Page 5 of Rusty's Command

The door slammed open, the sound sharp enough to make him flinch, and a woman stormed inside, her face streaked with tears as she frantically swept her gaze around the room. “Please, I need help,” she said, her voice trembling. She clutched her phone like it was the only thing tethering her to reality andmarched to the bar. “My daughter’s missing. Has anyone seen her?”

Rusty was on his feet before he knew it, his instincts kicking in, and Soda padded to his side, tail low and ears perked.

“Ma’am,” Rusty said gently, stepping toward her. His voice was calm, but his mind was already racing. Missing persons weren’t rare around here—especially young women. Too often, they turned up too late, or not at all. The Yakuza had turned Hawaii into a hub for human trafficking, and every case felt like a ticking clock.

The woman turned to him, her eyes wide and pleading. “I’m Sarah Williams, and my daughter is missing. Grace. Grace Williams.” Her words tumbled out in a rush as she fumbled with her phone. “The police won’t help—they think she just ran off with her friends. But she didn’t. I know my daughter. Grace wouldn’t do that. She’dtellme where she was going.”

Rusty raised a hand, trying to slow her down. “Okay. Take a breath,” he said, keeping his tone calm. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Yesterday afternoon, after my husband’s sermon?—”

“Sermon?”

“Yes, he’s Howard Whitney Williams, pastor of the Church of New Hope,” she said, swiping tears from her cheeks. “After the sermon, we had so much to do, so Grace went to relax by the pool.” Her voice cracked, and she took a shaky breath. “She’s nineteen, and?—”

“She’s an adult,” Rusty said gently. “Could she be out with friends?”

“No. Never. Not without telling me.” Her voice cracked as fresh tears spilled over her lashes. “We’re flying home to Oregon tomorrow. It’s her friend’s birthday—she’d never miss that party. But her phone just goes straight to voicemail. Something is wrong. Iknowit.”

Rusty nodded, keeping his face neutral, though a familiar weight pressed against his chest. He’d seen this too many times. Parents clinging to hope, convinced their child wasn’t like the others—the ones who ran off, got in over their heads, or worse. But her desperation struck a chord he couldn’t ignore, not when the missing person’s list on his dad’s desk seemed to grow longer by the day.

“I’ll help you look for her,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Do you have a recent photo?”

She thrust her phone at him, her hands shaking. The screen displayed a picture of a smiling young woman by the pool in a blue bikini with a tropical drink in her hand.

Rusty’s breath hitched. Around her neck glinted a delicate gold cross with three tiny rubies arranged in a triangle. His stomach dropped. He knew that pendant. He’d seen it just hours ago, glinting at the throat of the half-naked woman he’d found unconscious in the basement.

For a moment, the bar around him seemed to fade as his focus narrowed to the image on the screen. His pulse pounded in his ears, the memory of that cold, dark basement flooding back. The woman’s shallow breaths. The crusted vomit. The disheveled luxury bathrobe.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Sarah’s eyes. Her desperation was a knife twisting in his gut. “Come, I’ll take you to the police chief.”

“I’ve already been to the police.”

Rusty hesitated, then nodded. “We’ll find her. I promise.”

But even as he said the words, his mind raced. He had a terrible feeling Grace wasn’t just missing—she was already in someone’s hands. And now, he’d just made a promise he might not be able to keep.

CHAPTER 2

Sienna

The ancient lavafield stretched before Sienna like a frozen black sea with a surface of twisted waves and coils that had solidified centuries ago. Her running shoes crunched beneath her, and as she picked up her pace, Aunt Dee’s Jack Russell, Pickle, darted ahead with the kind of manic energy only small dogs could muster at dawn.

The rising sun painted everything in shades of rose-gold, but even Hawaii’s glorious sunrise couldn’t soften the harsh volcanic landscape. Not unlike her grief. No amount of beauty could smooth the jagged edges of heartache that cut deeper every time she thought of her best friend, Paige.

The morning air wrapped around her like a weighted blanket, heavy with plumeria and salt spray. It was very different to her hometown of Oakridge, Tennessee. At this time of year the air bit with crisp clarity and sweet magnolia aromas mingled with fresh-cut grass.

Three months ago, she’d started her day just like this in Oakridge—running through her sleepy neighborhood, psychingherself up for another day of dodging her supervisor’s creepy gaze across the office. That asshole made her skin crawl.

She’d waved to Paige’s bedroom window as she’d jogged past, same as always. Her best friend since kindergarten had always teased her about those early morning runs.

But there was nothing usual about that day. Nothing.

Sienna forced her mind away from the grief that burned through her veins like lava, channeling it into her legs, pushing herself faster, harder, her feet pounding the volcanic rock like she could outrun the memories themselves. She’d gotten good at this–running from visions that haunted her quiet moments.

A herd of wild goats scattered at her approach and Pickle chased after them, nipping at their legs, and tail wagging with manic enthusiasm. Crazy dog.

Aunty Dee had pitched this Hawaiian house-sitting gig as therapy, four weeks of island healing while Aunty Dee made her annual pilgrimage to Europe to explore the latest trends for her perfume business.

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