Page 149 of Missile Strike

If she was afraid.

He cranked the air conditioning higher. Seventy-three degrees shouldn’t feel so oppressive, but unlike Phoenix with its dry desert air, Charlotte’s humidity clung to his skin, thick and suffocating.

His hands locked around the steering wheel. Too tight.

It promised to be a beautiful summer day.

And all he could think was that it might end with Bella dead.

Four hours stuck inside an airplane at thirty thousand feet had been too much time to ponder every worst-case scenario he could come up with. The police officer who’d called him entered Bella’s home and found her purse and phone. Trip was unharmed, but Bella was nowhere to be seen.

They’d gone to Talia’s home as well.

Nothing.

Trip greeted him as he let himself into Bella’s home. He let the dog out back, dropped some kibble and fresh water in his bowls, then stood in the living room.

Even empty, Bella’s house should have felt alive.

It was never this still.

This wrong.

Even the air felt flat, unmoving. Almost as if the house knew the woman who lived inside might not return.

He bent forward, hands braced on his knees as they threatened to buckle.

No.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced air into his lungs.

Bella was alive.

He refused to accept any alternatives.

Rage surged to fill the space grief left behind.

If Talia had hurt Bella, he’d make sure she didn’t live long enough to regret it.

Bella’s purse sat in its usual place on the kitchen counter. He dumped the contents, items scattering across the white marbled granite in a careless spill.

Lip balm. Pens. Keys. Breath mints.

In her wallet, he found a credit card receipt from the wine bar in Ballantyne, dated yesterday.

She’d made it that far.

The video clips from Bella’s exterior security cameras showed Talia leaving Bella’s home after ten p.m.

She’d been gone less than nine hours. He typed the passcode on Bella’s phone. Missed calls and unread texts. Dozens. All from him. Not a single one had reached her.

He went through her text thread with Talia, searching for any clue that would give him a place to start.

Talia had texted to confirm their outing. She’d offered to drive.

He needed to access Talia’s home. Her computer.

Fuck, he needed Nathan.