Dr. Ian West

The landlord of Porter’s building will not open her door. I’m seconds away from pushing him aside and ramming my body against the damn thing when he says, “Sir, if you make a report to the police—”

“No. They can’t help me.” I drive a hand through my hair, furious. “Look. I’m a personal friend of Ms. Lovell’s. I was just here with her last night. Check your security footage. She might be in there, hurt. She might need medical attention.”

His eyes narrow into suspicious slits. “Did you do something to her?”

In a flash, anger ignites my blood. My muscles act of their own accord. I have him by the collar and jacked up against the wall. “Like I’m about to do to you?”

I snatch the key ring from his belt and dangle it in front of his face. “Don’t ever say that. Ever. I’m going in there now. Call the cops if you want. But I guarantee this building is probably in violation of at least three codes that I’ll spot on my way down in handcuffs. And me and the DA’s office are like this.” I cross my fingers.

“Let go of me.” He yanks free, and I let him. He’s winded, taking deep breaths, and he hasn’t even started to run yet. “There are no tapes. Cameras are for show, so I don’t give a fuck. Go on.”

Good to know Porter’s landlord is a selfish pig. As he heads down the hallway, I insert the key slowly and turn the deadlock, listening out for any strange sounds as I ease the door open.

My heart vaults into my throat. I’m trying not to think about Porter scared. Hurt. Or worse—but these thoughts invade my mind, relentless. Worry and dread—that fucking dread—ratchet my adrenaline until I can’t control the tremble taking over.

The apartment is quiet. It appears the same as I left it this morning, with Porter still asleep, curled beneath the covers. I kissed her on the forehead without waking her, then made my exit, locking the door on my way out.

The note I placed on the bar is still there. Untouched.

I head to the bedroom. The bed is made. As I turn the corner to check the bathroom, something odd catches my notice.

On the mantel are five cups.

Goblets, more specifically. Sterling silver, and they look vintage. Expensive. My heart thunders, pulse rioting against my veins. I take a step toward the cups, then stop.

Shaver stages his scenes.

Fuck. My hand tears at my hair. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I close my eyes, willing my brain to think, to rationalize. The cups placed here is a message from Shaver. Just like the Tarot card. And just like Mel’s gravesite, someone has been inside Porter’s apartment.

Mind on overdrive, I tear through her room, tossing covers and lifting the bed. I check underneath, then the bathroom. I hunt every room, looking for a clue, evidence. Anything to show me where she could be.

Then I open the closet.

The dresses and suits have been pushed aside, and deeply grooved footprints mark the carpeted area. As if someone stood here for hours…

Watching us.

I whirl around and stare at the bed.

Christ. One of his cronies was in the fucking apartment with us while we were making love. Then I left this morning…leaving her alone with some twisted fuck.

Now she’s gone.

I pull out my phone and search my contacts. I need someone I can trust—someone who has connections, who can bypass procedures. I start to call Charlie. His father retired from the force last year; he’s experienced and still has an inside beat. But dammit, I need someone that will believe Shaver is behind this—and who won’t think twice about operating outside the law.

Someone that knows how to handle an abduction.

That word hits me like a punch to the gut. I topple over, hands to knees, dragging air into my constricted lungs.

Cold sweat blankets my forehead. I wipe at my face, still trying to process what this all means. I glance at the silver cups lined up on the mantel. It’s a message, but the answer isn’t there. It’s with Shaver.

I poke the earbud in my ear. “Mia, are you there?”

“Where have you been? Eddie is like, really concerned, Dr. West.”

“Listen. I need you to do something. And I need it done right now.”

Her affirmation comes a second too slow “All right.”

I look around the room, then decide this isn’t the place to discuss strategies. I leave the apartment, making sure to bolt the door, then pocket the key as I jog to the elevator. Once inside, I pull the red button, and the car jerks to a halt.

“I need you to set off the fire alarm at the courthouse,” I tell her.

Her laugh sounds frantic. “Are you drunk?”

“No.” I search the elevator quickly, deciding it’s safe. “Porter’s missing. It’s Shaver.”

“Oh, god…” I hear clicking over the line. “How do you know—?”

“There’s no time, Mia. Just trust me. It’s Shaver, and Porter is gone. We need to get Shaver out of court where I can access him. I need to talk to him.”

“Okay. I’m on it. I always knew there’d be a day when you’d give me a reason to use my hacking skills. I just can’t believe…”

“I know. We’ll find her. That piece of shit isn’t going to hurt her. He’s just…” A thought hits me.

I whip out the Tarot card I keep in my pocket. The Five of Cups. I read the fucking card wrong. It wasn’t about me…about my loss, my grief. Mia was right. It’s about what I can still lose.

Porter.

“She’s alive,” I say, relief suddenly washing over me.

Mia’s silence thickens my throat. “How do you know?” Her voice wavers.

I stare at the card. “Because for Shaver to get what he wants, she has to be.”

* * *

“The alarm is enabled,” Mia announces. She’s been working on it since I left Porter’s building. “I’m a little rusty, it seems. But I did it. Is there anything else I can do to help?”

I’m standing on the courthouse steps when the fire alarm sounds. Seconds later, people file out through the doors. “Keep this quiet for now. Charlie can’t know yet.”

“Right. His dad. We’re not getting the police involved?”

“Not yet. I’m on my way inside. Just hang tight until I call you. And…thank you, Mia.” I disconnect the line and remove the earpiece. Then I make sure to pocket the transmitter I keep on my tie. Just in case Mia gets too curious and tries to listen in.

I weave a path toward the doors through the press of anxious people loitering on the steps. Court officers have set up post at the doors, restricting anyone from entering. Shit. I didn’t think about that.

Heading around the side, I spot a few stragglers exiting through an emergency door. I run. “Hold the door—” I catch the Exit door before it closes.

“There’s a fire—”

“I know. Thanks.” I ignore the lady’s baffled look as I go in and close the door behind me.

The guards aren’t going to evacuate Shaver unless there’s proof of danger. Even then, there are protocols that take a lengthy amount of time to have him removed from the building.

The elevators have been shut down, so I dash up the first flight of stairs, rage fueling every frantic step.

The courthouse holding cells are—thank God—on the second level. I hear guards shuffling prisoners to the cells, and I duck behind a corner where I call Eddie.

“Meet me at the holding cells. I need you to get me access to Shaver.”

“What the hell, Ian?”

I blow out a breath, exasperated. “Questions later. Do you trust me?”

“You know I do.”

“Then get your rich, ADA ass up here and get me inside a room with Shaver.” I end the call and phone Mia. “You can disable the alarm now. I think court has been adequately delayed.”

“You got it, Dr. West. Please, keep me updated.”

Impatient, I pace the hall. Strip off my suit jacket. I’m just about to force my way to Shaver when Eddie rounds the corner.

I jump straight in. “Shaver’s done something with Porter. She’s missing. There’s evidence at her apartment that could prove he had her taken. So I need to be in a room with him. Now. And I need privacy.”

A wave of shock crashes across Eddie’s face, his expression morphing from annoyed to stricken. “Are you sure?”

Disbelief is always our go-to reaction when faced with tragedy. I’ve had unfortunate experience, so my effort to work past my own denial for Porter’s sake wastes no time. But I still feel like we’re wasting a shit-ton right now.

“Yes. Eddie, I need this. Make it happen.”

He nods, the reality and urgency of the situation settling over him like a frigid current. “Fucking hell. That fucking sick bastard.”

As I move toward holding, he makes a call to Smigel. Shaver’s troll attorney. “Want to chat about a deal?”

I raise an eyebrow. That’s one way to get Smigel’s attention.

“Your expert witness, Dr. West, requests a confidential meeting with Shaver,” Eddie continues.

Outside holding, I let them work out the logistics while I roll up my sleeves. Every nerve in my body is jumping with anticipation. Sweat drips down the middle of my back. The musty smell of the courthouse twists my stomach.

“All right,” Eddie says, as he approaches. “Twenty minutes. Smigel thinks I have a deal to offer, so he’s willing to hear me out and let you talk with Shaver while court is still postponed.”

As the guards head our way, I ask, “Can you lead him on that long?”

“Please. I work in the DA’s office.” He ducks his head to whisper, “Hang that bastard if you have to. I’ve got your back.” Then he tells the guards they’re required to wait outside the door for our confidential meeting.

I’m escorted into holding by two guards, and when I glimpse Shaver seated in the consultation room, it takes every bit of my willpower not to leap over the table.

The door is locked behind me. The guards take up post on the other side. It’s just me and Shaver.

“Dr. West. Finally. You’ve come for your reading.”