Page 78 of Chasing Wildflowers
“And after?”
I hold his eyes, pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. “He knows she’s alive. We can’t risk it.”
He gives me a tight nod, pulling on his own gloves. Not because he approves, but because if it were mom’s life in danger, he’d do the same thing.
We exit the car and cross the street, eyes and ears alert to our surroundings as we slip around the back of the house. Pulling my tool from my pocket, I slip it into the lock, disengaging it with ease.
The house is quiet, the only light a flickering glow from the next room. I signal Vic to hang back and creep across the kitchen, keeping my footsteps light. Pausing at the doorway, peeking around the corner.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath and step into the room.
Derek is slumped back against the couch, a bullet hole through the middle of his forehead. The sharp, unmistakable smell of early-stage decay hits me; making bile rise in my throat. He’s been dead for days.
“Vic,” I call, just loud enough for him to hear me.
He rounds the corner, takes one look, and exhales sharply. “God damn it.”
My thoughts exactly. He was our only fucking lead.
I underestimated the client. I didn’t anticipate him killing Rodgers. A mistake I won’t be making again. We still don’t have a fucking clue who he is, what he wants, or if he’s hired anyone else to find Lane.
It’s only a matter of time until he comes after her.
I pull my phone from my pocket, and check the tracking app I installed. Some of the tension leaves my body when I see she’s still exactly where I left her.
By the time we are in the air a few hours later I’m running on fumes. I check my watch for what feels like the hundredth time since take off. Just over an hour until we land. All I want is to be home, wrapped around my woman, her scent in my lungs, and her body in my arms.
Vic’s phone rings.
He puts it to his ear, his voice still so full of the love he feels for her. “Hello, love. We are on our way back.”
His smile drops. So does my stomach.
He doesn’t need to say it. I already know.
Lane is gone.
Thirty-three
Lane
“Couldn’t sleep either?” Mama C asks gently as she shuffles into the living room, her soft footsteps carrying through the quiet room.
I look up from the couch, setting aside the e-reader Kam, bless her, packed for me. “No.”
I laid in bed, tossing and turning. Unable to get comfortable. Worry gnawed at me. I know he’s safe, that he has Vic and Miles with him. But still my body refused to relax without him beside me.
“How did you deal with it when Vic was away on dangerous cases?” I ask, biting my bottom lip. “I’m one day in and worried sick.”
She settles into the armchair beside me, the cushion dipping beneath her weight, and gives me a reassuring smile. “It wasn’t easy, but it helped that we were friends first. I knew what his job demanded beforemy heart got involved. The phone calls and flowers helped too.”
I shift in my seat nervously. “Can I ask you something?”
She crosses her legs and leans back, posture relaxed and open. “Of course, dear.”
“Why did you paint bedroom doors with wildflowers?”
Her gaze drops to my arms, which are currently covered by one of Jameson’s hoodies that smells distinctly of him, and smiles knowingly. “The same reason you wear them on your skin. Wildflowers symbolize freedom. Joy. Hope. All the things I didn’t have before Jameson’s father left. They also symbolize new beginnings.
