Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I’m making decent time into town when I come upon an accident and have to slow way down until I crawl to a stop.
Chase Wild holds up a hand, then crosses to my window, and I roll it down.
“What’s up?” I ask him.
“Fatality,” he says grimly. “They were going too fast around the bend. Hit a deer.”
“Shit.” I tighten my hand on the wheel. “Anyone we know?”
“No. Tourist. It’s going to take about ten more minutes to get the ambulance out of there and the vehicle moved.”
“Skyla’s alone at the studio,” I reply in agitation. “It makes me nervous.”
“Call her and check in,” he advises. Connor reached out to the Bitterroot Valley Police Department after the incident in LA, just in case we had any surprises, and I’m glad he did. I’ve known Chase all my life and trust him implicitly. “I’ll get you through here as soon as I can.”
With a nod, I pick up my phone and dial her number, but it goes to voicemail after the fourth ring.
With a scowl, I press the call button again but get the same result.
“Fuck,” I growl. It’s likely that she’s just in the restroom or neglected to turn her ringer back on after her class, but I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
So I call Connor.
“Gallagher,” he says.
“It’s Beck. I’m stuck behind an accident on the highway, and I’m late getting to Skyla. She’s not answering her phone. How far away from the studio are you?”
“Closer than you. I’ll head over.”
“Appreciate it,” I reply, and he ends the call. I need to know that she’s okay. I hate being late in getting her. It doesn’t happen often, and after today, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.
Nothing is more important than Irish.
Finally, the ambulance leaves the scene, and Chase waves his hand at me, indicating that I should drive through. With a relieved sigh, I do just that, nodding at my friend as I pass by.
When I’m sure I’m past the wreck, I floor it.
I pull up to the studio and see that I have beat Connor here. I’m about to call him back to tell him that I have this under control when my eyes spot a black mass on the studio floor.
Riley.
Something is not fucking right.
Running out of my truck, I push through the door and scream my girl’s name.
“Skyla! Baby, where are you?”
There’s no answer. It’s silent in the studio as I run through checking every room, but I know I won’t find her.
She’s not here.
And she’d never leave Riley.
I fall to my knees beside the dog, my heart in my throat and blood roaring through my head as I press my hand to his side.
He’s breathing.
But he’s hurt.
He has blood on his head, and his eyes are rolled back.
The bell dings as Connor comes inside.
“What the fucking hell?”
“She’s not here. Riley’s hurt and needs help.” Jesus, I don’t know what to do. “He’s got her. That’s the only way she’d ever leave Riley like this.”
“Call your sister to help with him,” Connor says as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Miller.”
He talks to his security man, and I call Bee.
“Hey,” she says.
“I need you at the studio. Riley’s hurt. Call a vet or something. We don’t know where Skyla is.”
Those last six words almost kill me.
“On it,” she replies and ends the call.
What feels like hours later, Bee rushes inside and runs over, dropping to her knees beside me.
“The vet’s on her way,” she says, and I can tell she’s struggling to keep her voice calm. “I have this handled. Where is she?”
I shake my head as terror wants to take over, but Bee lays her hand on my shoulder.
“Stop. No panicking. Do you hear me? No. Panicking.”
I swallow, push the terror back, and nod. “We don’t know. She was gone, and I found Riley like this.”
More people rush inside. The vet, more security. Even Chase, whose eyes narrow on me in an unspoken question.
What the fuck?
I shake my head. I don’t know what’s fucking happening, and it’s tearing me apart inside.
“Go,” Bee says, placing her hands on the dog. “I’ve got him. You find your girl.”
Just as I cross to Connor, Miller pushes inside, his face grim.
“Airport,” he says before we all run outside and climb into Miller’s waiting black SUV. Chase is behind us, the lights on his car and siren on, and then more cop cars join us. It looks like something out of an action movie.
“What in the actual fuck is happening?” Connor demands.
“There was no record of Lewis leaving New York, but there was a record of him landing here this morning. He has a private jet, and it’s parked on standby. Engines are running, boss.”
“Explain why the feck you didn’t know he left New York,” Connor snarls.