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Before I realize I’m in the cabin at Charming Inn. In Heart’s Edge. In Montana.
Far away from any mission, far from any battle solved by good marksmanship and cold resolve.
That doesn’t mean I don’t feel like I haven’t been fighting all night.
Fighting for my son.
Clawing at my soul.
It’s morning now, harsh light flooding in to accuse me as it pours through the tall windows, demanding to know why I’m still in bed when Eli’s still out there somewhere.
Practically alone. Afraid. Waiting. Suffering.
I’m up in one swift, groaning jerk that makes me wince.
Everything hurts, especially the bruises and scrapes from fumbling around in the dark out there, but I don’t care. Rubbing the back of my sore neck, I stand, only to realize something else.
I woke up alone.
No Felicity curled up next to me, clinging close in that way she has where she hooks a leg over mine in her sleep like she’s afraid I’ll slip away if she doesn’t hold on.
Frowning, I stride into the hall, then the living room.
“Fliss?” I call.
Nothing.
Not even a sign of rumpled blankets on the sofa in case she decided to sleep there to give me space. And when I look outside, it’s empty too.
Her station wagon’s gone.
Not good.
Then there’s the dead giveaway that tells me something’s fucked in no uncertain terms.
Shrub. Also gone.
The Pekingese’s carrier disappeared, along with his fuzzy dog bed, his toys, his food and water dishes. That, more than even the absence of the little carry bag she keeps her clothing and personal effects in, tells me all I need to know.
She’s gone.
Not just for the day.
I don’t know if I blame her, not after how cold and withdrawn and thrashed I was last night. I could pin it on shock, but I know the truth.
Some of it was my own conflicted feelings.
I don’t know if Eli’s lost in the woods thanks to bad luck and a flash bad decision by a young mind.
Is he innocently lost, or is he another casualty of Fliss’ demon chickens coming home to roost?
Is he paying the price for my dumbass sticking my nose where it didn’t belong?
I thought I could. Safely.
I thought I was ready for anything, from random acts of fate to facing whatever hellish drug syndicate is chasing her down.
I shouldn’t punish Fliss for my own overconfidence.
But I goddamned well can’t let go of this simmering, brewing feeling, either, and it’s confusing the hell out of me.
Part of me aches for the way she can calm me down, soothe my inner beast, make everything seem so simple, so easy—even when she’s what’s got me agitated.
Hell.
I’ll call her, make sure she’s okay, get that worry off my mind before I hit the trail to have as much daylight as possible for the search.
While I chug another glass of water, I hit her contact on my cell and wait for the pickup.
Nothing.
Just her cheerful sounding voicemail, then dead air.
I try again.
Again.
And again with an increasing anger that builds up inside me till I’m stabbing at the phone like I want the screen to break. I can’t even make myself say a damned word to that sweet recording when my voice chokes up in this hot ball of fury inside my throat.
“Dammit, where are you?” I snarl to the universe.
My gut throbs like it’s just taken a knife.
I’m not angry at her.
I don’t blame her for this torture.
Right now, I’m angry at the entire fucking world. For putting her in front of me like the most tempting delicacy ever made, then yanking her out of my reach at the worst moment.
I can’t deal with Fate and its shit right now.
I can’t hold together under the crushing avalanche of worrying about Felicity and Eli simultaneously.
The world’s never cared what I can take, and I’m gonna have to hold.
Because here’s the thing I didn’t tell Fliss about SEAL training and ringing that bell when you’re ready to quit.
Real life doesn’t come with a training bell.
That bell means it’s over. Deep sixed. You’re dead.
So, no, I’m not ringing that fucking bell.
I’ll tear my own hand off before I do.
And I’m not letting Felicity or my son ring it, either.
The next time I dial and her voicemail picks up, I make myself speak, pacing back and forth, dragging my fingers through my hair.
“Felicity, I...” I stop. What do I say? Finally, I manage, “If you get this, if you get a chance—call me. ASAP. Tell me you’re okay.”
She’s all right, I tell myself.
She’s fine.
She’s busy at The Nest.
She has to be.
I make myself a fresh cup of coffee—bracing, but even if it’s Felicity’s blend it doesn’t taste the same without her special touch—and head to my Jeep.
The search crews are already gearing up at the trailhead where Eli and Tara disappeared by the time I arrive.
Without a word I take a compass and a map with my grid marked out, though whether I follow it or not depends on if I see any clues I can track that might lead me down the same path as the kids.
