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Scowling, Chris loosens the binds and shoves her inside the bathroom. “Five minutes,” he warns, leveling a finger at her. “Then I’m coming in.”
The door shuts.
Sal depresses the lock. Turns on the faucet. Breathes.
Then she pulls out her phone.
Two bars. It’s enough. It has to be.
With frantic, numb fingers she punches her speed dial. She knows she should be calling 911, but fuck it. She needs her husband’s voice to get her through this. She needs Luke. She has to tell him in case it’s too late.
Luke.
It’s all over the news.
Sal’s missing.
Right now, Luke couldn’t love the press more. Sal’s in trouble and people are looking.
It’s been hours. Emmy Lou, Jace and Alabama stayed at the house, communicating with the Star, while Luke, Seth and Griff went back to the hospital. Meeting with a dead end there, they scoured the streets of Nashville once more, looking for her car, questioning anyone they could.
Now it’s late, and everyone’s gathered in the living room. Above the fireplace mantel, the TV flickers its fluorescent glow. Luke’s kept it on mute. He can’t handle the perky voices, relaying something so grim yet loving the juicy scoop they’ve just been handed. It’s torture enough seeing Sal’s photo splashed across the screen. Her beautiful face selling sorrow. It’s something he never wanted to relive in a million years.
Still, he’s hoping it works. That someone sees and calls something in. Anything.
“You can’t do that somewhere else?” Seth gripes from his place at the window.
Emmy Lou, curled up on the couch, looks up from filing her nails. “What?”
“It’s not a goddamn day spa,” Seth snaps. “Sal’s missin’.”
Jace frowns, glances over at his wife, whose pretty face is bewildered and hurt. “Seth, easy,” he says in a low voice.
“I have to do somethin’,” Emmy Lou whispers to Jace, tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know ...”
Seth grumbles again.
“All of y’all calm the hell down,” Griff growls, taking up for Luke. He sits in one of the leather recliners, Alabama perched on his lap.
From his place by the fireplace, Luke sighs, sweeping his tired gaze across the living room. With no new leads found, everyone’s exhausted, on edge. Seth especially. His brother’s been quiet all night, focused, worrying. Needing to stay busy, to do something, but they’ve already scoured half of Nashville, pretty much put out their own APB with the Star. What else is there to do? Sit around and fucking wait?
Luke looks over to say something, to rein Seth in, only the ringing of his phone has Luke glancing down.
His heart almost stops when he sees who it is.
“It’s Sal,” he says hoarsely.
There’s a stunned silence, the sound of Emmy Lou’s gasp, and then all the boots in the house are standing and barreling across the wood floor. Seth has his hands behind the back of his head, Jace’s signaling for Luke to put it on speakerphone.
He does, and answers.
“Sal?” His voice breaks when he says her name.
“Luke?” Her smoky voice is a wisp of a whisper over the line. An angel, his saving grace when he needs it the most.
He braces himself against the mantel, his pulse rocketing, everything going laser-focused, every person in the room falling away. Every question at the forefront of his mind leaping into his mouth. “Jesus, Sal. Where are you? What happened? Are you okay?”
“I don’t know ... I don’t know where I am ... took me ...”
