Chapter 24
Garrison
“What do you have for me?” I ask when I answer Tucker’s call on Bluetooth.
“Nothing good,” he replies. “Are you in a place where you can see something?”
I guide my truck off to the shoulder of the highway and put it in park. “I am now.” After retrieving my phone from the cupholder, I open up a message from Tucker Hunt and turn it so Weston can see as well.
“What am I looking at?”
“The security camera from outside the hardware store. I was able to remotely access it, but it’s the last camera before the dead zone where she was grabbed.”
As he says it, Katelyn comes into view. The picture is grainy and dark, but she’s unmistakable. Her purse hangs up on her shoulder, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Just seeing her is a knife to my chest, knowing that it may be the last time I do.
“Did you see who grabbed her?”
“No. But she wasn’t alone.” Tucker’s voice is strained, his tone serious.
Katelyn pauses and glances off to the right as a man jogs toward her in running shorts and a tank top. Sawyer. Dread fills me, saturating every part of me from my head to my toes, because I now know without a doubt that the blood wasn’t Katelyn’s.
It’s Sawyer’s. If he were with her, then he likely fought back.
Anger and grief permeate the cab of my truck as Weston watches Katelyn and Sawyer start walking again, disappearing off-screen.
The video ends.
“Sawyer was with her,” Weston snarls. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have anything else. I’m still combing security cameras out of town, but so far, nothing.”
“Thanks, Tucker. Please let me know if you find anything.” I end the call.
“You heard from Sawyer yet?” Weston asks into his phone. “Thanks.” He ends the call. “Anastasia hasn’t gotten hold of him. She went by the shop, and he’s not there. His phone is on the counter.” He slams his fist into the dash and mutters something under his breath. “They took him, too.”
The realization twists into my gut, giving me a new level of appreciation for my friend, even as my fear just doubled. “He tried to save her.”
“The blood is his,” Weston says.
“It has to be. That’s the only way they would have gotten her. He wouldn’t have gone down without a fight.” Oh, God, please don’t let me lose either of them.
“Garrison, if they didn’t come for him—” Weston starts.
I already know where he’s going, and it makes my stomach churn. “Then they have no reason to keep him alive.”
It’s just past two in the morning when I make it to the camp. I pull up in front of the main cabin and put my truck in park, my heart heavier than it’s ever been. How am I supposed to deliver this news?
How do I tell a young boy that his mom is missing and I’m not sure she’ll ever come home?
There has been no news from Elijah or Tucker since Tucker’s call an hour ago, and I can’t help but worry the next call I get will be from Leopold, telling me they found Sawyer’s discarded body.
The woman I love and my best friend. Both ripped from me on the same night.
How is this fair?
Because I’m not sure what else I can do, I close my eyes and bow my head, reaching for the only One who can stop this storm from leveling my entire life.
God, I can’t do this. Please help me. Please guide me so I can bring them both home safely. Please, Lord. In Jesus’ name I pray, amen.
“You ready?” Weston asks as soon as I’ve opened my eyes and raised my head.
I take a deep breath. “No. But let’s go anyway.” As I’m shoving open my door, the cabin opens, and Coach Jesse Rivers steps out, his expression grim. I’d called him on my way here and let him know what was going on.
He assured me that Thomas wouldn’t be notified until I got here and, after getting Leopold’s permission, agreed to release the teen into my care. My care. He should be with his mom. It should be her picking him up from the school after an amazing week with his friends.
“Any update?” Jesse asks.
I shake my head. “We’ve got people looking into every possible lead.”
He nods. “I haven’t said anything to him, but I did have his counselor go get him when I saw your truck coming down the drive.”
“Good.” But is it? How can it be when Katelyn and Sawyer’s lives hang in the balance?
“Mr. Holt?” Thomas’ voice cracks what little restraint I’ve had over my own emotions ever since seeing those red and blue lights.
“Hey, Thomas.”
His eyes go wide and fill with tears. “Where’s my mom?” he stammers, voice cracking. “Where is she? Is she okay?” He rushes forward, and I reach up to place both hands on his trembling shoulders.
“We don’t know where she is, but we’re going to find her, okay?”
His bottom lip begins to tremble, and he throws himself into my arms. I wrap both of them around him and hold on. Lord, please let her be okay. Please bring her home to him. Please God, don’t make this boy bury his mother.
“We’re going to take you back to town, okay?”
He nods and pulls away, wiping his cheeks. “I want to help.”
“I know you do. Let’s go get your stuff.”
“Got it,” an older boy—likely the counselor who ran to get him—holds up a duffel bag.
Weston crosses over and takes it from him, then carries it back and tosses it into the truck.
“Come on, Thomas.” With an arm around his shoulders, I guide him back toward the truck.
“Let us know if we can do anything,” Jesse calls out.
“Will do, thanks.”
“Thanks, Coach,” Thomas manages.
“Anytime, kid. You’re not alone, okay?”
He nods. “I know.” But his voice is barely above a whisper.
Does he know that? Does he know that I’ll die before I let anything happen to him?
That I’d gladly trade my life for Katelyn’s?
“Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt your mom?” Leopold asks Thomas. I’m sitting next to him, across the desk from the police captain, where we’ve been for the better part of half an hour since we returned home.
He shakes his head. “My mom never hurt anybody.”
“But you moved around a lot. Any idea why?”
He closes his eyes, the questioning taking its toll on his already damaged heart. “She never said anything. But I always suspected she didn’t want someone to find us.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.” He drops his head and puts both hands on his cheeks.
“I think we need to call it,” I say and stand. “Come on, Thomas. Let’s get some food.”
“I’m not hungry. I don’t want to eat. I want to find my mom,” he cries.
“I know,” I tell him. “And we will. I promise. Can you go wait with Weston so I can talk to Captain Leopold?”
Thomas hesitates for a moment but finally nods and heads out into the hall. Through the glass, I see him stop beside Weston and Ryker.
“Any update on the blood?” I question.
“We can’t tell whether or not it’s his, but—”
“You can get a DNA profile.”
He nods. “It’s not hers,” he says.
Sawyer.
“Thanks.” I reach for the door handle.
“Holt.”
I turn back toward him.
“We both know you’re not going to let this go, and I’m in no place to tell you to drop it. But I do expect to be kept in the loop. You let me know if you find anything else, and I’ll do the same.”
“Yes, sir.”