Chapter Twenty-Five #2
Sean nodded, understanding more than he might have a few months ago. Sometimes life shifted without warning. Sometimes, the right person stepped into your world and made everything that came before feel like the waiting room before the real show began.
Thinking of Grace, Sean looked toward the clinic doors, ready to leave the ugliness of the day behind and spend whatever time he could with the woman waiting inside.
“So when’s the wedding?” he teased.
Dan gave him a pointed look. “Don’t you turn the tables on me, boy. I’m getting all three of you married off before I can relax and settle down. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
Sean snorted. “That’s calling the kettle black, old man.”
Pushing off the Mustang’s hood, he clapped his uncle on the back.
For the first time all day, the knot of tension riding his shoulders had loosened a fraction.
This was what he needed—normal conversation, harmless teasing, a few quiet minutes before he disappeared into an evening with Grace and tried to forget the horrors waiting for him back at the sheriff’s department tomorrow.
“Anyway, you and Bonnie have fun. Let me go get Grace and find out what she wants for dinner tonight.”
“I’m right behind you. She called a little while ago and asked me to bring over a wrench after I closed.” Dan pulled the tool from his back pocket. “The hose for the washing machine is dripping a little.”
Sean held the clinic door open, and Jinx trotted past him with eager purpose as he went in search of one of his favorite people. Grace’s receptionist had left at the end of her shift at 4:00 p.m., so the front desk was empty.
The two men entered the large therapy room. Sean’s gaze swept the space and stopped. Only Tim and an older man remained. The patient stood near one of the treatment tables, buttoning his dress shirt.
No Grace.
Something cold slid through Sean’s chest. As Dan headed toward the laundry room, Sean turned to Tim. “Where’s Grace?”
Tim looked up and pointed toward the back door. “She took the garbage out.” His eyes flicked toward the wall clock, and his expression shifted. “But that was about ten minutes ago.”
The world seemed to narrow around those words.
Sean was moving before his thoughts could catch up.
He crossed the room at a sprint and slammed into the back door hard enough to send it crashing open against the exterior wall.
His eyes scanned the alley, searching every shadow, every parked car, every corner.
Please let her be standing there.
Please let her be talking to someone.
Please let there be some ordinary explanation.
Jinx shot past him, barking once before racing into the lot.
Behind Sean, he heard Dan and Tim rushing after him, but their footsteps barely registered over the roar of blood pounding in his ears. Grace’s car sat exactly where it should. The lot was empty except for that and Tim’s SUV.
“Grace!” His shout bounced off brick walls and vanished into the evening air.
He pointed sharply, his voice clipped and urgent. “Dan, go left. Tim, check her car.”
After issuing the orders, he ran right.
“Grace!” The name tore from his throat again as he scanned the lot.
Jinx veered toward the dumpster two storefronts down, nose to the pavement, every line of his body alert. Sean followed, dread building with each step.
The dog stopped beside something white on the asphalt—Grace’s shoe.
For a second, Sean couldn’t breathe.
The single slip-on she’d been wearing that morning lay on its side near the dumpster. Jinx nosed it, then looked up with a low, mournful whine that sliced the air.
A wave of ice-cold fear swept through Sean, threatening to drag him under.
No.
No, no, no.
Forcing himself to think, he left the shoe untouched and yanked out his phone. His fingers felt clumsy as he scrolled to the direct line for the sheriff’s department.
Please let this be anything else.
Please let there be some explanation.
When the desk sergeant answered, Sean’s training took over, his voice turning sharp and controlled despite the panic clawing at his throat.
“This is Special Agent Sean Malone of the FBI. I need the sheriff and BCI to respond immediately to 113 Main Street in Whisper for a kidnapping by an unknown suspect. Grace Whitman, blonde female Caucasian, twenty-seven, last seen wearing khaki pants and a navy blue polo shirt. Abduction occurred in the last ten to fifteen minutes. No description of a vehicle or suspect. Also, contact Detective Brad Lynch and have him respond.”
After the sergeant repeated the information back to him, Sean ended the call and turned. Dan stood a few yards away, his face pale beneath the lingering daylight. The fear in his uncle’s eyes mirrored what Sean was fighting to contain.
He swallowed hard and forced the words out. “Go be with Bonnie. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”
His uncle gave him a stoic nod. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be praying for you both.”
“So will I.”
I’m going to pray as if the love of my life’s life depends on it. Because it does.