hours. None of us speak—we don’t need to. After years of working together, we know when something’s off.
And everything about this is off.
My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as I take a corner too fast. In my peripheral vision, I see Flame brace himself against the door.
He doesn’t complain. Nor does Ruckus who I tossed around in the back seat. They know it too.
Something is very wrong.
I whip around the corner making the final turn to the pottery studio, tires squealing. Sabrina’s blue Civic sits alone, a couple of shops down from the studio. It’s the only car left on the street.
I slam on the brakes, the truck skidding to a halt beside her car. The emptiness of the street amplifies the danger.
My hands shake as I cut the engine. A familiar weight tightens my chest, the one I felt when I watched the civilians die in the fire. I failed them. Just like I’ve failed her.
The streetlights provide pockets of light. Nothing appears disturbed. That makes it worse. She wouldn’t leave her car here without telling us she changed plans.
Memories flash through my mind—her warm body against mine at the club, the way she trusted me completely. The way I promised myself I’d protect her. My jaw clenches so hard it aches.
“Ghost.” Ruckus’ voice cuts through my spiral. “We’ll find her.”
I force myself to breathe, to think like the soldier I was trained to be. Harness my investigative skills. Push down the rage, the fear, the guilt. I can’t dwell on the fact that she’s in trouble because of us. But my hands won’t stop shaking. All I can think about is how I didn’t let her see all of me. How small and vulnerable she felt in my arms. How I might have put a baby in her.
“Ty.” The name tastes like ash in my mouth. “He said it wasn’t over.”
The pieces click together. Should have known he wouldn’t walk away, especially after it appears that he set the out-of-town fires. Now she’s out there somewhere, probably terrified, while I’m standing by her empty car.
The tightness in my chest threatens to crush me. I can’t afford to break down, not now. Not when she needs me. Us. I straighten my spine, let the cold clarity of training take over. We have a mission. Find Sabrina. Everything else has to wait.
“Could be with friends,” Flame says, but his voice is tight.
“Car trouble?” Ruckus suggests as we circle her car and scan the surrounding area, searching for any possible clue.
The glint of something on the concrete catches my eye. My blood turns to ice. Sabrina’s lip-gloss tube lies in a crack in the sidewalk, the cap missing. She keeps that thing closer than her phone.
“Fuck.” The word tears from my throat.
Ruckus already has his phone out. From what I can hear, he’s called a local security team and is having them look up anything they can on Ty. We’ll add it to what we already know.
My hands shake as I crouch by the lip gloss. The bastard has her. He’s had this planned, watching, waiting.
Flame’s scrolling through his phone. “We have three addresses for Ty. That place outside city limits—the one that took forever to track down? Has to be it. Remote enough, no neighbors.”
“Agreed.” Ruckus nods sharply.
Using the lights on our phones, we check the area for another minute before returning to the truck. Good thing is that there are no signs of blood.
I bang my fist on the toolbox that’s in the bed. “We’ve got our axes. If he doesn’t let us in, we’ll tear the fucking place down.”
The engine roars as I floor it.
Flame says, “Hold on, Babygirl. We’re coming.”