Page 13 of Searching for Valor

It had to be.

Izzy took a deep breath and forced a smile as her mother set a plate of huevos divorciados in front of her. Her favorite. “Thanks, Mamá.”

Marisol kissed the top of her head. “Eat. Abuela is right. You’ve lost too much weight these last few months.”

She soaked in the warmth of her family’s love and picked up her fork, but before she could take a bite, a loud, frantic knock at the door shattered the moment.

Everyone froze.

“Who could that be?” Marisol asked, wiping her hands on a towel.

Izzy’s stomach churned. Unexpected knocks on a Sunday morning rarely brought good news. “I’ll get it.” She pushed back her chair and walked to the door, her pulse quickening with every step. She gripped the doorknob, steeling herself for whatever—or whoever—was on the other side. But when she finally pulled the door open, she was still surprised. “Mo?”

Monica Holt looked like she’d been through hell. Her blonde hair, usually sleek and shiny, was a tangled mess. Her blue eyes were wide and bloodshot, darting around as if searching for hidden threats. She was wearing a rumpled sweater and jeans, clutching the straps of a bulging backpack.

“Izzy,” she breathed. “Thank God you’re here. I went to your apartment, and your landlord said you’d moved.”

Izzy stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her. “Uh, yeah, I’m back living with my parents for a bit. I didn’t know you were coming to town, or I would’ve told you to come here.” She scanned the street, half-expecting to see her friend’s two kids waiting in the car at the curb. It was empty, the engine still running, the driver’s side door hanging open like Monica had bolted out of it as soon as it stopped. “What’s wrong? Where are Grace and Noah?”

Monica’s gaze also darted to the street as if checking for someone following her. “They’re—” She choked on the words. “They’re gone.”

“Wait.” Izzy’s heart dropped into her stomach. “What do you mean, gone?”

“They’re missing.” Her voice cracked, the words spilling out in a desperate rush. “They came here last night, but I never heard from them after they got to the cabin. I figured they just fell asleep and forgot to call. I was going to meet them this morning after I wrapped some things up, but then I started thinking that it was weird Grace didn’t at least text. I called, and it went straight to voicemail, so I jumped in the car and drove right here… and the cabin’s empty. All their stuff is there, but they aren’t, and the door was hanging wide open and?—”

“Okay, Mo. Okay. Take a breath.” Izzy grasped her trembling shoulders, steadying her. “Why were they here alone in the first place?” It didn’t make sense. Those kids were Monica’s world. She would never let them out of her sight for long.

“I just… It’s… I-I needed them here. Closer to you. Where I thought they’d be safe.”

“Safe from what?”

She pressed her lips into a line and shook her head.

“Mo—”

“Please, Iz. I didn’t know who else to call.”

“What about the police?”

“No!” That one panicked word was like a whip crack. “No police.”

“What do you mean, no police? If they’re missing, that’s the first place we should start.”

Monica shook her head vehemently, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “You don’t understand. I can’t go to the police. Not about this.”

A cold dread settled in Izzy’s stomach. She’d known Monica for years, ever since they’d waitressed together at The Grove when she was in high school, and Monica was a fresh college dropout who was newly pregnant. They’d stayed close even as their lives took different paths—Izzy to the police academy andMonica to single motherhood. In all that time, she’d never seen her friend this shaken, this terrified.

“All right. No police.” She glanced over her shoulder at the closed door and made a snap decision not to involve her family in whatever this was. They had already been through enough. Instead, she led Monica around the side of the house to her apartment off the garage. “Let’s go inside, and you can tell me everything from the beginning, okay?”

chapter

four

Rylan’s head was pounding.The insistent drumbeat against his skull was the first thing he became conscious of as he peeled his gluey eyes open. The second was that his mouth tasted of stale whiskey and regret and was as dry as sawdust. The sunlight streaming through the blinds stabbed into his eyeballs like hot pokers. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his head under his pillow, fully intending to fall back into sweet unconsciousness, but the pounding sound only got louder.

It wasn’t just in his head.

Someone was at the door, and each knock reverberated through his skull like a jackhammer.

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