Page 121 of Indigo Ridge (The Edens 1)

She’s okay. This was probably just part of her job. A random, purposeful disappearance when she was too busy to answer my call. Chances were she was dealing with something important and my constant calls had been a distraction.

But damn it, I was coming out of my skin here.

We were going to have to come up with a system or something. A text, anything, for her to signal she was all right.

There was no way she’d give up being a cop.

There was no way I wouldn’t worry.

“Fuck it.” I swiped my keys and ball cap from the counter and headed for the door.

She was probably at her place, building that goddamn TV stand and freaking out about moving in. Yes, it was soon for this big of a step. But my feelings for her weren’t going to change. So why not live under the same roof?

She was practically living here already. She’d cleaned the house today and the scent of furniture polish clung to the air. Bleach lingered in the bathrooms.

Maybe I could have asked. Said it more eloquently. But ignoring my calls wasn’t the way. Was a text too much to ask for?

The trip to town took too long—I called each of her numbers two more times. My chest was too tight, my heart beating too fast. The sinking feeling in my stomach plunged to the floorboards when I turned down her street and her driveway was empty. Every window on the house was dark.

“Damn it, Winn.”

I didn’t bother stopping at the house, but simply hit the accelerator and headed around the block. The station was my next stop, but her Durango wasn’t parked in her reserved spot. I didn’t bother going inside either. I’d call there next, but first I wanted to check with Covie, so I steered myself toward the river.

Covie’s street was as quiet as Winn’s and my heart climbed out of my throat when I spotted her car parked outside his place. “Oh, thank fuck.”

Christ. I’d about lost my shit.

I hopped out of my truck and forced myself not to jog to his door. The doorbell got punched, not pressed, because as my blood pressure returned to normal, anxiety was replaced with anger.

There was no reason she shouldn’t have answered. Covie too.

When his footsteps sounded from beyond the threshold, I was practically shaking as he flipped the locks.

Except . . .

If she was inside, why was the dead bolt on?

“Griffin?” Covie cocked his head. “What are you doing here?”

She wasn’t inside. Fuck.

“Is it Winnie?” he asked, the color draining from his face.

“She’s not home. I tried calling you.”

“I fell asleep with the TV on. She left here hours ago to meet you for dinner.” He looked past my shoulder to her Durango. “I didn’t realize her car was still here.”

“Have you heard anything from the station? Was there an accident or something?”

“Not that I’ve heard. You’ve called her?”

“About a hundred times.” I dragged my hand through my hair.

It was probably nothing, but every cell in my body vibrated that something was wrong.

“Let me call the station.” Covie waved me inside, leaving me in the entryway as he rushed to the living room. The lamp beside his recliner was the only light on in the house. The TV was muted on the movie he’d been watching. His free hand trembled as he made the call. “Hi, this is Walter. I’m looking for Winslow. Is she at the station or out on a call?”

Say yes.