“Hello, Dad.”
“H-hi, Shaw.”
The phone line went silent.
Before I’d made this call, I’d decided on what to say to my father, but the sound of his stunned, deep voice—a voice that sounded exactly like my own—had blanked my mind.
“You there?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat and sucked some oxygen into my lungs. “How are you?”
“Good. You?”
“Doing good.”
“Your sister tells me you’re in Montana.”
“I am. Looks like I’m going to be moving here.”
He hummed. “Never been to Montana.”
“Maybe one of these days, you and Mom can come up for a visit.”
“I’d like that.” There was a smile in his voice. “I’d like that a lot.”
“That’d be nice.” My shoulders fell from my earlobes.
This phone call had become a massive obstacle in my mind. With so much pressure from my mom and sisters to reach out to Dad, I’d built it up to be something huge.
But it was just a phone call to my father, like the hundreds I’d made before.
We didn’t have to talk about the past. We didn’t need to hash out why I was still disappointed in him and would be for a while.
It could just be a phone call to say hello.
Hello was often monumental in and of itself.
“How about this spring?” Dad asked.
“I’ll go through my calendar and shoot some weekends over that would work for us.”
Dad didn’t ask who us was. Matine had likely filled my parents in about Presley too. “Sounds great.”
“Okay. Good to talk to you, Dad.”
“You too.” His voice cracked. “Thanks for calling.”
I hung up the phone and set it aside on the couch, dropping my face into my hands.
Then I breathed.
My heart was racing, and I was sweating. A two-minute phone call had drained my energy faster than the one-hour workout I’d done this morning.
Since I’d left the garage after my visit with Presley, I’d thought a lot about what she’d had to say. I’d thought a lot about what we’d decided.
Presley wanted to live in Montana, so we’d live in Montana.
We’d build our life together in Clifton Forge.
This was home.
I wanted to share it with my family, and to do that, I had to let go of the resentment I held for my father.
Presley was right about him. He wasn’t an evil man. Dad’s crime didn’t seem all that important in the grand scheme of life. He’d made a mistake. He’d owned it. He’d suffered the consequences.
He’d weathered the media storm without a word or complaint, something he wouldn’t have had to do if I hadn’t been famous. He’d never once made an excuse as to why he’d taken that money.
Dad didn’t deserve a life sentence. He wasn’t Marcus Wagner.
There’d been a time when I’d wanted to sit across from Marcus in prison, but that didn’t matter now.
I didn’t give a fuck about Marcus Wagner’s motives. He was as dead to me as he was to Presley. I’d made the movie, I’d uphold my obligations to promote it, and once it was done, I’d simply be grateful that it had led me to Presley.
I was moving to Montana. Hell, I’d moved to Montana. My assistant would take care of the address changes.
Presley’s family was here, but I wanted her to be a part of mine too. She’d love my sisters—the four of them would commiserate and tease me relentlessly. My mother would adore her, and my father would cherish a witty, kind daughter-in-law.
I wouldn’t deprive Presley of those relationships, so it was time to heal the rift.
Once I’d made the decision to call Dad, it was astonishing how quickly the anger had just . . . melted away.
I stood from the couch, lighter than when I’d taken the seat, and walked to the living room window, glancing outside. Presley’s Jeep was in the driveway. I’d seen her roll in, giving me a little finger wave before she’d parked.
She’d been home for an hour and night had fallen. My stomach growled, but I didn’t want to eat until I’d heard from her. I was hoping maybe if I showed up with a pizza later, they wouldn’t kick me out.
Was an hour enough time for the sisters to talk? My stomach growled again. I didn’t want to rush Presley, but I also knew this wasn’t going to be an easy discussion. Abandoning the window, I shot her a quick text, then flipped on the TV and found a basketball game.
Fifteen minutes passed on the game clock, and I gave in to my stomach, eating a granola bar and sending another text as I chewed. Ten minutes later, when it went unanswered, I called and got her voicemail.
Dread settled in my gut.
Something was wrong.
I didn’t care if Presley and Scarlett wanted to be alone, I was checking on them. I pulled on my shoes and a jacket, then opened the front door just as the screech of tires on pavement filled the air and a streak of white whipped around the corner.
Luke’s truck skidded to a stop in front of Presley’s house.
Another cruiser flew down the street, parking beside him. No lights flashing. No sirens wailing. Two others stopped at the mouth of the cul-de-sac, forming a blockade.
My feet flew.
I leapt down the stairs and sprinted for Presley’s house. Blood rushed in my ears, drowning out the sound of a shout at my back, but my legs kept pumping.
“Shaw, stop!”
I didn’t stop, not until a pair of arms wrapped around me and tackled me to the snow.
“Get the fuck off me,” I shouted and fought, throwing elbows and writhing to be free.
“Calm down,” Luke barked. The bastard pinned me with his knee in my spine.
“Get off me!” I roared.
“Just listen,” he shouted in my ear, making me wince. “You can’t go in that house. Get it together.”
“She’s in trouble.” My gut was screaming that I get inside her house.
“You go in there, the risk that this goes bad skyrockets. We both know that.”
The truth sobered me up, chasing away the instinct to fight. “Let me go.”
“Not until you’re calm.”
“I’m fucking calm. Let. Me. Up.”
Luke hesitated but finally stood and held out a hand.
I ignored it, jumping up and turning to Presley’s house, but my feet didn’t move. I stayed rooted, long-forgotten training winning out over panic. “What’s going on?”
“We got a 9-1-1 call ten minutes ago. An armed man is holding Presley and her sister.”
My stomach dropped. “Who?”
“We don’t know.”
“Fuck.” I spat on the ground. My jaw had taken the brunt of the impact when Luke had tackled me and a tinge of blood spread across the snow.
There were eyes on us as I took in the yard. Five of Luke’s officers were standing nearby, their mouths hanging open. None of them looked to be more than thirty years old.
Luke had mentioned over a beer that after Marcus had been removed as chief, there’d been some older officers who hadn’t liked Luke being appointed his replacement. He’d been slowly encouraging them to retire early and replacing them with younger officers.
We did not need young tonight. We needed experience.
“Go home,” Luke ordered.
“No.”
He blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t have fucking time for this. Go home. Stay out of the way.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, planting my feet. “No.”
“Shaw—”
“Chief.” One of the officers caught his attention and pointed down the street.
Three men came jogging down the road, the headlights from the cruisers illuminating them from behind.
“For fuck’s sake,” Luke muttered. “I don’t need this.”
Dash, Emmett and Leo marched across Presley’s yard, bracketing me as they stood across from Luke.
I didn’t know how they’d known something was wrong, and I didn’t care. Those three would do anything for Presley and that was all that mattered.
“What are you doing here?” Luke asked through gritted teeth. “All four of you need to disappear. This is not a civilian matter.”
“I’ve had extensive SWAT training,” I said. “I’ve been in more hostage recovery situations than you and your men combined. Let me help.”
“No.” Luke shook his head. “You’re not a cop.”
“Don’t be an arrogant asshole,” Dash said. “This isn’t about who’s wearing a badge.”
“Get off this property, Slater.” Luke glowered at Dash. “My men have more important things to do than haul your ass to jail right now. You’re civilians. I can’t—”
“Please.” I held up a hand, my voice dropping to let the fear racing through my heart show. “Please. She’s my life. If you ever cared about her at all, let me help. We’ll stay out of your way. We’ll follow your lead. But use me. Use my experience. Please.”
Luke’s shoulders fell. “We don’t even know what we’re dealing with. We need to assess the situation. All I have right now is an eleven-second 9-1-1 call.”
“Can I listen to it?” I asked.
Luke’s jaw ticked. “Fine. But just you.”
“That’s bullshit, Rosen,” Emmett said. “She’s one of ours. You want information? The best way of getting it is to let us help.”
Luke’s molars grated together, loud enough for us all to hear. He glared, then shot his gaze past us to the house. “This is wasting time we don’t have.”
“Agreed.” I unplanted my legs and walked toward his truck. “Let’s start with the call.”
Luke grumbled something but his footsteps crunched in the snow as he followed. Dash, Emmett and Leo were on his heels.
“Set up a perimeter around the house but stay back.” Luke pointed to his officers as he walked. “No one goes in. No one gets out. All units are headed here. I want no one coming or going in a three-block radius. Understood?”
Heads nodded as the officers sprang into action.
Luke took the lead, passing me to reach his driver’s side door first. He picked up his radio and called dispatch, requesting the emergency call be replayed.
9-1-1, what’s your emergency?
A female’s voice whispered through the radio. He’s got a gun. Help us.
The operator asked some questions, but none went answered. In the background, there was a muffled noise and a woman’s cry, then the unmistakable sound of fist hitting flesh before the line went dead.
My heart plummeted.
Luke shut off the radio. “That’s it. That’s all Presley said. We traced it here from her phone number.”
“That’s not Presley,” I said. “That’s Scarlett.”
I knew the sound of Presley’s voice and even terrified, it wouldn’t be as raspy as Scarlett’s.
“Her sister?” Emmett asked. “When did she come here? How did we not know this?”
“She told me today,” Dash said.
I waved it off. “It’s not important. Who would come after Presley with a gun?”
Dash and Leo shared a look, then Dash lowered his voice. “Jeremiah?”
“Her ex?” Luke asked.
“Fuck.” I rubbed my jaw. It was almost always someone close to the victim. “Makes sense.”
“Any sign of Warrior trouble?” Dash shot a look at Leo and Emmett.
“I haven’t heard anything,” Emmett said quietly.
Leo shook his head. “Me neither.”
Given the Presley-Scarlett-Jeremiah triangle, it could not be a coincidence that this was happening three days after Scarlett showed up in Clifton Forge.
Unless . . .
Could the he inside be their father? Could he have come looking for both his daughters and Scarlett had led him right to Presley’s door?
But my gut . . . “My gut says it’s the ex.” It was almost always a current or former lover in these situations. And in this case, Jeremiah counted double. “Scarlett and Jeremiah were together once. Maybe he got wind that she was here. Maybe he brought a gun because the last time he visited Presley, she slammed the door in his face.”
“What?” Dash asked. “He was here? When?”
“This summer, before I left town. Pres didn’t let him talk much so I don’t know what he wanted. She made it clear not to come back and as far as I know, he hasn’t.”
“You didn’t tell us,” Emmett clipped.
“Because the guy showed up, Presley ripped him up one side and down the other, and then he was gone. It was a nonissue. Let’s discuss that later.” I aimed my stare at Luke. “What are you thinking?”
“We need to make contact,” Luke said. “Find out if it’s him and what he wants.”
“Your men don’t have tactical gear. You have no snipers. You can’t just waltz up to the door. That’s a good way to get yourself shot.”
“No shit,” he deadpanned.
“Chief?” One of his officers approached. He wasn’t wearing a stocking cap and the tips of his ears were red. Hostage situations could take hours to resolve and by that time, he’d have frostbite if he didn’t find a hat. “We’ve got the perimeter set up. Should we evacuate neighbors?”
“No, but one of you needs to go door to door and tell everyone to stay inside. Give me a second.” Luke held up his finger, then turned to us. “I need to get my team in place and secure the neighborhood, then we can talk through a plan. Stay away from that house or I’ll put you in cuffs.”
His parting comment was aimed my way.
As Luke turned to address his officer, I walked away from the cruiser, the guys following. I stopped in the center of my yard, where I could get a clear look at Presley’s house.
Every light was off. If it was Jeremiah inside, he’d shut them off and probably had Presley and Scarlett huddled together. There was faint movement by the living room window, like a breeze had picked up the curtain.
That motherfucker was inside, watching.
Luke waved two other officers over, huddling with them in the middle of the street, and pointed to houses around the block.
He was doing his job. He was following protocol. Luke had been in some tight situations before when he’d been a cop in Bozeman, and though I trusted his skills, his team was too green for this.
There was no way I was letting some rookie with a twitchy trigger finger walk inside that house and put Presley in danger.
“Like hell he’s keeping me out of that house.”
Three pairs of eyes turned my way.
“Us,” Dash corrected. “Like hell he’s keeping us out of that house.”
“No.” I huffed. “You’re mechanics.”
“Mechanics with more hours in shit situations than any officer here besides Luke. Mechanics who know how to fire a gun and take a life when it means protecting those we love.” There was no shaking in Dash’s voice. There was no question that he’d killed before. His eyes were hard and calculating.
If Presley’s life was on the line, he’d do what needed to be done, no hesitation.
Given the nervous energy pulsing off Luke’s team, I didn’t trust them to do the same.
“I don’t suppose one of you has a spare gun handy.”
Emmett lifted up the hem of his coat, pulled out a Glock 22—the same handgun I’d carried as a cop—and handed it to me.
I checked the magazine—loaded—then tucked it into the waistband of my jeans, the weight familiar and comforting. “Luke can call the shots. But if he does anything that I think will put Presley in danger, I’m going inside.”
Dash nodded. “We’ll be right behind you.”
I looked at the house again and my stomach pitched.
I’d seen this situation too many times. This was one we’d trained for often because domestic abuse was appallingly common. Every move, every decision, was a wild card. Most of the time, it ended well. Most of the time, the victim walked away unharmed and the assailant was taken into custody alive.
But I’d seen three hostage situations end badly.
Two of them had ended with the shooter killing his captives before taking his own life. One, the victim had already been dead. Her husband had killed her an hour before the cops had shown up, but the bastard hadn’t been paying enough attention to realize she’d bled out from the stab wound in her abdomen.
It was hard to remember the good cases, the successful outcomes, when the woman on the other side of the locked door was mine.
I shoved the fear down deep and took a calming breath to slow my racing heart.
She was my life.
Like hell I wasn’t going in to save it.