Trevor. Did someone have Trevor?

What was Willa going to do?

Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst from her chest.

The note said not to tell anyone or he’d die. She couldn’t risk it.

She stared at the address on the paper.

It was out in the middle of the country. Out where no one would see her.

The paper rattled in her hands as her limbs trembled.

What would she do when she got there? She would do whatever she had to do to ensure her son was okay, that was what.

That settled it. She had to go.

Apparently, Terrance Wilcox was not the one who’d been behind those threats. Not all of them, at least. And it made sense now that she thought about it. Terrance had never broken into her home. Someone else had. She felt certain of it.

Her hands quivered out of control as she grabbed her purse. She fished through it, trying to find her keys. But she couldn’t think straight. And her hands shook too badly.

Willa took in a deep, steadying breath. Finally, she grabbed the keys and ignored the way they clinked in her hands.

She stepped outside and rushed toward her car. Before she climbed inside, she paused.

There was no way she could take this guy on alone. She couldn’t be impulsive here. She needed to tell Declan what was going on. It was the only smart thing to do.

Willa hoped—she prayed—this was the wise choice.

Because if she made a wrong move that ended up hurting her son, she’d never forgive herself.

She couldn’t be one of those women. One of those stupid women who tried to do things on their own, only to end up being killed.

She stuck her keys back into her purse and took a step toward Declan’s.

Before she even reached the end of her driveway, someone lunged from the shadows.

Then everything went black.

Declan sat at his kitchen table and stared at all the notes he’d taken concerning this case.

He’d made copies of the threats, knowing he might have to hand the actual copies over to the police. He was glad he had because, even though this case seemed closed, he wasn’t ready to drop it. Not completely.

By all appearances, he could wrap up this investigation. He felt certain that Joshua would find enough evidence to put Terrance behind bars, whether he ever admitted to everything or not.

Things hadn’t wrapped up like Declan thought they might. Then again, most of the criminals he’d caught in the past hadn’t been the most intelligent. That’s why they’d turned to crime in the first place.

He couldn’t help but reflect on his conversation with Willa, though. He knew that shouldn’t be what was at the forefront of his thoughts, but it was.

Had Willa pegged him correctly? Would Declan always resent her if he stayed here for her? Or could he see himself settling in Hertford? Leaving behind the big city and settling on a quiet life.

At times, that idea sounded very tempting.

More than that, Willa sounded tempting. There had always been something about her that captured his heart. She was strong and courageous. She was now broken and humbled, as well, but that only added to her depth.

Now that they’d reconnected, Declan had trouble thinking about ever leaving her. But how could he convince her that it—that they—could be a good thing?

He shoved some of his files away, needing to clear his head. As he did, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground.

It was one of the handwritten notes. Why had the unsub decided to change from cutting out magazine letters to handwriting notes right in the middle of all this? Usually criminals stuck to one MO.

Another thought struck him.

What if there had been two different people at play here?

He shook his head. No. What were the odds? This had to be the same person.

Except . . . what if it wasn’t?

The question wouldn’t leave his thoughts.

He started comparing all the letters.

Some of the notes used punctuation, while the others didn’t. It was a subtle difference. But significant at the same time.

Alarm rushed through him.

With every minute that passed, he felt more and more certain that they were looking at two different unsubs here. And, if that was true, that meant that Willa could still be in danger.

He grabbed his phone to call her. She deserved to know. She needed to know.

Willa didn’t answer.

As it continued to ring, he darted outside and rushed toward her house.

Her van was still in the driveway.

Why wasn’t she answering?

He pounded on the front door, pacing toward the window to peer inside. There was no sign of her in the dark living room.

“Willa?” he yelled. “Are you there?”

No answer.

He jammed his phone back into his pocket, the sick feeling in his gut gurgling harder with each minute.

Something was wrong. Majorly wrong.

He rushed around the back of her house. Checked the foliage. The periphery of the yard.

Still nothing.

He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through her back door window.

The kitchen was empty. No Willa.

What had happened in the hour since he’d left her?

He rushed back around front, about to call Chief Haven. Before he could, he saw something on the ground.

He rushed toward her van and knelt there.

It was her phone . . . and a flyer from Trevor’s summer camp with a hand-scrawled note.

His breath caught as he read the words there.

Willa was in trouble. Big trouble.

Declan paced the floor of Ryan’s living room. “The address was bogus. The sender was most likely going to wait for Willa there and grab her. He must have decided to abduct her at the house instead.”

Chief Haven was out searching the streets of town, along with his officers. He’d also called in the state police and the county sheriff to help. Declan was glad local law enforcement was on the case, but he had a feeling it would do no good. Whoever had taken Willa was probably long gone.

Declan would do whatever was necessary to find her, including using every resource at his disposal. He’d already called his friends with the FBI, and they were on their way.

The best thing Declan could do right now was to set his emotions aside and really think this through logically, even if he had to go back to the beginning. He had no choice.

“We’ve already reviewed your auto clients, and there was no one that set off any warning signals there,” Declan said.

“There was no one you upset as a stockbroker?” Daleigh asked, her face unusually pale. “No one besides Walter Brewer?”

“I made plenty of people mad,” Ryan said. “Any time you lose money, people get mad. But that was a long time ago. We’ve gone through the people I can remember.”

Declan nodded. “That’s true. I’m just trying to think through each detail.”

“And I can appreciate that.” Ryan shook his head, sorrow in each motion.

“Let’s look outside the box of who we’ve already talked about,” Declan said. “We’re missing something.”

“How do we figure out what?” Daleigh asked.

Declan started pacing again. “Let’s just rule you out, Daleigh. I don’t believe this is one of your fans, but I believe this person is focusing solely on Ryan. It’s what my gut told me all along.”

He should have listened to it, and maybe then they wouldn’t be in this mess right now. They’d all let down their guards.

The same thing that had happened to Sarah was now happening to Willa. He’d never forgive himself if Willa got hurt . . . or worse.

“I really don’t think this is someone local,” he continued. “Otherwise, why come after her now? No, it almost seems like this guy has just come into town. Besides, Arnie at the hardware store didn’t recognize him, so that makes me think he’s an outsider.”

“That makes sense. So whom do we focus on?” Ryan asked. “We’ve had threatening letters. Break-ins. That rabid raccoon.”

As Ryan said that last sentence, he sat up straighter, something changing in his gaze.

“What is it?” Declan asked.

“This could be nothing.” A crease formed between Ryan’s eyes.

“We’ll take anything we’ve got at this point.” Declan’s heart pounded with anticipation.

Ryan frowned, his features strained. “When I said rabid raccoon, that made me think of something. I had a client once. When we met together he was wearing this T-shirt that said “The Raging Raccoon.” I asked him about it, and he said it was what his brother called himself. He was some kind of online sensation. YouTube maybe.”

Declan would take any lead he could get at this point. “Do you remember your client’s name?”

Ryan rubbed his forehead. “It was . . . Robert. Robert Hoffman.”

“I’m going to see if I can track him down,” Declan said.

Declan only hoped this paid off.

For everyone’s sakes.