She was injured, they knew that much. Michael had confirmed that the blood discovered at the scene matched Lacie’s using skin and hair samples. The only thing keeping Shane relatively sane was that all signs pointed to it being an accident, and, judging by the amount of blood, not a life-threatening one at that. But if someone had deliberately hurt her... He punched the wall again, needing an outlet for the crushing emotions overwhelming him.
Her car didn’t have much to offer in the way of explanations either. It had been towed back to the garage, and Sean had meticulously gone through it. It had taken less than five minutes for him to find where the lines had been disconnected, effectively disabling the vehicle, but whether or not this was done deliberately or something had just worked its way loose was unclear.
Lacie was out there somewhere, hurt, and no one knew where. Questions pounded in his brain, tormenting him. Was she alone? Was she scared? How badly was she hurt? Why didn’t she call?
Someone must have found her. It was the only explanation that made sense. But that brought even more questions. Who found her? Why hadn’t they taken her to a hospital? Called the police? Brought her home?
He didn’t like the answers he kept coming back to: Someone had Lacie and she was unable to contact him or anybody else for help.
“Goddamnit,” Shane cursed, smashing through the wall a third time. Why were they standing here instead of finding her and bringing her back home? They’d gone all over the world doing just that for people they’d never met, people they didn’t love. Yet here they were in their own fucking backyard and they couldn’t find his croie.
“Finished yet?” Ian asked somberly.
Shane shot him a withering, lethal glare. “Davidson has her.” His gut screamed with the knowledge.
“We don’t know that, Shane,” Michael said quietly.
“I know it,” Shane seethed, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger while blood dripped from his hand unchecked. “That call was bullshit, placed after the fact. He’s obsessed with her, can’t stand to see her with anyone else. I saw the look in his eyes. I should have foreseen he’d do something desperate like this. When the fuck is Nicki going to call anyway?”
Nicki was in Craig Davidson’s apartment with Sean, using her particular CSI-type expertise to look for something, anything that might give them a clue to what happened. Despite what any of them said, it was just too coincidental that Davidson happened to choose that particular time to go “visit an old friend.”
The words had just left his mouth when Jake’s cell went off. The fact that it was Jake’s phone – and not Shane’s – was telling. “Yeah,” Jake barked into it.
Outwardly his expression didn’t change, but the temperature in the room dropped as he listened, his body hardening into stone. “Got it.” When Jake shoved the phone back into his pocket and his eyes met Shane’s, Shane’s heart nearly stopped. He’d only seen that look on Jake once before, when his wife Taryn had been in danger.
Shane couldn’t bring himself to ask what it was that they’d found. He already knew it was bad.
“Davidson apparently had surveillance cameras hidden in Lacie’s apartment,” Jake said, his voice like ice. “They found a series of recordings.” He blinked, but didn’t look away. “Including one of you and Lacie.”
Davidson had been spying on Lacie? For a few moments it was hard to breathe as images of Lacie - as he had seen her – filled his mind. Lacie, soft and sleepy, snuggled in her bed. Lacie, emerging from the shower, scrubbed and pink. Lacie, sweet and beautiful, just being herself. Lacie, flushed with desire, screaming his name as she came... Those were his images, for him and him alone.
Red haze obscured Shane’s vision as his heated blood turned to ice in his veins. He was so enraged that everything went silent, into a perfect, deadly calm. It was a state he’d never experienced before; it was... chilling.
And just like that, the picture came together with startling clarity. “He wanted her. Seeing her with me pushed him over the edge. Drove him to do something desperate.” It was Shane’s voice, but not. It was as if someone else had spoken, because Shane’s internal systems had temporarily locked down in self-preservation mode. This was his alternate persona - the quintessential black ops man who was now entirely focused on only two things: Find Lacie and bring her home. And kill Craig Davidson.
He’d been right all along. Davidson was a psychopath. And right now he held Shane’s heart.
*
Daylight was streaming through the windows of the bedroom. Lacie blinked against the light. It felt like she’d been sleeping forever. Her body was stiff and heavy, as if she hadn’t moved in a long time. Everything was sore – her head, her back, her arms, her legs.