27. Chapter 27
The kid was finally stabilizing.
Which meant Heath could leave.
Which meant he could finally go to her.
The moment Zaire confirmed the next shift was in place, Heath was gone—boots heavy in the hall, phone already in his hand. He called Maddie.
Straight to voicemail.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
It had been hours since she called from the station. Since she told him she was okay. Since she promised to wait for him.
He forced his jaw to stay loose. Forced his hands not to clench. She was probably still with the detective, still giving statements. Still safe.
That’s what he told himself as he fired off a text.
Still at the station? Call me. On my way.
He texted again, this time to Sandra.
Heard anything?
He called her.
Sandra picked up fast. “Jin.”
“It’s Carrington. Anything on Maddie?”
“No. Last I saw her was when we talked earlier. Why?”
Heath didn’t answer. Just hung up.
His heart was beating slower than it should’ve been. Not because he was calm. Because he was coiled. Every part of him locked and loaded and looking for the breach.
She was quiet. Too quiet.
And he didn’t fucking trust quiet.
Heath climbed into his truck and peeled out of the Balboa lot, already moving. Already planning. Three possible locations: his house, La Jolla, the station. He couldn’t be in three places at once—but he didn’t have to be.
He called Zach.
“Senior Chief.”
“Where are you?”
“Still at the dive club.”
“Good. I need you to hit Maddie’s place in La Jolla. Look for her car. Check inside. Make contact. If you see her, tell her to call me immediately.”
“Got it.” No questions. Just action.
Next: Natalie.
“Please don’t be calling because something’s wrong,” she answered.
“She’s not answering. I need eyes on my house. Now.”
A pause. Then: “I’m on it.”
Heath ended the call and dropped his hand to the console, punching open a secure contact thread.
Jesse, Isaac, Colson, Dom. Guys he trusted with his life. Guys who didn’t need long explanations to know when shit was going sideways.
Need coverage. Maddie’s missing. Could be Walsh. Assignments incoming.
Jesse responded first.
Coronado?
Yeah. Stake out my place with Isaac. Quiet.
Colson chimed in.
I’ll meet Zach at La Jolla.
Do not approach. Observe only. Radio me.
Dom’s reply was immediate.
Where are we hitting?
You’re with me. Standby.
Heath gripped the wheel as downtown blurred past his windows. Sunset bleeding across the sky like a wound.
He needed the marital address—David’s house.
He called Natalie again. “I need the address.”
There was a pause. “Heath—”
“Give me the goddamn address.”
She rattled it off.
He relayed it to Dom, who responded with a single skull emoji.
Perfect.
He blew through a yellow light, tires screaming, hands locked on the wheel. Every breath was clipped. Every thought sharp-edged.
Move.
He called the SDPD station again. New voice. New wall of useless protocol.
“She’s not listed on any current interviews,” the desk officer said. “We can’t disclose—”
Heath hung up.
He didn’t care about their procedures. He cared about her.
Ten minutes later, he slammed the truck into park, shoved the door open, and stalked into the SDPD lobby like he owned the place.
Fluorescent lights. Steel and glass. Civilian calm that felt wrong. Like walking into a nightmare with coffee-shop acoustics.
He moved to the front desk.
“I’m looking for Madeleine McAuley. She was brought in earlier today.”
The officer blinked up. “And you are?”
“Senior Chief Heath Carrington, US Navy,” he snapped. “I was told she left. I need confirmation.”
The officer stuttered, typed. “Uh… I’m going to page a detective—”
“You do that.”
Heath didn’t sit. Didn’t pace. Just stood still. Like a fucking missile, waiting to launch.
A door clicked open.
Detective Sergeant Naomi Camrose stepped out, ponytail tight, expression composed—but she faltered when she saw him.
“Heath Carrington?”
He strode to her in two long steps. “Where is she?”
“She left about an hour ago,” Camrose said. “Didn’t she call you?”
His blood iced over. “No.”
Camrose blinked. “She said she was heading to your place. She left alone.”
“In what?”
“A black car. Unmarked. I assumed it was a rideshare.”
“You didn’t confirm that?” His voice dropped, lethal.
Camrose stiffened. “She’s not a prisoner, Carrington.”
“No. She’s a target.” His tone sharpened. “She was just fucking threatened. You knew she was at risk.”
“She wasn’t in custody. She gave her statement. She said she’d call you. She’s an adult—”
“She’s gone.” He stepped into her space, jaw tight. “And you let her walk out the front door without confirming the ride, without an escort, without even watching the damn cameras.”
Camrose didn’t back down, but her voice dropped. “We don’t put every witness in protective custody. She didn’t want a detail. And she didn’t mention she was under immediate threat.”
“Because she doesn’t think like a SEAL. She thinks like someone who still believes he wouldn’t actually do it.”
Camrose exhaled, motioning to the desk. “We’re pulling footage.”
Too late.
Way too late.
The video feed loaded, security footage from the front entrance.
Heath watched the timestamp. 4:07 PM. Maddie stepped out. Alone. Hoodie sleeves rolled up. Purse slung over one shoulder. She looked tired. She looked small.
She turned and smiled at the desk officer.
Then she looked to the curb.
A black BMW Wagon slid into frame.
She paused.
The passenger door opened.
Heath leaned forward.
There was movement in the front seat. A flash of someone leaning across. The passenger door swung wider. A hand—then a flash of something black in it.
Gun. Had to be.
Maddie froze.
Then the arm reached again. Grabbed her.
She vanished into the car.
The door slammed shut. The BMW pulled away.
Heath’s knuckles cracked.
“Fucking David,” he growled.
Camrose turned to the desk officer. “Trace that plate. Now.”
Heath didn’t wait. His phone buzzed. Zach.
No sign of her. House is dark. Car’s here. Lights off.
Another buzz. Natalie.
She’s not at your place. Her things are. She isn’t.
Heath turned to Camrose, voice hard. “Where would he take her?”
Camrose shook her head. “If we had a court order, we could hit his house. But as of now—”
He didn’t wait for the rest.
He called Natalie.
She answered on the first ring. “Heath—”
“She’s gone. Security footage confirms it. She was grabbed outside the station. Black BMW. David. Where would he take her?”
“I—Jesus, I don’t know. He has a cabin upstate, a storage facility in Chula Vista, maybe something through the business—”
Heath closed his eyes for half a second, mentally cataloguing everything he’d heard over the last few weeks.
Then: focus.
“Call Adam. Get him moving. Tell him to pull every record he can find on David Walsh. Properties, rentals, business holdings. Anything that looks remote. I’m sending you the license plate from the footage. I’m going after her.”
“Heath—what are you going to do?”
“Whatever the fuck I have to.”
He hung up.
Camrose was still talking to the desk officer, but Heath didn’t care. He was already walking, already dialing.
Dom answered immediately. “Say the word.”
“Bring heat.”
A pause.
“On it.”
Heath strode into the night, the sky bleeding dark across the city. He opened the door to his truck, climbed in, and gunned the engine. The weight of it all slammed down on his chest.
She was out there. Taken. Because someone didn’t take her seriously.
Because she trusted the wrong people.
Because he hadn’t gotten there fast enough.
Not this time.
He opened a group comm line. Spoke into the mic clipped to his collar.
“Teams Alpha and Bravo: eyes up. Maddie McAuley was abducted from SDPD station at 1607. Primary suspect: David Walsh. Vehicle: Black BMW Wagon. No plates. Last seen heading east on Bayfront. Track all possible routes to La Jolla, Chula Vista, and Solana. Info drop in ten.”
A series of crackling affirmatives came through.
Heath stared out the windshield, jaw like granite. He gripped the wheel, eyes on the road. “Dom’s with me. We’re going to David Walsh’s house.”
His voice dropped into something darker.
“And if he put a hand on her—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t have to.
Because David Walsh didn’t know what was coming.
But he was about to.
And this time, Heath wasn’t just coming to save her.
He was coming to end it.
* * * * *
Her breath came short and fast, but her brain was still sharp. She watched David pace the room like a wolf circling a wounded deer.
But he had it wrong.
She wasn’t wounded.
She was waiting.
He crouched beside her, a little too close, his breath too calm.
“If you cheated on me, do you even deserve a dime?”
Maddie didn’t flinch. Instead, she spat in his face. Right between his eyes.
David jerked back, expression shattering for half a second before he wiped his cheek slowly with the back of his hand.
“Oh, Maddie,” he whispered. “You’re going to regret that.”
She smiled through clenched teeth. “Already regretted marrying you, babe. We’re ahead of schedule.”
The rope above her wrists burned as she yanked hard again—testing it, flexing. She twisted one hand just enough to feel the edge of the headboard’s scrollwork. Metal. Jagged. She started grinding the rope against it, slow and subtle.
He kept monologuing. Of course he did.
“I built you a perfect life,” David hissed, pacing again. “And you spat on it.”
“You built a stage,” she snapped. “Not a life. And you only loved the version of me who kept her mouth shut.”
He lunged suddenly, grabbing her jaw again, forcing her to look at him. Her wrists screamed from the pull, but she didn’t stop working the rope against the metal.
"You think this tough-girl act matters now? You’re not walking away from this."
“You’re right,” she rasped, voice low. “I’m crawling away. And you’ll be the one bleeding.”
That flicker of rage sparked again, just under his skin.
He kept talking—rage-fueled, self-justifying garbage. Something about her “mental break,” about how he was going to “help her heal,” how he had no choice but to burn it all down.
Her vision swam from the angle of her arms overhead, but she didn't stop pulling. Didn’t stop slicing the rope. A few more seconds. Keep him talking.
“You going to kill me?” she asked, almost casual.
David didn’t answer. He just smiled again, brushing her hair behind her ear like he thought that would calm her.
It made her stomach turn.
“Last chance, Maddie,” he whispered. “You can still fix this.”
And she laughed.
Low. Bitter. Broken in all the right places.
“Fix this?” she said, twisting again at the rope, feeling one of the inner strands start to snap. “You delusional, pathetic narcissist. You think I want to fix this? You think you still matter to me?”
Her wrists throbbed. Almost there.
David leaned in, and this time, when his hand moved toward her face again—she bit him.
Hard.
His howl split the air as he jerked back, blood streaking across his palm.
“You fucking bitch—”
“Yeah,” she rasped. “Say it louder. Let the cops hear it on your voicemail.”
She nodded toward his jacket pocket.
He blinked. Reached for it.
His phone was gone.
Gone.
She’d palmed it. Somewhere in the chaos. Used her foot to kick it under the bed.
It was small. Stupid. Insanely risky.
But she was done being quiet.
And then—he snapped.
The hands at her throat were sudden, brutal. Cutting off everything.
She fought. Clawed. Kicked. She thrashed so violently her wrists bled from the rope. The world tilted, narrowed.
She thought: So this is how I die.
But in her head, she whispered his name like a weapon.
Heath.
Heath, come find me.
Heath, I’m not done yet.
And then—it happened.
The door exploded open behind them.
A blur. A roar. The sound of flesh against bone.
David flew backward off the bed, hitting the floor with a crash. Screaming. Thrashing. Then—silence, broken only by a deep, lethal snarl.
Heath.
Maddie sagged against the headboard, lungs spasming, body jerking as she finally—finally—gasped for air.
Rough, strong hands were on her wrists, undoing the knots. She felt them—wet, warm. Blood-slicked. His blood. David’s.
Then she was in arms that didn’t just hold her.
They claimed her.
“Maddie—” Heath.
She sobbed into his chest, her body trembling uncontrollably, her fingers clinging weakly to his shirt. She tried to speak, but nothing came out—just gasping, broken sounds, her throat raw and burning. Her lashes fluttered. The world spun.
And then, finally, it overtook her. Her body sagged against him. Her vision blurred. And everything went dark.