Page 134 of Until Joy

Kayan looked around the room. “Does anybody remember when we went to Louey’s? I know it was a Friday in mid-May. Was it the fifteenth?”

July pulled her phone out of her purse. She tapped on her screen and looked up, her mouth open. She nodded. “Yep. That was the night we did karaoke.”

“The night Joy sang,” Kayan clarified. “The night Glenda got all hot and bothered about Joy.” Kayan nodded.

July's face went pale. “The night she said Rob wouldn't let her talk to Joy. The night he supposedly broke up with her.”

The pieces clicked into place with sickening clarity. Glenda hadn't been dumped by her boyfriend. She'd murdered him for interfering with her obsession.

“So, we know she's capable of killing,” I said. “What else do we know about Robert Chen?”

Evan was already pulling up property records. “Rental apartment downtown. Nothing special. But wait.” His fingers paused over the keyboard. “There's a second property listed under his name. Inherited from his grandmother two years ago.”

“Where?”

“Percy Priest Lake. About forty minutes south of the city.”

I grabbed my jacket. “Isolated. That's where she took Joy.”

“Graham, we don't know that for sure,” Jax warned.

“It's our best lead.” I headed for the door. “And every minute we waste talking is another minute Joy's in danger.”

The others were already moving, grabbing weapons and equipment. Wes appeared at my side with a Kevlar vest.

“Put this on.”

I shrugged into the vest, ignoring the way it pressed against my broken ribs. The pain was background noise now. Everything that mattered was focused on a single objective.

Get to Joy. Stop Glenda. Bring my woman home.

We were going to end this.

Today.

Chapter 34

My head felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. The throbbing pain pulsed behind my eyes in perfect rhythm with my heartbeat, each beat sending fresh waves of agony through my skull. I tried to open my eyes, but the world swam in and out of focus like I was looking through water.

Where was I?

The question floated through my foggy brain as I fought to make sense of my surroundings. This wasn't the hospital. This wasn't Graham's house. The air smelled different. Pine and dust and something else I couldn't identify.

I was lying on something soft. A couch, maybe. Something warm and scratchy covered me. An afghan. The kind Little Grandma used to make.

I tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. The world tilted sideways, and my stomach lurched in protest. But worse than the nausea was the realization that something was wrong with my hands. They wouldn't move properly.

I tried moving them and I couldn’t pry them apart.

Aw, shit.

My wrists were tied.

The memory crashed back like a slap to the face. Glenda. The parking garage. The syringe. The trunk.

Panic shot through me, cutting through the drug-induced haze like a knife. I jerked against whatever was binding my hands, and fresh pain exploded through my head. My ankles were tied too. The rope wasn't tight enough to cut off circulation, but it was secure enough that I couldn't slip free.

“Oh, thank goodness you're awake.”