Page 113 of Can You Take It?

“You got it,” Colton says.

Noah comes over with a serious look on his face. “Rick, we found fingerprints on the chair,” he says.

My heart races. “Whose?”

“I ran them through the database. They came back as a match for Izel or whoever the hell she is.”

We arrive at Izel’s house, and I kick the door open without hesitation. “Izel!” I shout, storming through the rooms. It’s empty.

Of course, it’s empty. I’m the one who told her to run from me. Now I have to act like I’m clueless, like I didn’t give her the heads-up. I search the rooms, rifling through drawers and cupboards, making a show of it for my body-cam and for anyone watching. The place is spotless, no signs of recent activity, no clues to where she might have gone. It’s almost laughable how thorough she’s been in her departure.

“Clear,” Emily echoes from upstairs.

“Rick, come here,” Noah calls out from the kitchen.

“What is it?”

He points to a smear of blood on the counter. “Blood. Fresh.”

Did I mean to draw her blood? Probably not but fuck if it didn’t make my cock hard.

“Should we bag it?” Noah asks, looking at me for direction.

I shake my head. “No, let it go. It’s not a huge amount.”

Noah nods, but I can see the doubt in his eyes. Emily joins us, frowning as she looks around the kitchen.

“It’s weird,” she says. “The whole house is spotless, but the kitchen’s a mess.”

“Forget the fucking kitchen. We need to find her. Noah, were you able to trace the GPS on her car?”

I mean it. I need to find her. She crossed a line when she threatened a girl and coerced her to attack me. This isn’t just about catching a fugitive anymore; it’s personal. I need tounderstand why she did it, what drove her to such extremes. And deep down, a part of me still wants to believe there’s more to her story than what meets the eye. But I can’t let that cloud my judgment. She’s dangerous, and I need to bring her in before she hurts anyone else.

Noah pulls out his phone, tapping a few buttons. “Yeah, give me a second. The GPS data shows her car last pinged near an old warehouse on the east side.”

“Good,” I say, the tension easing slightly. “Let’s move.”

We arrive at the warehouse, which is more like an abandoned factory. We move in with our guns drawn.

“Noah, take the left. Emily, cover the right. I’ll take the center,” I order.

I search every inch of my area, but it’s a goddamn ghost town. Just as I’m about to give up, I spot a door that’s slightly ajar. I grip my gun tighter and cautiously push it open, stepping out into a yard. There it is—Izel’s car, stashed to the side.

I tuck my gun back in its holster and pull out my gloves. I should call Noah and Emily, but I can’t. If there’s anything in that car that could fuck up Izel’s life even more, I need to get rid of it. I want to arrest her, but the thought of her behind bars makes me sick.

I approach the car, noticing the lock is surprisingly undone. As I reach for the door handle, pain explodes in the back of my head. My vision blurs and I feel warm blood trickling down my neck. I stumble, trying to stay upright, and catch a glimpse of my assailant’s reflection in the car window.

Reflected in the glass is a man holding a hockey stick, the one he just used to crack my skull. His face is a blur, but the intent isclear. My knees buckle, and the world starts to spin as I struggle to stay conscious.

I hit the ground hard and try to reach for my gun, but everything’s spinning. The pain is unreal, like my head’s splitting open. I struggle to focus, but it’s like swimming through molasses.

The bastard kicks me in the ribs, and I gasp, curling up in agony. I manage to crack my eyes open, seeing nothing but blurry outlines. Izel’s face flashes in front of me. Did she set me up? No, it doesn’t make sense.

Then she pulls out a knife, and my heart skips a beat. “Izel, no!” I croak, but my voice is weak, the pain in my head making it hard to even think straight.

She doesn’t hear me or maybe she just doesn’t care. The guy manages to grab her arm, but she twists, slashing his forearm. Blood sprays, and he yells, stumbling back.

“Stop!” I try again, louder this time, but the agony in my ribs and head is too much. I can barely move, let alone stop her.

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