Chapter One
Rosalie
The cracked asphalt stretches beneath my worn sneakers as I step out of the Uber and stare at the quiet street.
The neighborhood looks ordinary enough at first glance—small houses, trimmed yards, a few cars parked along the curb—but something about it still makes my stomach tighten.
Maybe it’s the heat pressing down on me, or the way Kristin’s car sits abandoned in front of the pale blue house across the street.
The curtains are drawn, the porch is empty, and everything is still.
Too still.
My knuckles are white where I grip the strap of my bag, pulling it tight against my chest like a shield.
Nothing about the street screams danger, and maybe that makes it worse.
It looks like the kind of place someone could convince herself was safe enough in broad daylight.
It could be a postcard for the average American home.
But Kristin is nowhere to be seen, and no one has heard from her. That isn’t like her.
I hate this. I freaking hate this so much. It reminds me too much of being young and scared and knowing something was wrong but not knowing how to fix it. I shouldn’t be here. In fact, I should turn back around and head straight to the cops and…
“And what?” a voice at the back of my head mocks. “What are the cops going to do?”
Nothing.
The fact is, the cops aren’t going to help me find my friend.
Heck, they’re probably going to laugh me out of the station.
A twenty-one-year-old girl staying out for one night isn’t exactly going to have them up in arms, racing to find her.
They probably wouldn’t even consider her missing.
Not really. Not when she’s twenty-one and there’s no proof she didn’t leave on her own.
Hence the reason I’m standing outside the last place Kristin’s phone pinged on the location tracking app we share.
I shiver despite the desert heat, clutching my bag closer to my chest as I question the wisdom of coming here alone. But who else was I going to call? Kristin is the only friend I have. The only family we both have left.
I nearly jump when I hear the distant rumble of a truck, its engine fading as it passes the end of the street. My heart thumps frantically against my ribs, each beat a drumroll of anxiety.
Oh God.
Please let Kristin be here.
A dog barks somewhere close, a sharp, aggressive sound that makes me flinch.
I try to keep my breathing even, but it’s a losing battle.
The silence stretching between the noises is almost worse, amplifying the sense of being utterly alone and exposed.
I quicken my pace, my gaze fixed on the path ahead, trying to ignore the way the gravel crunches too loudly under my feet as I cross toward the porch.
“Close,” I whisper to myself, lifting my phone to make sure I’m moving closer to the red dot and not further away. Good thing the location app is this accurate, or I’d be wandering around with no idea where to start. The dot marks Kristin’s last recorded location before her phone turned off.
Christ, why would Kristin come here? And why did she turn her phone off without letting me know she wasn’t coming home first?
I’m going to kick her ass if I find her! When. Not if.
I follow the dot until it lands on the same address where Kristin’s car is parked.
What kind of modeling audition happens at someone’s house?
A low thump of music vibrates from inside, muffled by the closed door. I hesitate for a second, my hand hovering inches from the wood.
How dumb am I going to look when I knock and Kristin is inside completely fine?
I bet she’ll be pissed off at me for coming all the way out here and interrupting whatever it is she’s doing in there, but I don’t mind a screaming match with her.
Christ, I just want her to be okay. I can handle her pissed off as long as she’s okay.
Taking a deep breath that does little to calm the frantic flutter in my chest, I rap my knuckles against the wood.
The sound of the knock is swallowed by the loud music on the other side, so I knock again, harder this time.
For a moment, nothing happens, and I start to wonder if anyone even heard me.
My hand rises again, trembling slightly, but before I can knock, the door opens.
I suck in a sharp breath and take a quick step back, my pulse jumping as the man in the doorway looks me over.
Standing in the entrance is the same man who came into the diner.
He’s dressed nicely enough, with a button-down shirt tucked into dark slacks, but something about him still makes my stomach clench.
Maybe it’s the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, or the way his gaze moves over me before returning to my face.
“You’re not the delivery driver.”
My brows furrow as I stare into the face I didn’t trust yesterday when he showed up at the diner where Kristin and I work, claiming to be a photographer scouting models. I don’t trust it now either.
“Mr. Leopold?” I say, clearing my throat when my voice comes out shaky. “You don’t remember me?”
His eyes narrow as he tries to place me, then recognition flickers across his face.
“Rosalie, right?” he asks, his smile widening. “Kristin said you might come by.”
“I’m here for Kristin,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. “You came to our diner yesterday, scouting for models, and set up a meeting with her. She came here for the photoshoot, and I haven’t been able to reach her since.”
I turn and point at the dark blue Corolla parked at the curb. “That’s her car right there.”
His gaze flicks past me toward Kristin’s car, then back to my face. For half a second, something cold moves through his eyes, but it’s gone so quickly I almost wonder if I imagined it.
“Of course,” he says, his smile returning. “We’ve been working most of the day, and she got tired. She’s lying down for a bit.”
My stomach tightens. “So, she’s still here?”
“She is.”
“Really?” I’m afraid to hope. To believe him. But Kristin always said creative people kept strange hours and stranger habits. “Can you get her? If she’s tired, I can drive her car home.”
“Sure.” He motions for me to come in, smiling when I hesitate. “Come on. Your friend is a heavy sleeper. I’ll wake her, and we can go through some of the photos we took before you leave.”
Everything in me screams to turn around and leave this place, but concern for Kristin wins. Even as I nod, I discreetly slide my hand into my bag and wrap my fingers around the pepper spray I always carry as I walk past the man and into the house.
“Where is she?” I ask, looking around the small space. It’s cleaner than I expected, sterile almost, with very little that makes it feel like someone actually lives here.
“Hmm, they’re going to pay a pretty penny for you too.”
I jump when the door shuts behind me, and I turn to find the man grinning at me, those eyes dark and dangerous in a way that has the hair on the back of my neck rising.
“Where is Kristin?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly despite the panic beating at my chest. “You said she was in here.”
“Oh, she was,” he says. “Now she’s somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere secure until we are ready to move her,” he says, stepping away from the door and approaching me, forcing me back a step.
“Girls like your friend make good money when they’re untouched.
Pretty, innocent, gullible.” I take another step and another until there is a table between us.
“And you are an unexpected treat. Maybe I’ll have my fun with you first.”
I’m prepared when he lunges at me, taking my pepper spray out of my bag and spraying the mist right into his eyes.
He bellows, hands swiping blindly toward me, missing my face by a hair’s breadth.
I scramble around the table when he tries to catch me, swinging my bag hard into his shoulder as I run past him and toward the door.
He’s yelling as he grapples blindly for me, his face a twisted mask of pain and fury. I manage to unlock the door just as he lunges for me. I cry out when he grabs my bag, and I let go before he can pull me back, yanking the door open.
Then I run.
The desert heat slams into me as I veer away from the house, my feet pounding over the dry, uneven ground.
I hear his voice, bellowing behind me, and that only pushes me to run faster, stumbling past the neighboring houses and toward the open stretch of desert beyond the street.
Tall cacti and scrub brush blur around me, the silence broken only by my ragged breaths and the distant yelling at my back.
A sob chokes my throat as I realize I’m running away from the only houses close enough for anyone to hear me. For one wild second, I think about screaming for help, but fear keeps my voice trapped in my throat. If I stop, he’ll catch me.
“I’ll fucking kill you, bitch!”
I risk a glance back, and God, he’s close. He’s gaining on me, still half-blinded and furious, but getting closer, and something tells me I won’t make it out of this desert if he catches me.
But I can’t move any faster. My lungs burn and my legs are beginning to feel like lead. Heck, even the ground seems to conspire against me, tripping me at every turn. I’m getting tired.
My eyes lock on a dense cluster of brush ahead, and for one desperate second, I consider hiding. But it’s too close. If he sees where I leave the path, he’ll find me in seconds.
I force my aching legs to keep moving. Branches snag at my clothes as I push deeper into the desert, stumbling over rocks and uneven ground. Every breath burns. Every step sends pain shooting up my legs. Still, I run.
I don’t stop when the houses disappear behind me. I don’t stop when the yelling fades. I don’t stop until the desert has swallowed me whole.
Sweat drips down my brow and I pray, as I rarely do, that I’ve made it far enough.
Please. Please. Please.
I stumble behind a cluster of brush and press myself low to the ground, trying to make myself as small as possible. My lungs burn, my legs tremble, and every instinct screams at me to keep running, but I can’t. Not anymore.
His footsteps slow somewhere nearby, and my heart threatens to give out. I bite down on a whimper, waiting for him to find me before whatever is growling in the distance gets the chance.
My head snaps up at the loud, menacing growl, and I realize that he didn’t stop for me. The man curses, his breathing heavy as he takes a step back. “What the fuck is that?” he shouts, stumbling as four large shapes emerge from the brush.
Wolves?
Since when are there wolves in South Tucson? Aren’t they found in the mountains or something? The sun is behind them so I can’t make out more than their silhouettes. Whatever they are, they’re massive.
I whimper, considering my choices, but I have nowhere to go. I’m hiding in a bush between a man who has threatened to kill me and four large animals. No matter what I direction I choose, I’ll be running toward danger.
Maybe if I keep hiding...
“Shoo!” I glance up, alarmed when Leopold picks up a stick and waves it at the growling animals. Instead of retreating, they spread out with their backs arched, low growls rumbling through desert brush.
“Go away. Shoo!”
He swings the stick. They pounce.
Someone screams. Maybe it’s me, or maybe it’s the man as two of the dogs drive him backward. Dogs. They are dogs, I realize through the fear choking me. Not wolves, but large, terrifying shepherds.
One has its teeth buried in his leg, making him howl in pain, while another keeps snapping at him whenever he tries to move closer.
And the other two dogs...
I swallow hard when I find two massive beasts flanking me, positioned on each side as they watch the other two attack the man. Almost like they’re...guarding me.
A sharp whistle cuts through the chaos. The dogs immediately break off the attack.
Leopold stumbles backward with a howl, clutching his bleeding leg as the shepherds retreat several feet and form a line between him and me. Their growls don't stop, but they don't advance again either.
A low command follows the whistle, and all four dogs go quiet. I turn toward the source of the sound.
A tall figure stands several yards away, watching the scene unfold. Even from this distance, there's something imposing about him. Broad shoulders. Powerful build. The kind of presence that commands attention without saying a word.
The dogs don't take their eyes off Leopold, but neither do they move. As though they've already decided exactly who the threat is.