Chapter 382
Two weeks. That’s how long it’s been since Sierra left, and in those two weeks, I’ve gotten nothing. No real leads. No solid sightings. No progress… Absolutely fucking nothing.
I scan the war room, as my men like to call it. I built it the day after she left, turning one of the largest rooms in the house into something that looks more like a command center than anything else. Screens line the walls, each one running different feeds: financial records, surveillance footage, news reports, anything that might even remotely connect back to Brook.
A massive map takes up the center wall, littered with red X’s marking every location we’ve been sent to based on tips, though every single one of them turned out to be a dead end.
Files are spread across the table, timelines mapped out, every movement Brook made leading up to the day she disappeared laid out in front of me like I can somehow force it to make sense if I stare at it long enough, but it doesn’t. Nothing does.
Every lead we’ve chased has collapsed into nothing. Every person we’ve questioned knows nothing or fed us useless information in the hopes of getting a payout. I’ve had my men digging into every account she’s ever touched, every phone call she’s ever made, every person she’s ever interacted with, and still, it’s like she vanished into thin air.
I drag a hand down my face, exhaustion pressing into my bones, but I ignore it. Sleep hasn’t come easy these past two weeks, and when it does, it’s restless, filled with flashes of blood, of my daughter crying out to me, of Sierra lying at the bottom of those stairs, of everything I stand to lose if I don’t get her back.
“This one’s a bust too,” one of the men says carefully, setting the tablet down on the table like it might explode if he moves too fast.
I don’t respond right away. I keep my eyes on the screen in front of me, watching the footage replay for what feels like the hundredth time. A woman who looked like Brook from a distance. A van that almost matched the description. A location that felt promising for all of five minutes before it unraveled like every other lead we’ve chased.
“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice low, my jaw tightening as the question leaves me.
“Yes, boss. We ran it twice. It’s not her p>
I don’t look at him. I don’t move. But something inside me tightens and then snaps.
The tablet is still sitting there in front of me, the paused image frozen on the screen like it’s mocking me.
For a second, I just stare at it, my hands resting on the table, fingers slowly curling into fists as the pressure builds inside my chest.
Two weeks. Two weeks of chasing ghosts. Two weeks of getting nothing but dead ends and false hope. I’ve fucking reached my breaking point.
My hand moves before I fully register it. The tablet goes flying across the room, crashing hard against the wall before shattering on impact. The sound echoes through the room, but it doesn’t even come close to matching the rage building inside me.
No one speaks or moves. They’ve all learned by now that silence is safer.
I push back from the table, pacing, my hand dragging through my hair as I try to get a grip on something that keeps slipping through my fingers.
“How,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. “How does someone just disappear like that p>
No answer comes, because no one disappears like that. Not unless they’re dead.
I turn back to the board, my eyes scanning every detail again, every timeline, every name, every location, forcing my brain to see anything I might have missed, but still, I get nothing.
I resume pacing once before turning back to them, the frustration sitting just beneath my skin, ready to break through again at the slightest push.