"But those women…" Morgan's eyes are wild with horror. "They looked like me. What if he's keeping her somewhere? What if he's planning to?—"
I stand, pacing the room. The walls feel too close, the house too vulnerable. "We need to call Greyson. The club can help with the search."
Matthew is already dialing. I watch Morgan as she sits on the edge of the bed, her arms wrapped around herself. The morning light streaming through the window catches the tear tracks on her cheeks.
I kneel in front of her, taking her hands. "We're going to find her, Morgan. I swear to you."
Her eyes meet mine, desperate. "You can't promise that."
"No," I admit. "But I promise we'll try."
Matthew hangs up, his face grim. "Greyson's mobilizing the club. They're meeting at the clubhouse in thirty minutes."
"We should go," I say, standing.
Morgan grabs my arm. "You're not leaving me here alone."
"We won't," Matthew assures her. "You're coming with us. Your dad can meet us there."
I help Morgan to her feet, watching as she moves to the closet, her movements mechanical. "He killed them because they looked like me," she says, pulling on a sweater. "He was going to kill me too."
"Morgan—"
"No," she cuts me off, her voice stronger now. "Don't try to make this better. Two women are dead because they looked like me. A little girl might be dead too."
I don't know what to say. The truth of her words hangs between us, ugly and inescapable.
"We'll find him," I say finally. "And we'll make him pay."
Her eyes meet mine, hardness and determination replacing the fear. "Promise me, Trent. Promise me we'll find him."
"I promise." The words are an oath. "Nothing in this world will stop us."
As we head for the door, I catch Matthew's eye. The look we exchange needs no words. We've found our enemy, and he's hurt our family. Now he'll learn what that means.
Morgan
The clubhouse hums with activity when we arrive. The main room is filled with leather-clad men moving with purpose. Techy's computer equipment is set up on the pool table, with maps spread across every available surface. The familiar smell of leather and cigarette smoke grounds me, even as the horror of what we've learned continues to claw at my insides.
"Morgan." Greyson approaches, his face grave. "We're doing everything we can."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Matthew's hand finds the small of my back, steadying me as Trenton moves to join a group of men clustered around Techy.
"Let's get you a drink," Greyson suggests, leading us toward the bar.
Before we can reach it, Techy calls out, "Morgan, you need to see this."
We cross the room, the men parting to let us through. Techy's laptop screen displays a map, red dots marking locations across the state.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Facial recognition program," Techy explains, fingers flying across the keyboard. "I've been running missing persons reports through it, filtering for women with your general description. This is what I found."
The screen shifts to display a grid of women's faces. Dark hair, blue eyes, petite builds. My stomach clenches as I realize what I'm looking at.
"How many?" I whisper.
Techy's expression is hard, void of emotion. "Twelve confirmed missing, going back eight years. All within a hundred-mile radius of where we found the bodies this morning."
