Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Wyatt
The brewery was in that late stretch when nobody came in, and the stragglers were thinking about leaving, when the place belonged to the work and not the customers.
The tanks held their steady heat, the lines were purged and ready, the back hallway smelled like grain dust and sanitizer, and the whole building breathed in a low industrial hum that usually calmed the restless part of me.
I liked mornings here because the work didn’t ask questions.
It didn’t care about grief or banks or old promises.
It only cared whether the mash temp held and whether the schedule got done.
I’d been checking the delivery log with a mug of coffee in my hand, half listening to the rattle of kegs in the cold room while one of my guys stacked empties. No one was arguing. No one was calling. No one needed me to fix anything.
It should’ve been a relief.
Instead, it felt like the moment right before a storm breaks.
My phone buzzed against the clipboard, and the name on the screen tightened every muscle in my back.
Holt.
He didn’t call me at the brewery unless it was an emergency, and Holt didn’t spook easily. He’d stared down blizzards, wildfires, a bull with a bad attitude, and a broken gate. He walked into disaster with a calm face more times than I could count.
So when I answered and said, “What’s happened,” and he didn’t immediately say anything, my chest went cold.
“Where are you?” Holt asked.
“At work,” I said, already moving toward my office. “Talk.”
His breath came through the line like he’d been jogging. “Dani called.”
The name hit like a stone. “Why’s she calling you?”
“Because she couldn’t get you,” Holt said sharply. “And she can’t get Tessa.”
I stopped walking. The back hallway blurred for a second, not because I didn’t understand the words but because my body refused to accept them.
“What do you mean she can’t get her?” I asked, keeping my voice steady on purpose. Panic was loud. Panic was useless. I needed details.
“I mean, Tessa left for work this morning, and she hasn’t come back,” Holt said. “No answer. No text. Nothing. Dani’s tried. I’ve tried. I drove by the Callahan place twice, and she wasn’t there. The house is locked. The yard’s empty. The barn doors are shut.”
“Did she take her truck?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Holt said. “Ray’s old truck. It was gone from the yard.”
A thin sliver of relief tried to slide in. Then Holt added, “Wyatt, she’s not the kind to disappear without a fight. Not with everything she’s up against.”
“No,” I said quietly. “She’s not.”
I stood there long enough for the brewery’s hum to feel too distant.
I could picture her, jaw set, hands tight on the steering wheel, refusing help because pride felt safer than need.
I could picture her doing exactly what she’d said she’d do, finishing errands even when her nerves were raw, just to prove she could still function.
I could also picture a man sitting in the wrong place at the wrong time, watching her like prey, waiting for a moment when her guard dipped.
My hand tightened around my phone. “Where are you?”
“In my truck,” Holt said. “Halfway to town.”
“Come to the brewery. Call Evan and Travis, I want eyes on every road that leads out, but I want it done smart.”
Holt didn’t argue. “On it.”
I hung up and went into my office, shutting the door behind me.
The room was small, the kind of space built for paperwork and quick conversations.
I stared at my desk for a second, then grabbed my keys, my wallet, and the charger I kept in the top drawer.
My hand hovered over the landline, because part of my brain still believed I could call Ray and ask him what the hell to do.
Ray was gone.
So it was on me.
I called Dani before I could second-guess it. She answered on the first ring, voice too tight, like she’d been holding her breath for an hour.
“Wyatt,” she said, and the way she said my name was different now. Less venom, more fear.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“At Tessa’s,” she said. “I locked the door like you told me. I’m not leaving. I’m not doing the dumb horror movie thing where the best friend goes outside to investigate a noise.”
Good. At least one of us was thinking clearly.
“Tell me exactly what happened this morning,” I said.
Dani exhaled shakily. “We were up early. She didn’t sleep much. She looked like hell, but she’s been looking like hell all week, so I didn’t clock it as a red flag. She drank coffee. She stared at a pile of mail like it was going to bite her. Then she left for work.”
“I’m going to call Brooke. I’ve got my men on the roads. And Dani,” I added, and my voice came lower without me meaning it to. “If she comes back, you lock the doors, and you call me first. You don’t let her talk you into anything.”
“I won’t,” she said, and it sounded like a promise she needed too. “Wyatt, please find her.”
“I will,” I said, and I meant it with every part of myself.
I ended the call and stood in my office for half a second, letting the fear sharpen into something usable. Then I walked out and found my crew.
“You’re in charge,” I told the head brewer. “I’m stepping out.”
He looked at my face and didn’t ask questions.
“Keep the place running anyway.”
He nodded once, serious, and I left through the back door like the building was on fire.
Outside, the sun was bright and wrong. The yard looked normal. The world looked like it hadn’t shifted.
I climbed into my truck, started it, and pulled onto the road.
Town was only a few minutes away, but the drive felt longer because my mind kept racing ahead, drawing maps of worst-case scenarios over the familiar land.
Every ditch looked like a place a vehicle could hide.
Every turnout looked like a decision point.
Every stretch of trees felt too thick, like it could swallow a person whole.
I kept telling myself it could still be nothing. A dead phone. A forgotten charger. A long conversation with a clerk who wouldn’t stop talking.
Then I pictured Colin’s smile, too polite and too controlled, and my gut would twist again.
I slowed and drove Main once, scanning the curb, the lots, the usual parking spots. I didn’t see Ray’s truck. I didn’t see her.
I parked near the co-op and went inside.
The bell over the door jingled. A couple of older men by the seed display glanced up, then looked away. The clerk behind the counter nodded at me like this was any other day.
I walked up to the counter and kept my voice calm. “You see Tessa Callahan today?”
The clerk hesitated. “Ray’s niece?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m trying to find her.”
The clerk’s eyes flicked toward the manager’s office like he didn’t want responsibility. “She came in for mineral blocks for the clinic,” he said. “Looked, tense.”
“Tense how?” I asked.
He shrugged, uncomfortable. “Like she had a lot going on.”
That answer was useless. I didn’t let it show on my face.
“Did she leave alone?” I asked.
He glanced down, then back up. “I didn’t see anybody with her. I wasn’t really watching.”
“Who was working the lot?” I asked.
He pointed toward the back. “Jerrod was outside. Loading.”
I didn’t thank him. I moved.
Out back, the air was thick with feed dust and heat. Jerrod stood near a pallet jack, wiping sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt. He looked up when I approached, cautious in the way men got when they sensed trouble.
“Wyatt,” he said. “What’s up?”
“You see Tessa Callahan today,” I asked.
His face tightened. “Yeah.” Jerrod nodded toward the lot, then back at me. “She came out fast. Like she was trying to get gone.”
“Was she alone?” I asked.
Jerrod hesitated. “I didn’t see anyone walk with her.”
My stomach dropped anyway. “But.”
Jerrod sighed like he didn’t want to be part of this story. “There was a guy,” he said. “Not local, I don’t think. Clean clothes. Standing by the edge of the lot like he was waiting for someone.”
My jaw clenched. “Did he approach her?”
“I didn’t see it,” Jerrod admitted. “But she stopped when she saw him. Like she froze for a second. Then she kept going. She didn’t look around. She just went.”
“And the guy,” I asked.
“He watched her,” Jerrod said, voice low. “Then he got into a dark vehicle and left.”
“Did you see a plate?” I asked.
Jerrod shook his head, regretful. “No. Sorry.”
“Which direction?” I pressed.
Jerrod pointed toward the road that led out past the last houses, toward fields and gravel and the kind of space that let bad people do bad things.
My pulse hammered.
I forced myself to stay calm, because calm got you answers.
“Thank you,” I said. I went back to my truck and pulled my phone out.
Holt, Evan, and Travis were on their way, but I needed more than ranch hands right now. I needed law. I needed an official. I needed somebody to start a paper trail before this turned into a shrug and a prayer.
I called the detachment.
A constable answered, and I gave my name, gave Tessa’s name, gave Ray’s name, gave the facts in clean sentences that didn’t shake. I said the word missing. I said the word suspect. I said the words ex-boyfriend. I said the words not local. I said the words she’s vulnerable and being targeted.
The constable said they’d open a file. They said they’d send someone to take a statement. They said if she’d only been gone a few hours, it might be premature to call it an abduction.
I bit down on the rage that flared in my chest like a match.
“It’s not premature. She’s not the type to vanish. Her best friend is scared. Her phone’s dead or off. She’s under active pressure from a man with a history of manipulation. If you wait until it’s official enough, you’ll be too late.”
There was a pause, the kind that told me I hit the limit of what this constable could do without permission.
“We’ll dispatch a unit to speak with witnesses,” he said carefully.