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Chapter Ten
Rhys
“Yo,Flannery!”
I stop walking and turn as Rodrigo shouts my name from across the parking lot.
“Tawnie McAllister just called. She said your girl was just at her place ten minutes ago,” he says, jogging toward me. “Said she looked like she’d seen a ghost. She thought you’d want to know.”
What the fuck?
I frown, instantly worried. I already know Raven won the contest last night, so I know that’s not the problem. Four different people have brought it up today. They wanted to know when she’d be singing again. I’m proud as hell of her. She sang like a fucking angel last night. I’ve never heard anything like her before. There’s no way I’m letting her run Brant’s company. I’ll quit the force and do it myself before I let her give up her dream. She was born to be on stage.
“Thanks,” I mutter to Rodrigo, jogging to my truck. I fish my phone out of my pocket and dial her number. After the fourth ring, it sends me to voicemail. “Call me when you get this, songbird.” I disconnect and shoot her a text before hopping in the truck.
I’d hoped to be home by now, but paperwork is a bitch. There’s always a ream of it when it comes to gun deaths, and Jonas Reamer’s wasn’t pleasant. He didn’t mean to kill himself, but guns and alcohol never mix. He was showing off and accidentally shot himself. His family is broken up over it. We had to interview everyone who was out there and go through the whole scene. It took a while.
I pull out of the parking lot and head toward the house, keeping an eye out for Raven along the way. By the time I pull into the driveway, I haven’t seen her. She hasn’t answered her phone either. I hit the garage door button and pull in.
“Raven?” I shout as soon as I’m over the threshold, but I know immediately that she isn’t here. I can sense her when she is. It’s as if she’s a piece of me, connected to me on some level that goes beyond the physical. I check through every room anyway, my worry intensifying when I find my desk chair toppled over and her phone on the bed. She never leaves the house without it.
I scroll through it, looking for any hint of what might have upset her. Aside from my calls, the only other one she got today came from the bar. Something is wrong. Seriously fucking wrong.
My instincts are screaming that truth at me.
I pace toward the desk, the air leaving my lungs in a rush when I see a photo on the floor beside the chair. It’s one of her and Brant, the same one I’ve taken out of the case file a thousand times and looked at.
The case file.
I drop to my knees, reaching beneath the desk for the file.
It’s gone. She knows.
Where is she?
Horror rushes through me, chilling me to the bone as the answer immediately materializes.
No. Please, God, no.
But I already know I’m right. I know her.
She went to confront Marnie.
I leap to my feet and take off, running full-out through the house, my heart in my throat.
“Flannery,” Kincaid says as soon as the plane touches down at the airfield just outside of Seattle and my feet are on the ground. His steely blue-gray eyes are grim, his lips pursed. His shield hangs around his neck on a chain, dangling over the bulletproof plate on his vest. He’s covered in tattoos with a piercing in his eyebrow. Even dressed like a cop, he looks like a gangster. There’s something wild in his eyes, something dangerous. He isn’t tame. He never will be.
“Tell me she’s safe,” I rasp.
“Seattle PD has eyes on the house.”
It’s not an answer and we both know it. My knees threaten to buckle, but somehow, I manage to keep myself upright. I manage to keep moving. I don’t walk. I jog to the SUV waiting for me a few yards away.
Another man in a DEA vest waits inside.
“Ames, this is Flannery, Flannery, this is Jason Ames,” Kincaid says, introducing us.
I jerk my chin in a nod of greeting. I’ve never met him before, but I know of him. He’s the Assistant Special Agent in Charge of the DEA in Seattle. He’s one of the youngest in the country. He’s also one of the most well-respected. If he’s here, it’s not good.
