Page 168 of California Wild

His gut tightened.

He crouched near the entrance, setting the pizza and water aside as his eyes scanned the space, his training kicking in.

The pallet Kwilé used as a bed was overturned. The ratty sleeping bag crumpled, not in the way someone would leave it after waking up—but in the way things looked when someone left in a hurry.

Jesse’s pulse picked up.

The few possessions Kwilé kept—books, old photos, a rusted metal tin where he kept scraps of things Jesse never asked about—were scattered.

No signs of blood.

But the struggle was obvious.

Jesse ran through the possibilities.

Kwilé wouldn’t have just left. Not without his things. Not without telling Jesse.

Arrested? No—Jesse had eyes on the inside, and no one had mentioned a pickup. Besides, Kwilé knew how to move, how to avoid attention.

Attacked? Maybe. It wasn’t uncommon. The wrong person, the wrong night.

Jesse exhaled sharply, fingers flexing at his sides.

Worst case—dead.

Jesse gritted his teeth, pushing back the thought.

No. Not yet.

He wasn’t accepting that until he knew for sure.

But something had happened. And Jesse needed to find out what.

Fast.

Chapter 25

The glow of the city lights flickered over Hayley’s face as she stared down at her phone, the screen casting a cold glow over her skin. The streets of downtown San Diego blurred past outside the Tesla’s tinted windows, a mix of neon reflections, distant laughter, and the hum of life buzzing along the Gaslamp Quarter.

Her thumb hovered over Jesse’s name.

She exhaled slowly, then fired off a quick text.

Hey, I’m back in town. Meet me at the usual spot?

She hit send, watching the message deliver.

Then waited.

Nothing.

Hayley tapped the screen, checking her service, checking if he was even receiving her messages. Jesse was always bad at texting, but something about this felt… different.

She glanced up as Zoe turned onto a quieter street, away from the chaos of the bars and the late-night foot traffic. The Tesla’s interior was sleek, spotless, the low hum of the electric engine barely audible under the sound of the playlist Zoe had put on—a slow, dreamy indie track that felt completely at odds with Hayley’s pulse hammering in her throat.

“Where to?” Zoe asked, eyes flicking toward her. “Home?”

Something about the way she said it—careful, casual in a way that wasn’t casual at all—made Hayley tense.

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