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We pulled up before the gate in front of the mansion.
It was open. The alarm in the garage wailed.
I was out of the car before it fully stopped, gravel spraying up around my shoes. I’d been in combat situations before, I’d been tortured, I’d killed, but I’d never felt fear like this.
It was white hot, blinding.
The front door was wide open, the alarm beeping. I rounded the corner into the hall and punched in the code as I took in the empty front room. Silence fell. Peregrine arrived behind me, gun up. Chest heaving.
“Tell Cosimo and the others to get here now,” I hissed. “And spot me.”
He sent out a quick text and we fell into action with practiced ease. I moved through the lower level of the house quickly, kicking in doors and clearing each room. Then we tore up the steps and entered the hall. My throat closed and I forgot about letting him spot me first and surged forward.
There was blood all over the floor. On the wall was a crimson handprint, smearing in five lines along the paint until it faded.
Jesus fucking Christ,” Peregrine breathed, pushing past me and striding towards the boys’ suite.
“Get to the kids,” I ordered.
He disappeared around the corner. I moved swiftly, on the sides of my feet, into the open door of our bedroom and my stomach clenched.
There was a dead man on the floor, crimson in a pool around his inert form. And all around him were my wife’s footprints. I knew the exact size and shape of her foot better than my own. My head spun as I turned in quick circles, trying not to hyperventilate.
I’d never been in a situation like this where the person in danger was the person I loved most. Usually I was collected and calm in combat. But right now, I felt like I was going to vomit all over the bloody floor.
I glanced up, catching sight of myself.
There was no evidence of my fear. It was all in my head. My face was grim, ice cold. My eyes were deadly.
I could do this—I had no choice.
Working quickly, I traced her footprints back out into the hall. They stopped halfway down. She’d run and then she’d been grabbed from behind. I saw where her bare knee hit the ground and then a bloody print where her silk slip was crushed beneath her while she writhed.
She’d struggled. I ran my hand over the blood and paused, two of her acrylic nails rolling beneath my fingertips. They were sticky with crimson.
Then she went still and stopped fighting. There was a perfect print of her back, the straps of her slip molded into the floorboards in blood.
The footprints that led away were a man’s, a large man wearing heavy boots without a recognizable sole. The muscles in my chest constricted so hard I could barely breathe as I crouched down, reading the prints one more time.
She wasn’t dead, there would be no point in taking her body if it was lifeless. No, there were other motives at play here and they all traced back to me. Someone had taken her to get to me, which meant they’d want to keep her alive. I studied the lines she’d left, the arcing smears of blood where she’d writhed.
Had he raped her?
I couldn’t breathe, my vision flickering.
Peregrine’s boots sounded on the hall and I jerked my head up, blinking rapidly. He appeared, his gun held at the ready.
“The boys are safe,” he said. “I told Marco to keep them in the bedroom.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came.
“Olivia?” Peregrine panted, his eyes raking over the floor and walls.
I shook my head.
Outside, a car skidded in the driveway, gravel spraying, and halted. The front door was kicked ajar and two sets of footprints sounded in the front hallway. Heavy, urgent. I rose to my feet, forcing my body to work even if my mind wouldn’t, and moved towards the stairs.
“Guard the boys,” I rasped.
