“Good,” I say. “Keep them coming here. This is still the primary scene.”
There’s a brief pause. “Understood, sir. You’re not supposed to be?—”
I end the call before the dispatcher finishes speaking.
The police need to secure what’s already been touched.Ineed to find where she went.
My phone is already in my hand again as I move toward the car, calling Drew.
“I need your help,” I say the second he answers. “Ivy’s missing.”
Silence. Then the scrape of a chair and the distant clack of keys. “Tell me what you need.”
I slide inside my car, toss the knife on the passengerseat, and start it. The engine turns over, low and steady beneath my hands.
I forward Elliott’s list of locations as I drum my hands on the steering wheel, my pulse finally starting to edge into something dangerous.
“Run them,” I say. “Fast. I need anything—ownership history, structures, access points.”
“Already doing it,” Drew replies, his voice shifting into that focused register he gets when something matters. “Give me a minute.”
I sit there, staring blankly out the windshield.
“Okay,” Drew says finally. “Reeve Farms is the anchor. Family land. Old money. Multiple outbuildings not listed as residences.”
My spine straightens.
“There’s a workshop behind the main property,” he continues. “Not tied to utilities. No recent permits. Easy to access if you know it’s there—but invisible if you don’t.”
“Isolated,” I murmur.
“Yeah,” Drew agrees. “And private. If I were trying to keep someone contained without drawing attention, that’s where I’d go first.” His fingers clack against the keys. “I’m sending it to you now.”
I stare at my phone, impatiently waiting.
When it finally comes through, I study what Drew sent me.
The workshop behind Reeve Farms fits too well. It’s familiar. Quiet. Shielded by land that’s been in his family for generations. A place no one goes unless they know it’s there.
That’s it. It has to be.
“Thanks, Drew.” I hang up and rip out of her driveway, heading to the farm.
The entire drive there, my jaw clenches, pissed that I let him get to her. The fear of him hurting her is a real, persistent ache beneath my ribs.
After what feels like forever, I make the turn. The gravel road crunches beneath my tires as I kill the headlights and coast the last stretch. The building appears out of the dark like a low-slung shadow, lights glowing faintly inside.
My pulse ticks faster. Lights on means occupancy.
If he’s still here, I need him unaware. If he’s not, I need to knowbeforehe does.
I pull my car along the shadows of the tree line, then cut the engine and step out, every sense tuned sharp enough to hurt.
I make my way toward the building without a sound, tracking shadows, listening for anything out of place.
My footsteps are silent as I stop in front of the door, my hand on the cold, metal handle. I turn it, expecting it to be locked.
It’s not.
