Page 45 of The Fight

I pull into the reception hall parking lot within what feels like seconds and slide to a halt. Without wasting any more time, I throw it in park, then rush toward the entrance. The doors swing open as I step inside.

I scan the room, hoping maybe, just maybe, I’ll catch a glimpse of her red hair. The guests are mingling, completely oblivious to my panic, but Blair isn’t there. The band is playing through the laughter and chatter of everyone, but I can’t focus on it. Everything feels so far away. She’s gone, and something is wrong.

Spotting my dad and Sylvia at the front of the room, I march toward them.

When I stop in front of their table, my dad holds up his hand. “Not now, Sha?—”

“Blair is gone!” I snap around him.

Sylvia’s eyes grow wide as she lays the napkin in her hand down. “What do you mean gone?”

“The church—she was supposed to wait for me outside, but she’s gone. Someone took her, I think. There was blood.” I can’t even think clearly enough to form a coherent sentence, but I don’t need to.

The mention of blood is all that was needed to get their attention.

“Shay,” Sylvia starts, but it isn’t her normal cool, easygoing voice. It’s laced with desperation and fear. “I need you to take a breath and tell me what happened.”

I nod, taking a steadying breath, but it doesn’t help much. The panic is still clawing at me. Sylvia motions for me to sit, but I can’t. I’m on edge, and I know if I don’t act, I’ll lose time.

Quickly, I recap everything I just told them, adding in as many details as I can remember.

Sylvia’s eyes flicker, and she finally stands up, grabbing the train of her dress. “We have to go,” she mumbles. “The text. That fucking text.”

As she rounds the table, I catch her arm. “What text? What are you talking about?”

Tears well in her eyes. “I got a strange message earlier—right before we got here. It said, ‘Consider this my wedding gift.’ I didn’t think much of it and thought maybe it was one of your dad’s colleagues from the firm or something letting me know they’d cover his cases so we can have a honeymoon after all. I don’t know,” she starts to hiccup.

I feel my blood run cold as she speaks. Suddenly, my feelings don’t matter anymore. Sylvia clearly has information, but I can’t get it if she’s crying.

“Sylvia,” I start, rubbing her bicep gently. “It’s okay. We will get this figured out, but you need to tell us more.”

Her face tightens. “I dated this guy years ago—back in high school. His name was Richard Slane, and he didn’t take our breakup well. For years, he would watch me and send unwanted gifts to my house. It had finally slowed down a bit when I married Blair’s dad because he was adamant about going to the cops and making them do something, but the peace was short-lived.”

She pauses to take a breath.

“But then he was back and more violent. He swore he and I were supposed to be together, but anytime I rejected him or ignored him, he would just get more angry. Right before my last husband’s accident, we thought we were finally free, though. The cops showed us a death certificate with his name, age, everything.

“But when my husband died, I’d get these weird messages. They wouldn’t say anything—just blank messages from a number I never had saved. It seemed innocent, but it still made me uneasy, even though IknewRichard was dead. That’s the reason I moved us here. It wasn’t until we were out of town for my dress fitting that I got another blank message. I don’t know how to describe it, but I just had a pit in my stomach. It’s why your dad and I came home early, but I haven’t received anything since until tonight.”

My mind starts to race again, and I can’t stop myself anymore.

Looking at my dad, I start walking toward the door. “Dad, now is the time you call in every fucking favor from judges,governors, hell, I don’t know. Anyone you can think of to get any information on this dude.”

I glance back at Sylvia as they hustle behind me. “Sylvia, I’ll drive. You tell my dad everything. Can you describe what he looks like?”

We push out the doors, and I help her down the steps, then into my waiting Jeep.

“He was always changing his appearance, but I have an old yearbook at the house.”

I nod and throw the car into park. “Good.”

My dad unlocks his phone from the back seat. “I’ll have the cops meet us at the house.”

I nod again, feeling like I’m running on pure adrenaline. I can’t stop moving, can’t stop thinking about Blair, about how much time we’ve already wasted.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

BLAIR

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