Page 115 of Valor

I knock again.

A few minutes later, there’s still no answer.Strange.Leaning forward, I press my ear to the door. Lani always blasts music as she gets ready, but there’s none playing. Something twists in my gut.

“Lani?” I call out, knocking again.

No answer.

That twisting in my gut turns to dread, and I reach down to check the knob. It turns—slowly. Alarm bells screech in my head as I set the coffees down on the ground beside her door, my hand instinctively going to the butt of my weapon. I don’t draw it yet.

Maybe she’s running late.

Maybe she overslept.

Maybe she went out for a run this morning and forgot to lock up behind her when she came home.

A lot of maybes.

But my instincts are telling me none of them are the truth.

I open the door. “Lani? It’s Gibson, the door was unlo—” I trail off the moment the door hits broken glass. My heart begins to pound. I shove it open, and every single warm feeling I’d had when I first woke this morning vanishes.

Before I go in any further, I pull out my phone and dial the station. “It’s Gibson,” I tell Deputy Brown when she answers. “Get everyone to Lani Hunt’s apartment now.” After rattling off the address, I end the call and stick it in my pocket.

I draw my weapon, knowing there’s no way I’m waiting until backup arrives. If she’s here, I’m going to find her. I’m going to save her.If she’s still alive.I shove the thought aside because it’s too horrific a thought to even process.God, please let her be alive.“Lani!” I call out.

Her coffee table is smashed, and blood has pooled on the floor beneath the glass. Fear ices the blood in my veins as I follow a trail of blood to the kitchen. It’s empty, aside from some broken glass.

I head down the hall to her bedroom, checking the bathroom as I move past it. The drawers have all been opened and turned upside down onto the floor. The shower curtain was ripped down and is missing. I try to ignore what that could mean and focus only on the scene before me as I head back into the hall and toward her bedroom.

Clothes have been strewn all over the bed and floor, her closet ransacked. Dresser drawers are pulled open, their contents spilled out.

My stomach churns, bile rising up my throat. Panic threatens to consume me, but I shove it down. Lani needs me clearheaded.

She needs the sheriff, not the man who’s in love with her. So even as it kills me to do it, I bury my feelings.

I let my gaze travel around the room. There’s no blood in here, but her jewelry box is open, all of her earrings and bracelets gone.

A robbery?

But if that’s all it was, then where is Lani?

LANI

My head is cloudy,and my vision isn’t much better. The sedative has worn off, but whatever drug I’m being pumped with now has made it feel as though the blood in my veins is lead. It’s impossible to move much, but even as I try to break free of the restraints binding my arms and legs, I know I’m not strong enough.

Where am I?

I try to look around and get an idea of my surroundings, but it’s pitch black. I can’t see anything but a sliver of light beneath a door straight ahead. The putrid stench of chemical cleaner fills my lungs, likely adding to the underwater feeling I’m currently experiencing.

The door opens, and light assaults me. I have to close my eyes for a moment, only to open them slowly so they can adjust. There’s no pain, the drugs are taking care of that, but as I look down at myself, I get an image of me in a hospital gown, bandages on my arms and legs, which are held down using Velcro straps.

I’m lying in a bed with rails, and an IV pole stands beside it, a bag of saline hanging from the top. A tube runs from the bottom of the bag into a catheter in my arm.

I try to tug my arm free, but someone dressed all in black, a ski mask and sunglasses on their face, comes into view. I jerk away as best I can, but they withdraw a syringe with clear liquid inside and head straight for my IV.

“No, please. What is that? What are you doing?” I demand. Everything swims around me, and panic kicks my heart rate up despite the drugs. “What is that?” I ask again. “Who are you?”

They don’t respond.

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