Page 3 of Give Me Peace

I’m scared this might be the end of the line for me, because at what point does the damage become too great? You can’t glue something back together when you don’t have all the pieces. And that’s exactly what he’s done—slowly stolen parts of me so I’m impossible to repair.

And the worst part—the absolute worst part—is that I have zero hope of ever being found. In the beginning, I entertained the thought. Fantasized about what it would be like. But I knew reality was worlds away from those silly daydreams. Because the man who took me all those years ago is no stranger. Unfortunately for me, he’s loved by our town and the last person they’d ever suspect.

He wears a mask, a damn good one, too, but I know the monster beneath. He’s not at all who he portrays himself to be. Some upstanding member of society, sworn to protect and serve its citizens. In fact, he’s the exact opposite and I don’t think I’ll ever be free of him.

Chapter One

Lochlan

Leaning back, I scrub a hand over my face, exhaustion wearing me down quicker by the second. I’ve spent more time in my office this past week than I ever have. When the twins splurged on this overpriced chair, I’d been pissed. We can’t afford to spend frivolously. At this point in the game, preserving our funds is crucial, knowing we’ll need every cent in the long run. Yet here I sit, appreciative of proper lumbar support at the ripe old age of twenty-eight.

Building a business from scratch, much less a private security and investigation firm, is no small feat. The idea took root when I was just a kid, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine we’d be where we are today. We’re still small fish in comparison to other agencies, but we’re doing it. We’re making a difference, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. We don’t need the notoriety or recognition those seasoned organizations have. Our success is measured in something far more valuable: the closure we’ve given to families—albeit bittersweet at times. I love my job; I love this company we’ve built. But somedays, it feels like I’m selling a part of my soul when we’re forced to take on the flashy, big-name contracts.

The washed-up celebrity who hires us to make himself look good, as if he’s someone important enough to warrant a security team. Or the kid of some uber-famous asshole who just has to have the full college experience—paparazzi be damned—and needs a tail to keep them in line. Those grate against everything I envisioned when starting SOTERIA, but they’re necessary in order to keep the bills paid. They allow us to funnel money into the cases we’re actually interested in.

This week, however, I’ve caught myself wondering why the fuck we accept some of the clients we do. Not every situation is life or death, and most of the time the guys are happy to slip away for bit and recoup, especially after we’ve wrapped up a particularly difficult investigation. But on occasion, we’ll accept a shit piece of work and I question if they’re even worth the money we’ll make. Kade has made it known, no less than a couple hundred times, that his current clientele falls into that category. He's a good kid, if not a little short tempered, but this woman he’s been assigned to is pressing every button he has—all at once. I wouldn’t be surprised if a complaint is lodged against him after everything is said and done. Kade isn’t known to mince his words, so God knows what the prick has said to the teeny bopper he’s babysitting.

I’ve got a mound of paperwork to catch up on, half of it being outstanding invoices for customers who’ve yet to settle their fee for service’s rendered, and all I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep for a month straight. It’s always the pompous pricks, the flashy type who flaunt their wealth, that we have to track down for payment. Glancing at the clock, I groan at the late hour. I’m too old for this. Deciding now is as good of a stopping point as any, I stand and stretch the tightness from my back.

The house is quiet as I make my way towards my room. With Kade gone, it’s been all work no play. If Roan is up, he’s likely in the gym, working through whatever’s keeping him awake in the first place. The twins are probably out cold, preferring to keep as close to a normal sleep schedule as possible. And if one is done for the night, you can bet the other is, too. Kash doesn’t sleep well without Krew close by.

I can’t count how many times they’ve been needed for days on end, getting little to no rest and living off of energy drinks. Hacking their way through code and deep diving into the dark web while chasing one lead to the next. Those two are invaluable to SOTERIA. We’re a ragtag bunch, but we’re family. We all have different reasons that led us to this point in our lives, some darker than others, but I couldn’t imagine my life without those four. I toe my door closed with a sigh, too exhausted to bother with a shower.

Tossing my phone on the nightstand, I strip down to my briefs and slip into bed. So good. The second my head connects with the pillow and my eyes shut, sleep overtakes me. It feels like seconds have passed—goddamn seconds—when the buzzing of my phone wakes me. I swear to Christ if it’s Kade calling to complain some more I’m going to fire him. The glow of the display shows an unknown number. My body’s so weighed down and tired it takes me several tries to swipe my finger across the screen. When the call finally connects, I grunt out a greeting.

“Calloway.”

“It’s Denvers.” I bolt up, knowing he wouldn’t be calling in the middle of the night unless it was urgent.

“What’s happened?” I’m already headed for the bathroom to splash some water on my face. The likelihood of going back to bed is slim to none. Silence greets my question, so I pull the phone away to make sure we didn’t get disconnected.

“Denvers? You there?” He clears his throat, an audible sigh coming through the line.

“I need you in Lyola.”

“Lyola?” I parrot, knowing it sounds familiar, but unable to place it.

“Laiken County, Calloway.” I freeze, my heart battering against my ribcage. I have to lean against the counter for support, my free hand gripping the edge tight enough to send pinpricks through my fingers.

“In regard to?” I feel certain I know, but I’m going to need him to clarify.

“We’ve got a lead. A solid one.” He pauses, and I slowly close my eyes in relief. A lead is better than a body, and I’d been terrified that’s what he was about to tell me. “A woman by the name of Sheena Wilcox phoned in the tip just a bit ago. She’s a CNA at Lyola Assisted Living. It seems one of her patients has been going on for a few days now about this girl that’s living under her porch.” I feel my brows draw together in confusion. Her porch?

“The old lady’s a stroke patient, so they’d written it off as crazy talk. Ms. Wilcox said she never fully recovered after the last one and her mind’s not quite right. Until..” He stops to take a deep breath.

“Until?” I snap impatiently.

“Until the patient gave a name. Radley. She kept saying ‘that Radley girl’.” The rest of my strength evaporates as I slump to the floor.

Is this real?

“This shouldn’t need to be said, but it’s a long shot. The likelihood of this turning up anything is low, but it’s more than we’ve gotten in years.” I’m nodding my agreement, as if he can see me, completely lost for words but so fucking hopeful it hurts.

“I think this should stay between us for now. Bring Roan if you need to, but it’d be best to keep this quiet until we know more.” I hate keeping anything from my team, but I understand his reluctance to sound the alarm so early.

“Yeah.” I finally manage to speak. “I think that’d be wise.” But what we’re both not saying is who, specifically, it’d be best to keep in the dark. “It’ll take us about three hours to get there, maybe less at this time of night.”

“I should arrive before you. Might have enough time to scope out the place and get local authorities on site.” Denvers doesn’t seem too thrilled by that idea. He’s got jurisdiction, as the case went to him not long after Saylor went missing, but it’s always easier to play nice when you’re on someone else’s turf.