Fuck.
I can’t take my eyes off Lucy. Watching her cry is the worst kind of pain. I’m desperate to get to her. To comfort her. Protect her like I should have done before.
Then the laptop dings, and Matt spins the laptop back towards him again. A moment later, he says, “I’ve got something.”
Everything in me freezes.
Please. Let this be the clue we need.
After what seems like an eternity, but is probably only a few seconds, his gaze rises to meet mine. “I found her.”
“Where?”
“About five miles north of Blanco.”
“Shit,” I grit out. “That’s over an hour away.”
Niall pats my arm. “There’s still plenty of time.”
“No, there’s not,” I retort sharply. “You saw her. She’s scared. Traumatized. Any time is too long.”
“Did you call the police?” Rhiannon asks, directing her question to Dante.
“Not yet. I will once we’re on the road.”
My jaw clenches. “I don’t want them interfering. If there’s a threat nearby, if her captor comes back… I’m not willing to risk some local cop fucking things up and getting Lucy hurt.”
Dante looks at me, understanding in his gaze. “I’ll make sure we’re there first.” He lifts his chin. “We’ll get Lucy, Xav. I promise.”
A quick glance around the room shows the same determination in each of my teammates’ eyes.
Hope flares in my chest.
I’m going to bring Lucy home.
Voice rough with banked emotion, I lift my chin at Dante. “Okay.”
Rhiannon gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Let’s go get Lucy.”
CHAPTER THREE
LUCY
Making up stories doesn’t work anymore.
For the first couple of days, I could still use it as an escape. Instead of focusing on all the terrible things—the suffocating fear, the relentless throb in my battered wrist, the aching loneliness—I spent countless hours brainstorming story ideas.
As I tried to fight the lure of food and water, I meticulously plotted action scenes and character histories and crossover events between series.
When the dark felt like it was closing in, I forced my mind to other, imaginary places. The little town in the Rockies that my newest hero calls home. The romantic getaway to Sonoma I planned for my romantic leads. The rundown cabin they had to take shelter in after their car broke down in the middle of Arizona.
In those early days, it was easier to distract myself. Back when I was certain I’d be rescued right away, when my stomach wasn’t gnawing at itself, and the first signs of an infection weren’t setting in. Back before I saw the tiny camera by the ceiling. Before I realized what the rope in the corner was for.
In the beginning, each hour that went by without my captor arriving was a relief.
By the third day, it hit me. They weren’t coming back. And the meager food left for me wasn’t going to be replenished.
That’s why the rope was there. If I couldn’t take a slow starvation, it gave me another out.