Page 75 of Outlaw Ridge: Griff
Before he’d even finished the last words, Lily was already on her feet, eyes fierce, jaw set.
“Let’s go get Caleb,” she said.
Griff gave a tight nod, and they took off toward Main Street.
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Chapter Nineteen
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Lily kept pace beside Griff, both of them moving fast but staying alert. The icy wind bit at her face, but she barely felt it. Her focus was locked on the storefront just ahead—Stitched in Time—with its dusty pink awning and faded mannequins gazing blankly from behind the glass.
No lights. No movement. No people.
But that wouldn’t last.
The wail of sirens drifted closer, echoing off the buildings like a warning bell. Ambulance. Fire truck. Maybe more. Soon, neighbors would poke their heads outside, stepping onto porches or leaning from the doors of the businesses that were still open, trying to figure out what was happening.
Lily just hoped whoever had Caleb wouldn’t panic when they heard those sounds.
She adjusted the grip on her weapon as they neared the door. Her pulse thudded, matching the rhythm of her boots on the sidewalk. She didn’t speak. Neither did Griff. There was no need. They were on the same page, both of them praying the boy inside was still alive.
Her thoughts spun. Was another hired gun waiting for them? Someone like the man Griff had taken down on the roof?
Or would they finally get the truth, finally see the face behind all of this?
She pictured Caleb again. Fourteen. Big eyes, soft voice. Bound and blindfolded in that grainy photo. A kid who’d just been taking out the trash.Please.Let us be in time.
Griff slowed at the shop’s entrance, raising a hand for silence. Lily stopped beside him, heart hammering. The shadows inside the store were thick, the glass cold and smeared.
No sign of movement. No sound at all.
Griff glanced at her. She gave a tight nod.
It was time.
Griff tested the doorknob. Locked. He didn’t say a word. He just reached into his coat, pulled out a small tool kit, and knelt beside the lock. Within seconds, she heard the soft click of tumblers giving way.
He eased the door open.
No alarm sounded. Either the place didn’t have a security system… or someone had already jammed it. And they stepped inside.
The warmth from outside vanished as the door swung closed behind them, muffling the distant sirens. The shop smelled like dust and old fabric, a cloying sweetness in the air that reminded Lily of mothballs and lavender sachets.
Bolts of fabric stood like crooked sentinels along one wall, some patterned with florals, others worn thin by time. Mannequins dressed in half-pinned garments stood frozen mid-pose, their blank stares turned toward the front windows. A cracked mirror leaned behind a stack of antique hatboxes, reflecting slivered pieces of the dim room.
It was eerie. Like stepping into a space forgotten by time.
Griff tipped his head toward the back, eyes scanning every shadow. Lily followed him, keeping her gun raised, boots silent on the creaky old floorboards. Her nerves were sharp and ready, every sound amplified—the faint rustle of fabric, the tick of the old wall clock, the groan of an unseen pipe overhead.
They passed a vintage sewing table, its surface cluttered with tangled thread and broken scissors. The back hallway loomed ahead, a narrow passage flanked by faded wallpaper and a single closed door.
The storage room.
Griff paused just outside it. She felt the tension in the air tighten like a thread pulled too taut.
Griff motioned her to the left side of the door. She moved silently, gun steady, heart thudding in her chest.
