“I will not allow his name to be dragged through the mud,” she states. “He cannot defend himself but I will.”
Her aide moves toward her, whispering urgently.
“Seth Kincaid will be found,” Kristie says, her voice going cold. “And anyone who aided him will answer for it.”
The aide tries again, but she pulls away.
She steps down from the stage without another glance at the podium. Her heels strike the stairs too hard. The microphone squeals behind her.
The crowd erupts with overlapping questions.
She ignores them.
Then she storms off the stage and heads straight for the trailer, heels striking hard, posture rigid with fury.
Travis’s voice comes through Brooke’s phone. “Makeup trailer is on the east side of the lot. She's probably moving there.”
Brooke looks at me once. “Now.”
We move with the flow of staff crossing the lot. We don’t rush. We walk like we have jobs to do and deadlines to meet.
The makeup trailer sits behind two equipment vans. A small set of steps leads to the door. Light glows inside. A makeup artist stands near the entrance, talking fast, trying to soothe Kristie’s rage.
Kristie’s shoulders are stiff. Her face is tight. Her eyes are bright with anger.
The door shuts behind them.
Beau peels off toward the vehicles and disappears into shadow.
I stay a few steps back from Brooke, watching the lot and listening for anyone moving our direction.
Brooke climbs the steps and opens the door without waiting.
I follow.
The makeup artist turns, startled. “Who are you?”
Brooke closes the door, steps in, and puts a needle in the woman’s neck before she can raise her voice. The makeup artist makes a short sound, tries to turn, then sags. Brooke catches her and lowers her behind a chair.
Kristie spins toward Brooke, eyes wide. “What the fuck?”
Brooke moves fast, grabs her wrist, and puts the needle in her before she can scream.
Kristie tries anyway. The sound comes out warped. Her knees buckle. Brooke holds her up until her body stops cooperating, then sets her into the chair.
Kristie’s head tips to the side. Her eyes fight to stay open and lose.
I scan the trailer, then the small back hallway. “Clear,” I say.
We wrap her in a dark jacket from the rack and secure her arms. We use the back exit Travis flagged. Beau meets us behind the trailer with the vehicle ready.
We load her and leave the lot before anyone realizes her trailer has gone quiet.
The lake road is narrow and empty. Trees press close. The farther we drive, the less the world exists.
When Kristie wakes, her eyes open to dark water and the low hum of an engine. She tries to sit up. She can’t.
Her hands are zip tied behind her back. Duct tape covers her mouth. More duct tape wraps her arms, legs, and ankles tight enough to make movement pointless. Her body jerks. Her breathing hitches against the tape. Her eyes go wide, then furious, then terrified again.
