Chapter 40 Phoenix
PHOENIX
Another flash of lightning turned the room stark white for a second. The storm was almost here.
I stepped out onto the deck, trying to breathe through the growing weight in my chest. The air was thick—oppressive—with that strange, buzzing tension that always came before something broke. A storm, a fight, a war.
It was dead quiet. Not a single chirp or rustle in the trees. Even the birds had fled. The wind had stilled, but the clouds above churned in slow, heavy spirals, like they were holding their breath.
So was I.
“You alright?” Gage’s voice came from inside, where he sat cross-legged in a mess of wires, mounting the last of the security cameras.
“Yeah,” I lied, stepping back in and closing the door. I didn’t look at him.
“You’re like a damn teenager waiting on his prom date,” he teased. “Give the girl a break.”
I tried to force a smirk, but my stomach kept twisting. Something was wrong. I couldn’t explain it—just a cold instinct crawling up the back of my neck. The kind you didn’t ignore if you wanted to stay alive.
Gage narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on with you?”
I hesitated. “I haven’t heard from Rose in a few hours.”
He raised a brow. “Were you supposed to?”
“No,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Forget it.”
But I couldn’t. Not with the way she’d smiled. Not with the way the storm was closing in, devouring the sky and the light. Something wasn’t right. I felt it in my goddamn bones.
Another rumble of thunder. Then, rain—fat, angry drops slapping the windows like fists.
I told myself to get a grip and shifted focus to the bookcase where Gage and I had decided to install a motion-activated camera that would alert Rose of an intruder if she wasn’t home—and also, me.
Rose could access the system remotely to check inside before coming home.
The camera wouldn’t avert someone from breaking in but it would give her peace of mind, and that was priceless.
Besides, Gage and I had already installed a truckload of things to avert—and capture—peeping toms.
I walked over to the bookcase and began removing the alphabetized self-help section—an irony that wasn’t lost on me.
I picked up a book entitled “Own Your Emotions, Own Your Life,” and stopped cold.
The thick book was significantly lighter than the others.
I turned it over in my hands and spotted a small, black circle in the spine.
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
Gage was on his feet in an instant. “What?”
I peeled the clear tape from the cover and flipped open the book. The center had been gutted and replaced with a tiny black video recorder. A red light blinked.
“Another one?” My gaze skittered around the shelf.
“The internet’s still off.” Gage reminded me.
“No way it’s streaming.” I zeroed in on the red, blinking light.
“It’s on, though. Whoever implanted it didn’t realize the internet wasn’t on.
” My blood turned cold. “And it’s new.” “Since when?” “Since today. This morning. Since Rose and I left for breakfast.” I grabbed my cell phone from the counter.
“How do you know?” Gage asked. “I did a detailed check last night after Rose fell asleep. I went through every book in this case. Someone broke in after we’d left this morning.
Someone was watching us.” I dialed Rose’s number.
I grabbed my phone and dialed. Ring. Ring. Voicemail.
I swallowed the rising nausea and met Gage’s eyes. “Get your keys.”
We bolted for the door.
The moment we stepped outside, lightning fractured the sky. Rain sheeted around us, thick and blinding. The wind had picked up—howling now, bending trees like matchsticks.
I helped Spirit into the trailer attached to Gage’s truck, hands shaking with urgency.
“Where to?” Gage asked as he climbed into the cab.
“Kline and Associates. Go.”
I hit redial.
Voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
I slammed my fist against the dash. “Christ, can this thing go any faster?”
“Not unless we want to hydroplane into a ditch.” Gage’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “We’ll get her.”
“Just get there. Fast.”
Raindrops the size of walnuts pounded the windshield, the wipers struggling to keep up.
Wind swirled around us, beating against the sides of the truck. Debris skipped along the dirt road ahead.
Gage flicked on his headlights. The day had turned to midnight in an instant it seemed, a green-tinted darkness coloring the woods around us.
I couldn’t sit still. My foot tapped. My knee bounced. Every second we weren’t there was a second something could be happening to her. And I couldn’t breathe through that.
I’d promised her. I’d promised myself.
I would never let her down again.
“Turn on the radio,” Gage barked, eyes squinting through the deluge. “Local news.”
I clicked the knob.
”…tornado warning has been issued for Berry Springs and surrounding counties. All residents are advised to take immediate shelter. Do not wait for the sirens. Again, a tornado warning is now in effect—”
“Dammit…” Gage muttered from the driver’s seat. My brother could single-handedly eliminate a group of tangos with AK47’s, but there was something about tornados that made him jumpy. As if on cue, the truck slid around a flooded corner. Gage and I both looked back at the trailer. Still there.
The radio flickered as a bolt of lightning resembling a witch’s staff touched the ground somewhere close by.
I clicked on my cell and dialed Jagg’s number.
“You better be calling me from your storm shelter cause—”
“I need you to get to Kline and Associates now.”
“Dude, have you been outside? It’s like the apocalypse. I’m helping the local PD with the roads. There’re freaking cars everywhere. They’re slammed.”
“Jagg.” My jaw locked as I cut him off, voice a razor’s edge. “I need you at Kline’s.”
“… Okay, man, okay. On my way.”
I clicked off.
“Dude…” Gage’s face paled. “Shit…”
I followed my brother’s gaping gaze to a massive wall cloud beginning to swirl in the distance.
“Better hit the gas, bro,” I yelled over the pounding rain.
What followed was three minutes of white-knuckled hell. The truck roared over water-slicked asphalt, tires hydroplaning, wipers working overtime, thunder cracking like gunshots in a war zone. Wind buffeted the truck like fists from every direction.
By the time we skidded to a stop in front of Kline and Associates, my chest was heaving. Rose’s BMW sat parked, droplets skating down its windshield like a ghost had been crying over it.
“Check around the building. I’m going inside.”
Rain lashed our faces as we jumped out. I did a hard sweep around her car, adrenaline buzzing so loud I could barely hear the storm anymore. Gage disappeared around the left side of the building.
The front door was unlocked.
That ball in my gut turned to lead.
I pushed inside.
It was silent.
That eerie, unnatural stillness. Like the world was holding its breath.
Rose’s purse and keys sat neatly on the front counter.
But no Rose.
My blood turned to ice.
“Rose?” I hollered as I jogged to her office.
Nothing.
I searched the conference room, the break room, then jogged to the corner office with sweeping windows that overlooked the valley. Unlike the other offices, the curtains in this one were drawn, a dark brown satin next to a row of plaques highlighting the name: Theo Kline, PSY.D.
My gaze shifted to the built-in bookshelf that took half the wall, where dozens of books had been removed and stacked on the floor.
I stepped over and ran my finger along the edges, something telling me to look further.
I began pulling books and tossing them on the floor behind me when a narrow beam of light caught my eye—a twinkling light from behind a stack of encyclopedias.
I tossed the books to the ground, squinted into the light, and stared at the tiny peep hole that led directly into Rose’s office.
White-hot rage zipped through me.
Theo Kline.
That sick bastard had been watching her.
Breathing hard, I spun around and saw the chaos I hadn’t noticed before—folders scattered on the floor, file tabs bent, some torn. Pictures. Dozens of them. Black and white. Rose getting coffee. Rose brushing her hair. Naked.
My hands shook as I picked up one of the files.
EXPERIMENTAL PSYCHOLOGY – THEO L. KLINE.
I flipped it open. Bile rose in my throat.
Inside were dozens of pictures of electrocuted and mutilated chickens, each containing detailed notes of the torture that was done, recording bodily stats such as heart rate and temperature, the length of time it took the animal to die, as well as detailing each stage of death.
I picked up a handful of pictures of Rose, in her office, getting coffee, at the gas station.
Each picture had been dated and time stamped, with notes of events pertaining to the day, such as the time she arrived, the time she took her lunch, what she ate, her demeanor, what she was wearing.
Then, my eyes shifted to another folder labeled “Suitors.” Inside, were not only pictures of Josh Davis, but of me as well, including an aerial view of the Steele Shadows Security compound and possible breaching points.
Next up, pictures of Carl Higgins in different stages of death, as well as closeups of his melted skin seconds after the electric wires had been ripped away.
My stomach rolled. Next were pictures of Andrew’s body, taken from a cell phone, presumably.
But the most unnerving thing I found was the transcript of Rose’s interview with the department of human services when she was just eight years old, detailing the moment she found her foster mother dead, and how she ran for her life after.
Theo’s shaky, handwritten notes included ‘subject’s emotional resolve now slipping.
Events beginning to take mental and emotional toll. ’
“Subject’s.”
Rose was a subject—a fucking science experiment. Theo Kline’s own, personal science experiment.
The man was out-of-his-mind crazy.
My hands clenched so hard the folder crumpled in my grip. And then I saw it—divorce papers at the top of the stack, dated exactly six months earlier—to the day.
Rose’s words thundered in my skull: “There’s usually an emotional trigger that makes someone with a mental illness snap...”
“Holy shit…” Gage said, suddenly behind me.
Just then, from the front of the office—
“Rose, where are you?! We need to take shelter!”
I jerked my head up, spun on my heel and jogged out of the office.
Zoey squealed and dropped the coffee in her hand, sending a funnel of steaming liquid into the air like a fountain. Cameron froze behind her, carrying a bag of takeout.
“What… you’re… Phoe—”
“Have you seen her? Rose?” My voice boomed across the room.
Zoey’s face drained of color. “No—I—what’s happening? Is she okay?”
My eyes narrowed. “Have you talked to her today? At all?”
“No. Cameron and I both got in late. The storm—what’s going on?!”
“Give me Theo Kline’s home address. Now.”
She scrambled to the computer, fingers flying. “Thirteen-sixteen Sycamore. But—”
I was already pulling my keys.
“Is there a basement here?”
“Yes.”
“Get down there. Lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone except me or the police.”
And with that, I ran out into the storm to save the only woman I’d ever truly loved.