Page 39 of Without a Trace

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Trying not to drown in four feet of water.

Alden didn’t move either. His hands still under the surface, still frozen in the ghost of where she’d been.

I wanted to hit something.

Not him. Just… something. Anything. I needed to bleed the ache out. Needed to break something to make it real, to ground myself, to stop feeling like I was coming apart from the inside.

Because the way she looked at me before she left? It was fucking brutal.

“Showing you both what it feels like to want something you can’t have.”

Yeah. No shit.

I almost got out of the water. Almost followed her across the porch, soaking wet and unhinged, just to grab her face and demand answers. Just to tell her to fucking stop.

Stop playing. Stop teasing.

Stop making me want her so badly I felt like I was losing my fucking mind.

But I didn’t.

I just sat there. Boiling.

Wanting her more than anything I’d ever wanted. Knowing if I touched her right now, I wouldn’t stop.

Not at one kiss.

Not at one night.

Not ever.

So, I stayed.

Soaked. Silent.

Completely and utterly fucked.

Interlude

It was raining.

Slow. Heavy. Like the sky was grieving.

I stood at the edge of the lake, barefoot in the mud, a white nightgown clinging to my legs like a second skin. The trees looked wrong—taller than I remembered, twisted shadows swaying in the wind.

And the reflection staring back from the black water wasn’t mine.

She looked like me.

But older. Harsher.

Golden hair slicked to her face, eyes hollow.

Her lips parted—no sound, but I understood.

"Find him before they do."

Behind me, something moved. A figure in the woods. Tattooed hands. A lighter sparking. Smoke curling from the corner of his mouth.

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