Chapter 17
GRANT
Right now, it’s hell.
I can’t think of anything other than the photos of Avery.
They flash through my head one by one. Avery, with the crusted trails of blood pouring from her nose over her bruised and swollen upper lip.
The shot of her gagged, the material sawing through the corners of her mouth like a knife.
Avery sitting there, stripped naked, with her breasts covered in grime.
Did they rape her?
Tears fill my eyes and I wipe them clear. I can’t linger on thoughts like that. Thinking about what these people have done to Avery won’t help me right now—and it won’t help her. I have to hit this deadline. I need to focus on getting home. I can’t lose my wife.
She’s already gone.
“Stop it!” I growl to no one. “Just stop already!”
I have ninety minutes and forty have already passed since I got the note.
It’s not enough time, and the line of cars in front of me aren’t helping me ease my nerves.
I know it’s probably a bunch of tourists and retirees taking in a bit of countryside before dinner.
Normally, I wouldn’t begrudge them. Hell, I’d be going as slow myself.
But right now, I need to pick up the pace.
Only I can’t. Not with thousands of feet of open air lying on one side of the road and a mountain on the other.
And even if I could cut around them, driving like a madman up here will get me pulled over in a second. That can’t happen.
Contact the police and she’s dead.
It’s all I want to do. But it would be foolish after their warning. It would—wait, maybe there is a way to reach them, especially if I’m not the one calling.
I have the courier’s phone.
Steering with one hand, I pull it out and search for the number to the Ouray Police Department.
A horn blares and I flick my gaze back to the road a second before I drift across the center lane and plow straight into an oncoming truck.
My heart thrashes but I manage to jerk the wheel and guide the Yukon back into my lane.
Then I punch in the number with my thumb and hit dial. The phone rings.
“Police department,” a female voice answers in an overly cheerful tone.
“Yes,” I say. “Officer Gunn, please.”
There’s a pause and then, “Who?”
“Officer Gunn,” I repeat.
“There’s no Officer Gunn here.”
“How about an Officer Holston, first name Calvin?”
“No Officer Holston here, either. You sure you meant to call our department?”
My stomach twists even though I suspected this would be the answer. Now I know for sure.
“What’s your name, sir?” the woman asks.
For a brief second, I consider actually telling her, but it would be a mistake.
Calling with the courier’s phone to confirm Gunn and Holston were impostors is one thing.
Filling this woman in on all the details is another.
Whoever took Avery has access to resources I don’t.
They might be monitoring the police station phone lines.
Even mentioning Gunn and Holston’s names was a big risk.
“Sorry, wrong number,” I say, ending the call.
I toss the phone on the passenger seat. I had to know if Gunn and Holston were in on Avery’s abduction.
And they must be, but I still have so many questions, like why did Gunn leave me with his car?
And is it even his car? Was the house it was parked in front of his house?
How many men were involved in the operation?
Four, at least. Maybe more. The fact that I still have no answers is terrifying.
Worse, I no longer know what they want. They have our money.
All of it—every fucking dollar. So why haven’t they returned my wife?
Why are they continuing to do this? That’s the question that scares me the most.
A memory snaps through my head: Avery asking me about my biggest fear two months into our relationship. When I said heights, she’d tilted her head.
“No, really.”
“Really,” I’d answered with a laugh.
Her forehead had crinkled, her smile fading. “The truth. Out with it.”
I didn’t know what to say. I’d simply sat there hoping she’d let it go. She didn’t, so I’d finally waved at the table, at her. “This. You.”
“I’m you’re worst fear?”
“No. Being vulnerable with you is. Letting someone in. That’s my biggest fear.”
“Why? Because you might get hurt?”
I’d nodded. Because I’ve been hurt and swore I’d never let it happen again.
“What about you?” I’d asked.
Her eyebrow had quirked higher. “What about me?”
“What’s your biggest fear?”
She’d grinned. “I'll never tell.”
“Hey, that’s not fair,” I’d said, momentarily hurt but playing it off with a laugh.
She must have noticed because she’d reached across the table to take my hand. “It’s losing you.”
“Come on, seriously.”
She’d said nothing, just stared at me in such a tender way I knew she meant it.
Dear god, she did. Part of me thought about running then—standing up and bolting for the door.
It’s what I’d always done in previous relationships when things got too heavy too fast. I’d run.
But I was tired of running, and another part of me—a deeper part—recognized how special Avery was.
What she’d just done took guts. No bullshit. No lies. Just the truth.
And there was something else lying beneath her expression in that moment.
Something other than tenderness. She’d looked fragile in a way—like if whatever I said next came out wrong, it might cause her to shatter and break.
Which meant she was as scared as me. And I remember staring at her, thinking, I will never let anyone hurt you. I’ll protect you with my life.
A promise I’d just broken.
Not yet, a voice whispers as I scan the clock. You still have a chance to save her. You still have time.
But not much.