Page 27 of Wilde and Deadly

For once, the house would be quiet, and he needed that.

The day had been brutal, his body aching from the chase, his leg reminding him with every damn step that he wasn’t invincible. He turned off the car and sat there for a moment, listening to the engine of the vintage Ford Mustang tick as it cooled. His brothers made fun of him for drivingsuch an ancient vehicle.

“It’s older than Dad!” Dom liked to remind him every time the car acted up.

But Davey had always loved all things vintage. Maps, watches, cars, weapons. Mom always said he was an old soul, born about a century too late. Maybe she was right. There was just something about old things—the craftsmanship, the history, the stories buried in their bones—that felt more solid, more real than anything new.

He loved the way the old car growled when he hit the gas and enjoyed the smooth leather of the steering wheel beneath his hands. He was half-tempted to drive out of the city and find a deserted road where he could really open her up, let the power of the engine drown out his thoughts. But his leg was throbbing now, and the idea of a hot shower and a half-decent night’s sleep won out.

A soft whine from the passenger seat pulled him from his thoughts. Luka’s golden eyes stared at him, his tail wagging slowly, thumping against the door.

“You and me both, buddy,” Davey muttered, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”

He climbed out of the car, Luka bounding ahead toward the entrance. Davey grabbed his bag, his mind already shifting to tomorrow’s plan. He had to figure out another way to find Rowan now that she’d destroyed the tracker. He couldn’t let this slip turn into a full-blown failure. It’d just give Cade more ammunition against him.

Luka’s sharp bark sliced through his thoughts. Not a playful bark. A warning.

Davey’s head snapped up, his entire body going still, instincts kicking in hard and fast. His fingers skimmed the grip of his gun, ready to draw. Luka never barked like that unless something was wrong.

The dog stood rigid at the edge of the building’s landscaping, pawing frantically at the bushes. His ears were flat, tail stiff—every sign of distress Davey had learned to recognize over years of training and fieldwork.

Something was there.

Someone.

A shot of adrenaline burned through his veins as he stepped closer. “Luka, heel.”

Luka didn’t listen. Instead, he let out a low whine and shoved his nose deeper into the greenery.

Davey’s pulse quickened. Luka was disciplined and sharp as hell—he only ignored commands when the situation was critical. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

Then he saw her.

Rowan.

The breath punched out of his lungs.

She lay crumpled among the bushes, her dark hair tangled with leaves, her jacket soaked with blood. The moonlight cast her face in shades of gray, her skin too pale, lips parted in shallow, uneven breaths.

Luka nudged her arm, whimpering low in his throat, pressing closer like he could keep her here just by sheer force of will.

Davey forced himself to move. He dropped to his knees beside her, fingers searching for a pulse, for a sign that she wasn’t slipping away from him.

There.

Weak, but steady.

Relief slammed into him, violent and overwhelming, stealing his breath. His vision tunneled for half a second, body caught between the sharp edge of panic and the crushing weight of that relief. His pulse hammered so hard it felt like each heartbeat rattled his ribs. His whole damn chest ached like he’d taken a hit straight to the sternum, like something inside him had been wound too tight and just snapped loose all at once.

Jesus.

His throat closed up. He exhaled hard through his nose, a sound that was half-growl, half-shudder, and forced himself to breathe. To move.

She wasn’t gone.

Not yet.

But she could have been.

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