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Following the scrumptious meal, we divided into two teams for a lively cornhole game in Chase's backyard. Ariel, exuding confidence, distributed beanbags to the women, playfully warning the men not to underestimate their abilities. Chase theatrically launched his first throw, which missed the target, eliciting cheers from the women and dramatic groans from the men. Brad playfully chided Chase for disappointing the team. Courtney then confidently said, "Watch this!" and skillfully landed two bags in the target.
"We're killing it!" Ariel whooped, fist-pumping.
As I tossed my next bag, I couldn't resist glancing around to see if the car pulling up was Amy. Nope. It was the front gate guard. "Wonder what he wants?" Guy threw his bags down and sauntered over to see.
After a brief exchange, Guy approached me, holding out a big envelope. "It's addressed to you," he said, studying the return address. "It's from 150 State Street, Sacramento, California."
"It's probably the payment on our grant that was supposed to come in last week," Chase grumbled. "You know how it is with the government – they're always slow."
I stared at the envelope in disbelief. "Why is it addressed to me and not Chase? He's the grant administrator." I walked over to the picnic table, ready to open it up.
"Wait up! Let's have Courtney handle it." Guy suggested, gesturing toward the house. "Let's grab another beer."
As we made our way up the porch steps, Courtney let out a piercing scream. I spun around to see her collapsing on the ground, barely able to sit up. I rushed over to the picnic table and caught a glimpse of a photo of Amy – bound, gagged, wounded, and bruised.
"Amy's been kidnapped! That psycho is back!" Courtney whispered.
As Ariel assisted Courtney in standing up, I checked the note. "I believe the ransom is... actually the remainder of the grant money!"
Meagan guided Ariel and Courtney inside as they sobbed uncontrollably while the men gathered to examine the envelope's contents. "Stay put!" Chase shouted, swiftly texting our private security. "Don't touch anything!"
Careful not to touch anything, I leaned in to look. "Damn it, Amy's in... Vail."
"What makes you so sure?" Chase asked.
"The bedspread. It's the one from the master bedroom!" I pointed out the photo of Amy on a bedspread with a distinctive blue and yellow pattern.
Without waiting for security, Chase grabbed a pair of gloves from the shed and inspected the ransom note. "They're demanding that Rosedale withdraw from the grant and notify the state by tomorrow morning. That means we'll lose the rest of our funds." He paused, his expression grim. "But Mitch, there's another envelope with your name on it."
I donned a glove and opened it up, revealing another photo of Amy holding a sign referencing something I thought only I knew about. Little did I realize...
DON'T COUNT YOUR CHICKENS BEFORE THEY'RE HATCHED!!
I whirled around, running my hand through my hair. "I have to go. I need to get to Vail to see what's going on. It's my property."
Chase grabbed my arm. "No way, man. We need to call the FBI and let them handle it. By the time you get there, she'll be rescued."
"It's not your fault. Don't go. It could be a trap!" Guy warned.
"No!"
With haste born of desperation, I bounded down the steps of my private jet and launched myself into the waiting sedan. My mind whirled with dread for Amy as I sped toward the hospital, the FBI's report of her location ringing hollow in my ears. Despite Chase and Guy's reassurances, guilt clawed at my heart, a merciless vise choking my conscience. I was responsible for her plight, and it gnawed at my soul.
My gut twisted as I envisioned her suffering, and a deluge of questions surged through my mind: Who was behind this? What drove them? Was it tied to the Rosedale case or some other sordid scheme? How could I safeguard her from this hell in the future? With steely resolve, I dashed through the sterile hospital corridors. My hand didn't falter as I wrenched open Amy's door, steeling myself for what lay within. I caught my breath at the sight of her bruised and battered form, her curvy silhouette a harsh juxtaposition with her wounds. Overcome with grief, I struggled for air as she lay there, asleep.
"Amy. It's me, Mitch." I murmured.
"Hey, Mitch," she whispered, her voice rough.
Tenderly, I grasped her hand, fearful of causing her more pain. "Hey, Amy," I murmured. "How are you feeling?"
She grimaced, shifting to find some semblance of comfort. "Sore," she managed, barely more than a whisper.
With a heavy heart, I nodded. "I'm so sorry, Amy. I wish I could have shielded you from this."
Her gaze locked onto mine, pain clouding her eyes. "It wasn't your fault, Mitch," she breathed. "I guess I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time...."
As much as I longed to accept her words, reason rebelled. I knew Amy planned to attend Chase and Meagan's housewarming gala. But how had she traveled from San Diego to Vail? Despite the maddening questions, I knew nothing could change the present — even if the entire situation eluded my grasp.
