As it turned out, the star rating on a cab company meant nothing. Morgan was satisfied to just be in the back seat of a car that was speeding its way toward his house, promising the driver a tip if he broke a few traffic laws. Meanwhile, Mason sat in the front, saying nothing the whole time. It worked for Morgan—it gave him time to think. To get his head straight.
He tried calling Rachel multiple times, but there was no answer. It didn’t stop him from trying again and again, desperately hoping to reach her.
The whole ride was torture.
Morgan tried to control himself, inhaling long, steady breaths and letting them out between pursed lips. The driver made a little chitchat, but Mason stepped in to handle it. It seemed like he knew what he was doing, and although Morgan felt this was a more personal issue, he was glad Mason was there. Anything was better than being alone.
“Rachel is in trouble.”
The sentence repeated in his mind over and over. It felt like a threat looming over him. How had the police missed the photo of his wife when they’d searched Erika’s home? Morgan knew the whole police force hadn’t met Rachel, but he’d have hoped by now that at least one of them might have recognized that perfect smile—those sweet, loving blue eyes.
When the cab finally stopped, Morgan threw money at the driver and rushed out, sprinting toward the front door. His worst nightmares came true when he reached the top step of the porch: the front door was open. The frame was busted. Sweat drawing on his brow, he dashed inside and called her name, hurrying from room to room.
“Rachel!”
Mason stepped in behind him. But Morgan paid him no mind. His thoughts were too busy, his brain working hard to provide him with a mental image of the worst-case scenario. All he saw was blood—pooling around the eyes of his wife and child. And standing over them? Erika Givens, her raven-black hair bobbing up and down as she tilted her head back to cackle.
He shuddered and checked the kitchen. Empty.
With the downstairs empty and his worst fears realized, Morgan rushed up the stairs. Fallen photo frames caught his eye, dread filling him like a rising tide. He called again as he burst into the master bedroom, and that was when he saw her.
Rachel was on the floor. Blood coated her temple.
“Oh Jesus.”
Morgan felt weightless as he hurried toward her, scooping her up in his arms. She made a throaty noise and opened her eyes, gazing up at him with a wide stare that read sheer alarm. Morgan held her close to his chest, leaving her just enough room to breathe.
“You’re okay,” he said. “Aren’t you? Yeah, yeah, you’re okay.”
Rachel stirred, grabbing his collar with weak hands. It felt like an old lady reaching for his attention. Morgan soothed her, hushing her as she panicked, fighting to sit upright when she didn’t seem to have the energy.
“It’s okay,” he told her.
But then he understood.
It was no longer the two of them in the house, and even as Mason stepped into the bedroom, Morgan knew there was one missing. That rising tide came back for him, carrying him out to a cold, lonely sea where the water filled his lungs. If he had the wind left to explain what he was feeling right then, “drowned” would be the only word he could wheeze. Because even though his wife was in his arms, hurt but safe, there was an undeniable absence of one other—one person who Morgan knew he couldn’t live without.
Robin Young was gone.
And Erika Givens had him.