Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
After strapping Addie into her car seat, I take off down the road, following the tracker the best I can. Fifteen minutes later, we pull into the park, and the tracker takes me toward the back, where there’s a lake.
My heart is pounding against my rib cage, telling me that something is wrong. Shit’s not adding up. How the hell did she go from the store to the park? And why would she do that?
I click Refresh, but it still shows she’s here. And then the status changes to Unknown, making my gut clench. This makes no sense.
I get out with Addie and walk toward the lake, and that’s when I notice tire tracks in the dirt. I’m not an investigator, but I find it weird that a car would drive straight toward the lake, the tracks disappearing into the water.
I don’t know what’s going on, but something’s wrong, and I’m not going to waste my time trying to figure it out on my own. Instead, I call the police and explain what happened.
An hour later, they’re pulling my fiancée’s SUV out of the water. Julian picked up Addie because she was hungry and cranky, and I was freaking out—still fucking am.
“Sir, there’s no one in the vehicle,” the officer says. “And the inspection camera hasn’t located any bodies in the lake.”
“Then, where the hell are they?” I yell because it’s not every day your fiancée’s vehicle gets pulled out of the fucking lake.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m thankful as fuck they’re not in the vehicle, but we still have no idea where they are.
He shakes his head. “We’re having a team search the area, but there’s no sign of struggle from the vehicle. It looks like someone left the keys in and let it roll in.”
“This doesn’t make sense! Her phone showed they were here.”
“And her phone has been recovered. It was in the vehicle. But they aren’t here. Is there any reason she would want you to think she disappeared?”
I open my mouth to say that she would never do that, but then it hits me.
“Brian,” I hiss. “Her ex. She has a restraining order on him because he assaulted her. She went into the grocery store and … Marie!”
The officer is looking at me like I’ve lost my mind, so I explain, “Kira and Violet went into the grocery store, and she ran into her friend Marie. She might know what happened to her.” Except I don’t know her last name or phone number.
“If you know her login information, you can log in to her phone from yours,” the officer explains. “Everything is saved on the cloud.”
Oh shit. He’s right.
“I need to file a missing persons report for Kira and her daughter.”
“We can do that. Why don’t you go home and see what you can find out about that friend of hers, and an officer will meet you at the house to file the report?”
“Thank you,” I choke out, knowing deep down that something is wrong.
Kira would never leave without telling me, which means someone took her. And based on the scene in front of me, they were hoping to either make it look like suicide or steer me in the wrong direction long enough to get her out of town.
Fuck! I promised Kira that I would keep her and Violet safe, and I’ve fucking failed.
When I get home, I wake the computer up, hoping since Kira was working on it last, I can figure out what her login information is. I minimize the screen with the school forms, and another screen pops up—her email. I look at the most recent one that’s opened and see an email from Marie but no last name. It has a list of available properties to rent in Houston.
What the actual fuck?
For a second, my heart stutters, and I think the worst—I was wrong. She left me. But then I remember who Kira is, and I know damn well she would never do that. If she didn’t want to be with me, she would tell me. She wouldn’t take off to go get fucking bacon and not come back, and she sure as hell wouldn’t drive her car into the lake.
I don’t know why she has an email full of properties for rent, but I have no doubt there’s a reason, and once I get my fiancée and her daughter back home, we’ll discuss it.
I do a search and find an email she sent to herself with usernames and passwords. I copy and paste them and send them to myself.
I’m trying to log out and log in when the doorbell rings out through the house. Assuming it’s the officer, I run downstairs, but when I swing the door open, I find Nora standing on the other side. She’s dressed differently than she used to—in a pair of jeans and a flowy top—and her hair is darker and one color, the highlights completely gone. Whereas she used to scream money, she now looks normal.