Wyatt
“What else do we know about this cabin?” I ask, pacing back and forth.
“Joyce says he always described it in vivid detail. In fact, I’m pretty sure she spoke with a sketch artist and described it.” Ronan scratches his head and starts to shuffle through even more papers, looking for the drawing.
“Really? I haven’t seen that.” It certainly isn’t in any of my notes about the case, and as the leader of the shifter squad, I should have been informed of something as major as this.
“She did it off-the-books,” Oliver says. “She confessed everything to me this morning. I knew she was interested in finding out what happened to Charlene, but until a few hours ago, I had no idea just how invested in the case she really was.” He smiles at me. “Congratulations on your darling mate, Sergeant Dixon. You’ve got your hands full with this one.”
His eyes are twinkling, though, and I know he’s just teasing me.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” I ask him, and Oliver nods.
“I’d say Joyce is essentially responsible for connecting each of us with our partners on some level,” he says. “And we all admire her greatly.”
“She’s strong,” Ronan says.
“And brave,” Landon adds. “She’s always been there for all of us, and we’ll always be there for her.”
“She’s lucky to have you in her life,” I tell the men, and I mean it. I’m happy to know my mate has been surrounded by people who truly understand her and care about her. I’m happy she’s surrounded by people who are brave and strong and willing to grow.
“Speaking of luck,” Oliver stands and stretches. “Where’s Joyce on the coffee? I’m going to go check. Maybe the coffeemaker is messing up again. It was giving us a hard time last week, but I thought I got it fixed.” He strides out of the office just as Ronan holds up a piece of paper.
“Found it!” He says, and holds out the drawing of the cabin for us to see. Sure enough, the drawing is of a small wooden cabin. It looks quaint, and it looks dated.
“It’s small, isn’t it?” I ask, taking the drawing from him.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if it’s a hunting cabin, it would be bigger than this: maybe two or three rooms. If it’s a weekend getaway, it would still be larger than this. This drawing looks like it’s from something out of the past. It almost looks like a one-room cabin pioneers would live in.”
“Fuck,” Landon says, and he takes the paper from me. “Could it be that simple?”
“What?” Ronan and I both ask him, but Landon pulls his phone from his pocket and does an image search. When he turns the phone around, I’m shocked.
“Uncle Tom’s Cabin?” I ask. “The Harriet Beecher Stowe book?”
The drawing from Joyce’s description and the cover of the book are identical. That’s how detailed Logan was when he told Joyce about the cabin.
“What the hell does this mean?” Ronan asks, shaking his head.
“Smith is an English professor at the college,” I say. “He teaches literature, and I’m guessing that his classes recently read this book. Why else would he be so obsessed with it?” I look up at Landon. “How did you know?”
He shrugs. “My wife likes books. She’s got this huge, oversized poster of Uncle Tom’s Cabin on our wall.”
Before we can decide what our next step is, Oliver comes bursting back into the room. He’s naked, which means he recently shifted and hasn’t bothered to get dressed again.
“What’s wrong?” But I think I already know. He looks terrified as he starts to speak.
“Joyce is gone,” he says. “I thought maybe she’d gone to grab some tools for the coffeemaker, but she’s just gone. The back door was open, and there were footprints.”
He took her.
I can’t believe it, but he took her.
Fucking Logan took my mate, and he is going to pay for this if it’s the last thing he does.
“I shifted and scented the area. Definitely a male, but I’ve never met Logan so I can’t be sure it’s him,” Oliver says.
“Oh, it’s him, all right,” I growl. It’s taking all of my energy not to shift into my bear form. I can’t yet. Not just yet. Soon we’ll find him and I’ll tear Logan to fucking shreds, but I have to stay in control until then.
“I’ve got it!” Matthew comes running inside at that point. He, too, is naked, but he’s holding a cardboard tube in his hand: the kind that holds documents. It’s covered in slime and slobber, so I know he shifted to get this, too.
“Thanks, man.” I take the documents and spread them out on the desk while I try not to panic.
My mate.
He’s taken my mate.
I’ve only just found her, only just connected with her, and now it’s all on the line. How the hell am I going to get her back? There’s no doubt in my mind that I will because I have to. I have to get her back. Joyce is my everything. She’s my sun and my stars. She is my moon. I need her like I need my next breath.
I don’t know how I’ve managed to live this long without her because Joyce?
Joyce is incredible.
“Where’s Joyce? Should we wait for her?” Matthew asks, looking around.
“He took her,” I grit out. I crash my fist onto the desk, and everything shakes. I can’t control my anger for much longer. Soon I’ll have no choice but to shift. Soon I’m going to go crazy.
He has my mate.
That fucking maniac has my mate, and all I can think is that I should have gone with her to make the coffee. I should have been by her side and then he wouldn’t have been able to grab her.
Obviously, he’s been watching her, waiting. He’s been looking for an opportunity to take her, to make her his. Apparently, Joyce was right all along. Logan did want her.
What was Charlene, then?
A substitute?
My heart races as I realize what this means.
Logan doesn’t need two girls.
If Charlene really was a replacement for Joyce, why would he keep her around now? If she’s still alive, she won’t be for long because now Logan has the real thing. He’s got Joyce. He’s got her, and if Charlene has been around this entire time, we don’t have much time to save her.
The clock is ticking.