Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Now that I’m here,” he said, calm and casual, like he was giving a speech at a fundraiser, “things are going to change. Small towns get overlooked. That’s an opportunity, it doesn’t have to be legal.”
I felt Kai shift beside me, tension winding through all of us.
The mayor kept talking. “I’ve been approached by someone who knows how to make that happen, but we need real estate. Quiet. Off the radar.”
Then came Topper’s voice, low and oily. “I know how to make that happen.”
“Whatever it takes,” the mayor replied. “You’ll get your cut.”
They haggled like they were discussing prices at a farmers' market. Then Topper said, “It was Nice doing business with you.”
Judd clicked on the second file.
The tone was colder this time, more direct.
“Ailee needs to be taken care of,” the mayor announced. “She’s talking to Roque and the others. She knows too much—especially about the prostitution side of things. If they pull on that thread, they’ll unravel the rest.”
“She won’t be a problem,” Topper answered flatly.
Then, they moved on to Kaden Roper.
“Smart kid and well connected. We can use him. Bribe him or pressure him—get him moving product. If he takes the fall when they get too close, that’ll keep our best men clear for bigger jobs.”
I clenched my jaw until my teeth ached. Kaden hadn’t stood a chance.
Judd played the final recording.
“I want Dahl out,” the mayor said bluntly. “Man’s too clean. He’s in the way. Start planning. I don’t care how.”
The recording cut out.
“I already called Ned,” Judd said, shutting the laptop. He just laughed and said it’s one of ten death threats he gets a week, but I called his security detail anyway. They’re on alert.”
I glanced at Judd. “This about Cyn?”
His mouth twitched, but he didn’t deny it.
“Partly,” he admitted. “But Ned’s one of the few left who still gives a damn about doing the right thing. We lose him, and we lose a hell of a lot more than a politician.”
I nodded, but my mind had already shifted. “You said Imogen and Kapono were going through the digital evidence?”
“Yeah,” Judd confirmed. “Kapono’s already flagged three potential names, and Imogen’s checking for coded entries in our information. If there’s a trail, they’ll find it.”
They would, I trusted them with my life.
But then Judd looked at me again, a different kind of concern in his voice. “None of Sayla’s trackers are pinging. Was she wearing the ring?”
A cold wave washed over me, and I swore under my breath. “No, she takes her jewelry off at night.”
My mind reeled, racing through every mental image I had of that morning. Her work shoes had been sitting by the front door, right where she always left them. Her purse, too. Her phone was still in my back pocket. She hadn’t grabbed anything before she’d been taken, which meant every tracker we had—her purse, her shoes, her car, her phone, the ring—all of it was useless.
They’d taken her and the kids into the night without leaving so much as a breadcrumb behind. Now, it was just silence and shadows, stretching out endlessly in every direction.
I had never felt more helpless in my life. The weight of that realization settled in my chest like a stone—heavy, unmoving, and cold enough to steal my breath. It wasn’t just the fear of not knowing where they were—it was the idea that they could be anywhere, enduring anything, and I was standing here with nothing but gut instinct and secondhand scraps of evidence to go on.
But helpless didn’t mean hopeless. I wouldn’t let it. I couldn’t let it.
If there was even the faintest trace left to find, I knew Kapono and Imogen would uncover it. The two could see through smoke and static, find order in chaos, and pull answers from the smallest, most insignificant fragments. If the trail were faint, they’d sharpen it. If it were buried, they’d dig it out.
And if there wasn’t a trail at all, I’d carve one out with my bare hands. I had no choice because there was no version of this story where I didn’t bring them home.
Judd’s phone buzzed, vibrating against the hood of the truck where he’d set it. He glanced at the screen and picked up immediately, putting it on speaker without a word. I could tell by the crease between his brows that whatever he was hearing wasn’t good.
“It’s Imogen,” his voice was tight.
From the other end, her tone was urgent but level. “Kapono’s been checking some of the vehicles we tagged. Most of them parked or stayed close to town, but one stood out. It passed by Roque’s house right after he left.”
My heart kicked hard in my chest.
Imogen continued, “He ran the plates. It's registered to one of the property companies linked to the mayor's office. He’s tracked it to a residential address in the center of Palmerstown—it’s parked at a house near the old square.”