I look at Shanae. “She’s not here, is she?”
Her lip trembles. Then she shakes her head, tears welling. “No. I found her phone on the floor—broken.” She points to the foyer table where it sits, dead and useless. “Her purse is here. And look—” She points to the wall. A divot in the drywall, right at Cassidy’s height. Like someone slammed her into it.
The sight makes the edges of my vision burn.
I kneel down in front of Jon, forearms resting on my knees, staring at him like the snake he is.
“He knows where she is,” I tell Shanae, my voice low.
She gasps.
“Because he’s the one that sent her there.”
I fist his shirt and haul him up until his feet barely touch the floor. “And he’s going to tell me everything.”
Jon’s still half out of it, but his mouth twists into something ugly. Blood covers his teeth when he grins. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I don’t take my eyes off him when I ask Shanae, “Where’s Lilly?”
“In her room. Resting,” Shanae says quietly.
Now I look at her. “Don’t tell her what’s going on. And don’t worry.” My voice hardens as I glance back to Jon. “I’m going to get her.”
Jon chuckles wetly. “You’ll be too late.”
I lean in, close enough he can smell the threat on my breath.
“For your sake,” I murmur, “you better hope I’m not.”
I half drag Jon down the path, gravel crunching under my boots. He’s stumbling, mumbling, too dazed to fight back. His shoes slip in the dirt when we hit the stables.
Big Ben’s inside, brushing down one of the mares. He glances up, that big, calm frame filling the space.
“You may want to take a walk,” I tell him, shoving Jon forward. “Close the doors behind you.”
Ben’s brows lift, but I’m already dropping Jon onto the dirt floor. The bastard groans, clutching at his ribs. I cross to the corner, grab a chair—the same one Mrs. Hayes had to sit in while Jon’s hired trash tried to take the horses. The memory only tightens the coil in my chest.
I haul Jon upright and slam him into the seat. He nearly folds sideways. I have to set him straight before I head for the workbench, scanning for rope.
Behind me, the heavy stall doors thud shut. I glance over my shoulder. Ben’s still here.
“This is about Cass?” His deep voice doesn’t need to rise above a murmur.
“Yes. He sent her somewhere.” My tone is flat, deadly. “And I’m going to get it out of him any way I have to. You don’t need to be part of this.”
Ben doesn’t leave. Instead, he turns to his own bench and starts going through his tools—slow, methodical. The sound of metal shifting, clinking, setting down on wood.
“I wasn’t always a horse master,” he says, voice gone darker. He lays out a few pieces—old farrier tools, pliers, something with a hooked end I don’t recognize. “If it helps find Miss Cassidy faster, I’ll help.”
I loop the rope around Jon’s legs, pulling tight, binding his wrists behind the chair. I look up at Ben. “As long as you know what you’re getting into.”
His eyes meet mine, steady and cold. “I know. Do you?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Jon’s head lolls forward, blood dripping from his nose to the dirt. I grab a bucket from the corner, slosh water into it from the pump, and toss the whole thing in his face.
He jerks like a fish on a hook, sputtering, eyes wild. I slap him hard across the cheek. “Wake the fuck up.”
