Chapter 23 #2
Because every piece fits the puzzle too perfectly.
“Keep me updated,” Adam warns.
“I will.”
I end the call and lower the phone, my hand hovering in the air long after the line goes dead.
For a moment, I don’t move.
The garage feels too still—concrete, cold, the faint hum of the water heater the only sound. My breathing comes slow, controlled out of habit rather than calm.
Once.
Twice.
A third time, because the first two didn’t take.
The wanking bastard hurt her.
Not theoretically. Not maybe.
Fact.
He broke into her home. Violated her while she slept. Left scars no one can see unless they know how to look.
And now he’s out. Free. Mobile. Unaccounted for.
He could be anywhere.
He could be watching her already.
He could be in the woods that wrap around Cedar Lake like a curtain no one ever quite pulls back.
He could be close enough to hear the way her breath shakes when she’s scared.
Something tightens under my ribs—slow at first, then sharp.
It’s not the kind of fear I was trained to override.
It’s the kind that hits in one clean strike, honest and human and unwelcome.
I’ve walked into ambush zones with a steadier pulse than this.
But this—her—changes the math.
Because for the first time in a very long time, the danger isn’t aimed at me.
And I’m terrified anyway.
Not for my life.
For hers. For Lily.
I pull up my parents’ number and hit call, pacing before it even rings.
Mum picks up on the second ring, her voice soft, the kind she saves for family.
“Ethan, love—everything all right?”
“No,” I say, too quickly. My voice comes out tighter than I intend. “Listen—I need you to keep Lily in Florida. Take her to Orlando, I’ll cover the cost.”
There’s a beat of silence. Not long, but long enough to feel her concern travel through the line.
“Ethan… what’s going on?”
Her tone sharpens in that subtle, maternal way that means she’s already imagining worst-case scenarios. “Is someone hurt? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” I say—reflex, automatic. “It’s not me. Just… trust me. Don’t bring her back yet. Please.”
Another pause. Longer this time. I can almost picture her sitting at the kitchen counter, hand over her chest, trying to decide whether to push.
“Sweetheart,” she says gently, “I can hear it in your voice. Something’s wrong.”
I close my eyes, inhale once to steady myself. “Mum. Please.”
That does it.
Her sigh is soft but full of worry. “All right, darling. We’ll keep her here. As long as she needs. Just promise you’ll call if—”
“I will.”
“You always say that,” she murmurs, but the edge in her voice fades. “Take care of yourself, Ethan.”
“I will. Thank you.”
I hang up before she can ask anything else—because if she does, I might actually tell her.
Then I grab my keys. My jacket.
And the weapon safe.
The familiar weight of the Glock steadies something in me—something cold, something I haven’t let breathe in years. The part of me built for hunting men who mean harm.
Because if Lucky’s stalker knows where she is?
I’ll find him first.
And if I do…
God help me—
He’ll never touch her again.
Not while I’m still breathing.
Not while I still remember what it feels like to end someone who deserves it.
I’m not proud of the things my hands have done.
But for her?
I’d do worse.
I’m out the door the second I push the gun into my shoulder holster, crossing the small stretch of bushes between our houses so fast branches whip against my arms. Her place sits dark, every curtain drawn so tightly it looks like the house is holding its breath.
Yesterday morning, it felt lived in. Warm. Hers.Now it feels… off.
I take the porch steps in two strides and knock hard.
“Lucky?”
Nothing.
I press my palm to the door, listening—not for movement but for the kind of silence that’s too deliberate, too complete.
“Lucky, it’s me. Open up.”
Still nothing.
My gut twists. She wouldn’t ignore me—not after last night, not after everything that passed between us. That closeness wasn’t imagined. It wasn’t a mistake. And she sure as hell wouldn’t shut me out unless something inside her broke.
I try the windows beside the door, but the curtains are sealed edge to edge, taped almost, like she didn’t want a single crack of the world getting in.
Her car’s still parked out front. No broken glass. No forced lock. No footprints in the dirt leading up to the house except mine.
Something is very, very wrong.
I step off the porch and circle around the side of the house, heart in my throat, until I reach the back stairs leading to the patio.
The boards creak under my weight as I climb, and the hair on the back of my neck lifts.
The sliding doors are barred by the blinds, drawn straight to the floor, unmoving.
I knock on the glass, voice low but urgent.
“Lucky, sweetheart? Talk to me.”
Silence.
That’s all I need.
I crouch beside the sliding door, fingertips brushing the lower track. No anti-lift locks. She probably never even knew she needed one.
Most people don’t.
I hook my fingers under the frame, brace my shoulder, and lift. The panel shifts enough to slip from the track. A small metallic click, and it’s free.
I slide it open and step inside, closing it quietly behind me.
Her house hits me like a punch.
Cold. Still. Lifeless.
The coffee mugs from yesterday are still exactly where I left them. The coffee maker is untouched. The blankets we wrapped ourselves in lie folded on the couch, as if she placed them there gently… then never came back to them.
But on the dining table, two mugs of tea sit half-finished. One knocked slightly askew, as though her hand shook.
Something happened. Right after I left earlier.
I draw a slow breath, force myself to move. Every step is silent, deliberate. I check the kitchen, the front hall, and the living room. No signs of forced entry, no overturned drawers, no broken frames. Just a strange emptiness, like Lucky evaporated from the rooms without disturbing a thing.
Then—
Water.
Running.
Upstairs.
My pulse spikes, every muscle locking tight. I take the stairs fast but controlled, every instinct ready for the worst. Steam curls beneath the bathroom door, dense and hot enough to fog the hallway mirror.
I knock once, sharply.
“Lucky? It’s Ethan. Answer me.”
Nothing.
I twist the handle. Unlocked.
The door swings open, and a suffocating wave of steam floods out, fogging the world white. I step inside—
And my heart stops.