I blinked through the waves of grief that threatened to take me under.
A dark, dark sea I could feel coaxing me into its depths.
Fear slogged through my veins, slowing my movements when I pushed from the bed, unplugged my phone, and quickly fumbled to get into a pair of jeans and a tee, my hair a wild disorder from the twist it’d been in for the wedding and then Richard destroying it last night.
My gaze moved to where he’d shifted when I’d slipped out. He now lay facedown with the sheet dipping low around his waist, just the faintest hint of his ass peeking out.
Gulping around the jagged rocks that had gathered at the base of my throat, I tried to cling to the sight of him there. To use it as encouragement. As the reminder that I would do whatever was best for Daisy.
No matter what.
I did my best to claim the knowledge that I wasn’t alone. Richard would be there to support us. To help us. But I was having a hard time feeling any sort of security.
Not when this feeling of dread rose to wash out anything else.
This sense that doom was encroaching.
I blinked back the tears burning at the back of my eyes, turned, and crept out of my room. Quietly, I clicked my bedroom door shut behind me and tiptoed downstairs and toward the front door.
With each step, I felt that swell growing higher.
A tidal wave that gathered strength.
It rushed and surged and, by the time I was unlocking the front door and stepping out into the breaking day, I could barely stand.
Stranded in a riptide.
Because I could feel it.
The devastation that approached.
My mind banged with the reality of what was coming.
I was gettin’ ready to be told my sister was no longer alive.
I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready.
“I love you, Violet,” her voice twisted through the air, choked and emphasized. “I couldn’t ask for a better sister. For a better friend. There is no bigger joy than getting to witness you find the kind of joy you have found because you deserve it more than anyone else. You are the meaning of family. I respect you with all I have and can’t wait to see the love and happiness you find in this life.”
And I missed her. I missed her and I missed her, and oh god, it ached.
It ached like mad as I watched a sedan blaze a trail up the drive, dust a dark cloud billowing behind it.
He came to a stop, and David Jacobs climbed from the front seat of his car. His expression grim.
He was in his mid-40s maybe, his hair receding at the front, the rest parted and tamed with product. Wearing slacks and a button-down.
He held a thick folder in his hand that I knew revealed my sister’s fate.
I tried to stand firm. To keep the trembling of my jaw and the shivering in my soul at bay.
He edged forward. “I apologize for waking you so early in the morning, but I stumbled into some evidence a couple days ago. I followed the trail, and yesterday evening I received some pictures I’d been waiting on from a colleague in California. I was up through the night putting everything together. I was able to verify it this morning.”
A tear slipped free. I swatted at it and tried to put on a brave front, when really, I was crumbling. “What did you find?”
His grimace confirmed it was bad.
“You might want to sit down.”
“Just tell me.” It was a wheeze.
He climbed the steps and moved over to the small table tucked at the far end of the porch. He set the stuffed folder on top of it, but he pinned it closed with his fingers. “What’s inside here is going to be hard to look at.”
I braced myself, nodded, and those tears kept falling. “She’s gone.”
It wasn’t even a question.
“No, Violet. She’s not. At least, I don’t think so.”
Relief slammed me.
Staggering.
My knees went weak, and I had to plant my hands on the table for support. “Where is she?” I begged.
His head shook. “I’ve contacted the police in Los Angeles, Violet. I believe she’s been held against her will.”
A horrified frown of disbelief pulled to my brow. “I…how could that be? She left here. I watched her leave.”
I’d chased her down.
Begged her not to go.
“I’m not sure of the circumstances yet. The only thing I know is I’ve traced her to a house in an upscale neighborhood in Los Angeles. It’s empty now. We have confirmation that up until three months ago, there were both men and women being held there. Forced into sex slavery. Kept there against their will. Most strung out. Fed drugs and coerced into submission. The house was owned by the same record label Martin Jennings had worked for, Mylton Records.”