“What happens when they don’t find anything?”
“They start the hearing again.” Mr. Smith sent Owen an exasperated look. “But by then, Blaine will be long gone.”
“You think she’ll skip testifying—just to save this one?” Owen nodded at Avery. “I hope you’re right.”
Was that what they were counting on?
Avery’s heart sank. Nothing would stop Elizabeth from testifying. She’d already put them all in danger to make sure she made it to the hearing.
“She’s a bleeding-heart liberal,” Mr. Smith said. “She’ll cave.”
He was dead wrong.
Which meant she was as good as dead, Avery thought. She had to look for any opportunity to get away.
“Call her,” Owen urged.
“I’m calling her. Time to put this to bed.” Mr. Smith tapped at the phone again. Held it to his ear.
Waited.
“What the fuck?” he finally growled. “She’s not picking up!”
“Call her again.”
Mr. Smith did so. “Still not picking up,” he said a minute later.
“She’s got to pick up.” Owen paced closer, blocking the television. “This is fucked, man. We are in trouble—”
“Shut the fuck up. Get out of the way.” Mr. Smith waved him off. Made the call again. “God damn it, she’s not answering. Who doesn’t answer their fucking phone?”
Someone who turned it off because she was determined to focus on her testimony, Avery thought.
“Call her friend,” Owen said. “That dick for brains who shot at me.”
Mr. Smith turned to Avery. “What’s his number?”
“Who’s number?”
“Gabe Reller. What’s his number?”
“I don’t know!”
Mr. Smith stood up. Advanced on her. Stuck his handgun against her temple again. “I’m giving you one more chance.”
“I never called him. I didn’t have to; he was at the ranch with us.”
“You don’t have his phone number?” The weapon pressed harder into her skin.
“He might have texted me.” Avery shrugged. “The number’s probably on my phone.”
Mr. Smith reached out as if he meant to pat her down and find it.
Realized she was wearing a wedding gown.
“Where’s your fucking phone?”
“At the Russells’.” Avery cowered, thinking he was going to hit her, hating herself for letting him see her fear.
“For God’s sake, this is a shitshow!” Mr. Smith sat down again. Tried another call on his phone. Threw it down.
“Now what do we do?” Owen advanced again. “Call those Base Camp people. One of them has Reller’s number.”
“No way. Right now they’ve got no idea what’s happened to her.” He pointed his weapon at Avery. “She could have run off on her own, for all they know. Runaway bride. It happens. We can’t give them any clues.”
She would never run from Walker. She didn’t say that, though.
“We’ve got to get in touch with Blaine somehow.”
“We’ll keep calling. She’ll pick up sooner or later.”
“What if she doesn’t?”
Mr. Smith picked up the remote again. Found a game. “Shut the fuck up. Let me take care of this.”
“What about the hearing?”
With an overblown sigh, Mr. Smith toggled back to C-SPAN. The same bland screen greeted them. He put the game on again.
Owen threw his hands in the air. “We’re fucked.”
“We’re not fucked!” But Mr. Smith looked grim. “We’ve got time.” He tried his phone again.
“Well?” Owen challenged him.
“No answer.”
Avery flexed her wrists behind her back, trying to wriggle out of the ties that bound her. Her arms, wrists and shoulders ached.
“Stop squirming,” Mr. Smith barked at her.
She stopped.
She had no idea what to do next.
“Check the trucks. Are our vehicles still here?” Jericho ran outside past Maud and James, who had come to see what all the fuss was about.
“He thinks someone stole one of our trucks?” Win asked.
“No,” Walker said slowly, his blood running cold in his veins. He knew what Jericho meant, and it wasn’t that. “He thinks Avery took it.”
“Avery?”
“There’s no way Avery ran off,” Savannah asserted, stepping forward. “Why would he think that?”
“She wouldn’t run,” Riley agreed. “She just went outside to get a breath of fresh air. Someone took her!”
“Buddy up—start the search!” Boone called. The men scattered, Walker following the others heavily. Avery wouldn’t leave him. He knew she wouldn’t, but even as he pounded out the door and down the front steps, a small part of him wondered if he should be so sure. He’d led her on for months. Put Elizabeth first again and again. Let her impose on their wedding day.
Then there was the whole mess he’d made of blaming her for stealing his fan. Maybe she’d gotten cold feet, decided to drive to Vegas again.
Jericho was back. “All the vehicles are here. Avery didn’t take one.”
Relief whooshed out of him, followed closely by a wash of cold fear.
If Avery didn’t leave on her own—
Someone else took her.
“Angus, Kai, Anders, Greg, search the grounds,” Boone called out. “Jericho, call the sheriff. Tell him what happened. Tell him we need help. Walker, I’m coming with you.”
Walker ignored him, halfway to a truck already. When Boone slid in beside him, he gunned the engine, reversed and headed down the Russells’ drive.
“Which way?” he asked when they reached the street. No one was in sight in either direction.
Toward town or toward the country? Where would he go if he was stealing Avery?
“That way.” Boone pointed the opposite direction from town. “They have to know we’ll call this in. No way they’d head to town.”
Cab Johnson and his deputies would be coming from that direction, anyway, Walker figured. They’d intercept anyone suspicious driving toward Chance Creek from the Russells’ place. He spun the wheel, put his foot on the accelerator and drove.
Ten long minutes later, Boone took a call. “That was Riley,” he said when he was done. “They’ve searched the grounds. Avery’s definitely not there. Cab has got all his men out looking. The women are calling all the guests and everyone else we know, getting them to join the search for Avery. They’re asking some people to drive around looking for any sign of her. Others are making more phone calls
