Disappointment flashed in Lance’s eyes for just a second.

It had taken her a long time to put the grief over losing her first husband behind her and make room for Lance in her heart. He’d waited patiently for her to be ready. She’d been excited about the upcoming wedding. Everything had been going so well for them.

“It’s not that I want to,” she said. “I just . . .” She couldn’t verbalize her emotions. “I don’t want to go forward with our wedding if Gianna is in the hospital and Olivia is still missing or . . . worse.”

“I know.” He looked away. “And you’re right.”

“I don’t want our anniversary to carry the weight of . . .” Morgan trailed off. She didn’t want to say Olivia’s death.

Lance nodded. “I know there’s more at stake here than our wedding. Finding Olivia and getting Gianna healthy are more important. But I really want to marry you. Living together is great, but it’s not enough for me.”

She rose onto her toes and kissed him. “Maybe you’ll find Olivia today, and Gianna will be fine. Then we won’t have to cancel.”

The look in his eyes was not a hopeful one. But he kissed her. “I love you. Wedding or no wedding.”

“I love you too.” She pressed her lips hard against his and hugged him, grateful to have him in her life. “It feels really selfish in light of everything else that’s happening, but I’m disappointed. I was really looking forward to our wedding.”

“Me too.” He smiled sadly and cupped her jaw with one hand. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.” What Morgan needed was three clones of herself.

Lance’s phone buzzed, and he read the screen. “Sharp wants to go talk to Joe Franklin. Stella just got called back to the station for a press conference.”

“Be safe. Take care of Sharp—and yourself.”

Chapter Thirty

“I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” Lance said.

Sharp ignored him and got out of the Prius.

Lance followed, tugging his jacket over the butt of the Glock on his hip. The sun had set, and trees bowed over the narrow dirt lane, blocking the moon and casting them deeper in shadow. Cold wind shifted through the branches and rustled leaves overhead.

“He doesn’t answer the gate intercom or his phone, and we need to talk to him.” Sharp walked around the front of the Jeep and stared at the metal-and-wood gate that barred access to Joseph Franklin’s property.

“This guy is serious about his privacy.” Lance surveyed the dark woods. Joseph Franklin owned fifty heavily wooded acres.

“Yep.” Sharp squeezed through a gap between the gate and fence post.

With a sigh, Lance followed him.

“We’re just going to knock on the door.” Sharp started up the driveway without hesitation. He was getting more desperate—and more reckless.

“It doesn’t feel like a knock on the door type of place.”

The driveway narrowed beyond the gate. Branches met over their heads and formed a tunnel of foliage. It also feels like a trap.

“Your mom said Joe Franklin is a game developer,” Sharp said. “He’s a nerd, not a member of any militia.”

They rounded the curve and stopped.

“Not what I expected.” Sharp stared ahead.

“Me neither.”

Landscape lights brightened the property. Instead of a fortified cabin, the house was a three-story stone structure built to mimic an English manor. It looked like a drawing in one of the girls’ fairy-tale books. In front of the stone steps, the driveway circled around an empty fountain.

Sharp nodded toward the house. “State-of-the-art satellite dish.”

Lance saw brand-new surveillance cameras mounted under the crumbling eaves. “Cameras too.”

“He’ll know we were here.” Sharp plowed forward. He jogged up the steps and pressed the doorbell. Nothing happened. Sharp rapped on the heavy door with a fist.

Nothing.

He knocked again, louder.

No answer.

“Too bad. He doesn’t seem to be home.” Lance stepped away from the door. “We’ll have to try again.”

But Sharp had other ideas. He pivoted and walked around the side of the house.

Lance broke into a jog and caught up with him. “Where are you going?”

Sharp didn’t break pace. “Joe is hard of hearing. Maybe he’s working out back and didn’t hear us.”

“Sharp!” Lance called out but was ignored. He grabbed for Sharp’s arm.

Sharp spun. “I know we’re trespassing. I don’t care. If there’s any chance in hell that Olivia is here, I’m going to find her.”

Torn, Lance shook his head. “You’re going to get yourself shot, and then who will find her?”

“What would you do if Morgan were missing?”

Lance would break every law in the world without regret. It must have showed on his face.

“I thought so.” Sharp whirled around.

Behind the house, a wire enclosure surrounded a chicken coop. From inside, chickens clucked. Standing on the ramp that led into the coop, a big red rooster gave them the stink eye. A few goats grazed on the lawn. As they walked across the grass, the goats trotted a few feet away and settled down to graze again.

Lance felt eyes on him. Either they were being watched or he was imagining it. He moved a few feet away, so they presented separate targets. There was no cover as they crossed the open space between the rear of the house and the outbuildings.

He was torn between calling out for the homeowner and sneaking around. Clearly, Sharp preferred not to issue any warnings. Sharp paused at the entrance to a barn. The door stood open and Lance followed Sharp inside and shone his flashlight around. Inside a large pen, four cows raised their heads. Hay hung from their mouths. A second pen held a few pigs. One squealed, the high-pitched sound raising the hairs on the back of Lance’s neck. The barn smelled better than he would have expected. The pens appeared clean, and the doors suggested the animals had access to outdoor areas as well.

“Well, he’s not in here.” Sharp headed for the door.

Lance followed him outside. The temperature had dropped, and the air was a chilly forty-five degrees for September. There were two more outbuildings. They walked to the second: a metal-roofed structure. The wooden door was closed, but Lance detected a familiar metallic smell.

Blood.

Sharp sniffed and nodded. “I smell it too.”

It was the smell of death. But no decomp spoiled the air.

A fresh kill.

Sharp drew his weapon. Lance did the same, then stood beside the door so as not to form a target in the center of the doorway. His heartbeat accelerated, and his stomach soured.

But from the odor, what he expected to find wasn’t danger—but death.

Sharp knocked. “Mr. Franklin, are you in there?”

Silence greeted them.

Sharp used his shirtsleeve to open the door. They went through the opening like a well-drilled team, sweeping their weapons across the room from corner to corner. The corners were empty.

It was colder inside. In the center of the space, a shrouded figure dangled from a wooden stand. It was tightly wrapped in white cloth, as if a spider had wrapped its prey in silk.