Page 147 of Cold Mercy

“Shh,” she whispers, her eyes soft. “Don’t you dare.”

She drops her hand, stepping back toward the clothes.

“Now get dressed before we miss our flight.”

We finish dressing and walk downstairs.

“The taxi should be here any minute,” she says, checking her phone.

We walk out the front door, and we're halfway to the gate when I stop.

“Wait.”

I check my pockets, then realize I left the small velvet box on the dashboard.

“I left something for you in the car.”

She turns, raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“A locket,” I admit, running a hand through my hair. “I put the photo from the wedding inside, just so you don't forget who you belong to.”

Her face softens, a teasing glint in her eyes as she tilts her head.

“A locket? You’re slipping, Thomas. I distinctly remember you telling me you weren't the romantic type.”

I step back, holding her gaze with a smile that is entirely for her.

“I’m not,” I say quietly. “For anyone else. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

I jog back toward the Mustang parked near the house, leaving her standing by the open gate, the sun catching in her hair.

I open the car door, reaching for the box on the dashboard.

Then I hear the violent screech of brakes. Before I can even process the sound, a black Chevrolet Tahoe slides into view, stopping just inches from her.

Two men in black masks spill out of the doors like shadows ripped loose.

“Sophia!” I yell, sprinting toward her.

I don't make it in time, arriving just as one man grabs her arms and another smothers her scream with his hand.

They drag her into the car, and her scream is the last thing I hear before the door slams shut, the sound so final my vision whites out for a second. I bolt to my car, ripping the handle in my haste, and the engine roars to life.

My phone is already in my hand.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Detective Thomas Collins, badge number 5871-K,” I bark, voice shaking with fury. “We have a 10-33. Send every available unit. Kidnapping in progress. I’m in pursuit of a black Chevrolet Tahoe with no plates, two armed suspects, female victim inside.”

I'm weaving through traffic like a demon behind the wheel, one breath away from ramming them off the road.

“Hold the line,” I snap. “Track the signal if you can.”

The Tahoe swerves onto a back road outside Cold Spring, one that barely exists on updated maps.

A sudden crackle from my phone draws my attention, and I glance down just in time to see the signal drop one bar, then another. A cold certainty washes over me as I realize they're actively jamming my signal, cutting me off. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I slam my palm against the wheel as the SUV vanishes around a bend. I can't fucking lose her. I will burn the road, the forest, and this entire fucking state to ash before I let them take her from me.