Chapter 46
Mia rubbed her hands together and cupped them to her face.
She blew out a breath hoping to warm them, but no such luck.
A tremor ran through her. Her fingers felt stiff, clumsy, like they didn’t belong to her anymore.
She pressed her ear to the seam anyway, listening for anything—noise, a voice, a whisper of help.
Nothing.
Just silence.
A faint warm breeze leaked through the seam, barely enough to notice.
If she had to be grateful for something, it was that she was in Florida.
The air was warmer than it should have been.
Still not warm enough. If she were up north and this were winter, this metal coffin would’ve been a freezer. A slower death than whatever this was.
She was also grateful for the small amount of disgusting water she’d managed to lick from the condensation along the seam. It was foul and metallic, but it was something. Air and water would keep her alive. Barely. Long enough, she hoped for Caleb to find her.
And he would.
She knew that with all her heart. Caleb didn’t quit. He didn’t give up. He wouldn’t stop until he found her. She clung to that.
Still, believing didn’t make the cold bite less. It didn’t make the metal digging into her back any softer. It didn’t stop the tremors that rattled her body no matter how tightly she curled in on herself.
She pictured her father, the way he always pretended everything was fine when it wasn’t.
Mia wondered how her father was and if he was worried. Silly. Of course, he was worried. God, he must be frantic by now.
Then her thoughts drifted to Roy. How he stood between her and Dana. The fear in his eyes when he realized too late what she was capable of. Had he even known Dana was going to kill her? How did he ever connect with her? He wasn’t Dana’s type. He had to know she was using him.
Her chest tightened. She’d been irritated with him. Short-tempered. But Roy hadn’t been cruel. Just lonely. He wanted only to be wanted by somebody. It would never have been her. But there must have been someone, once.
If her father learned Roy had been involved, he’d be devastated. They’d trusted him. Invited him in and given him chances he hadn’t earned.
Still, Roy hadn’t been the mastermind. He wasn’t smart enough, vicious enough. How had Dana convinced him to help her?
And Dana?
The anger flared hot and sharp.
Dana had everything. She grew up rich. She’d been popular.
Her friends defended her, thought she could do no wrong.
Having a lot of girlfriends and being popular was something Mia didn’t have because she was too busy working and studying.
Dana had a business that thrived because her name opened doors.
Mia had broken hers down with blood and sweat.
Why wasn’t that enough for Dana? Why did she feel she had to take Mia’s too?
A violent shudder wracked her body, teeth chattering so hard her jaw ached. She wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to make herself smaller. Warmer.
She shut her eyes and forced her thoughts somewhere safe. She thought about hot cocoa, thick and sweet. The weight of the mug warming her palms. Chocolate and sugar and comfort.
Her stomach cramped instead.
The cold didn’t ease.
And the dark pressed closer.
Damn Roy.
Of course, he’d ruined everything.
She had planned to kill him, eventually. He was a liability. Too emotional, too needy—God, was he needy. Always wanted reassurance. So she’d given him just enough of her attention, her promises, a few soft words, and he lapped it up.
It should have been so simple. Get Mia in the locker. Lock the door. Walk away, and life goes on.
But no, he had to play hero.
And Mia had forced her hand.
Dana hadn’t wanted it to go this far. She’d tried to be patient, to be generous. But Mia kept pushing. Kept taking contracts, attention, sympathy. Acting like she earned it.
Dana had worked hard too. People liked to forget that part.
The locker had been a mercy, really. Quick. She’d even considered checking back later, just to make sure Mia hadn’t suffered more than necessary. That had to count for something.
Then Roy forced her hand.
She exhaled slowly as she drove. Panic wouldn’t help. Emotion wouldn’t either. This part required clarity.
Caleb’s call confirmed what she already suspected. They were watching. Not closely yet but enough to be dangerous. One wrong step and their suspicion would turn solid.
So, she’d moved on to the contingency plan.
The cabin was still exactly where it should have been, tucked into the trees on land her father had bought decades ago.
Twenty minutes from Haywood Lake, down a road no one used unless they meant to.
No neighbors. No cell service. No reason for anyone to stumble across it unless they already knew it existed.
She’d packed carefully. Cash. Clothes she could leave behind. Her phone powered down, and the battery was removed. Something tugged at her attention. Not panic. Not fear. Just a faint sense of irritation, like forgetting to turn off the light in a room she’d already left.
Dana dismissed it. She didn’t make mistakes. She told herself she never did.
By the time they found Mia’s body, it would be finished.
There would be no witnesses. No evidence. No story that couldn’t be explained away with grief and shock and a trembling voice. Nothing to prove she killed either of them.
Dana would mourn. Be the first to show up with casseroles and kind words. She’d cry at the right moments.
And when the dust settled, when Mia’s clients were left scrambling, Dana would be there.
She deserved that business. She always had.
If Mia hadn’t insisted on standing in her way, none of this would’ve been necessary.
Caleb unlocked the kitchen barn and pushed the door open. The familiar scent hit him first—cinnamon, citrus cleaner, Mia’s perfume. It should have felt grounding. Instead, it lodged in his chest like a breath he couldn’t quite take.
They stepped inside without speaking.
He didn’t touch anything. None of them did. Caleb let his eyes move slowly, cataloging the space the way he’d been trained to. Stainless counters wiped clean. Pots hanging in a neat row. The prep table was bare except for a folded towel.
She’d meant to come back.
“Looks normal,” said Titus.
Caleb shook his head. “There has to be a clue here somewhere. Something that will tell us where she and Roy could’ve gone.”
They searched methodically. Cabinets. Drawers. The fridge. Containers she labeled. Caleb hated seeing it all undisturbed, how personal it felt to stand here without her.
Nothing.
Finn drifted toward the sink, resting his hip against the counter. Caleb watched him absently, his attention snagging on the row of ceramic animals near the landline and wall calendar. A pig. A cow. A goat. Harmless. Sweet.
Finn snorted softly. “Guess the pig’s on guard duty.”
He nudged it aside to clear space near the phone.
The pig tipped.
It didn’t crash. Just rolled enough to land on its side with a dull thud.
The sound registered in Caleb’s body before his brain caught up.
That wasn’t right.
Finn stilled. “Huh?”
Caleb moved closer, pulse spiking. The pig lay on its side, and now that it wasn’t upright, the seam along the bottom was obvious.
“Pick it up,” Caleb said.
Finn did and immediately frowned. “This thing’s heavy.”
Caleb took it from him. The weight settled into his palm. His grip tightened as he turned it over.
His stomach dropped hard enough to make him sway.
“This isn’t décor,” he said quietly.
He twisted the bottom. It resisted for half a second, then gave.
Caleb’s breath caught. A small black opening stared back at him.
For a second, the room went silent. None of them even breathed.
“That’s a recorder,” Finn said.
Caleb’s thumb brushed the casing.
Warm.
His stomach lurched, heat flooding his chest as anger and fear collided. “It’s on,” he said. “And it’s been on.”
The barn no longer felt like Mia’s. It felt violated. Exposed.
Caleb forced himself to look around again, every surface suspect. Every corner too open. “She was being recorded,” he said. “In her own damn kitchen.”
Titus straightened. “This wasn’t random.”
“No,” Caleb agreed. His jaw tightened. “This was planned.”
He didn’t look away from the pig. “Finn, grab a towel so I can wrap this,” Caleb said.
Finn moved instantly.
“We’re going back to the campus,” Caleb said. “Now.”
Because whatever this was, it didn’t belong here.
And neither did the illusion that Mia had ever been alone.