She glanced out and saw her stop. The cable car slowed.
Savannah left her phone on the seat and leaped off. She hurried down the street. People passed by, going about their business, no clue that she was on her way to confront a killer.
Ahead, she saw the sign for the Infinity Studio.
She bit her lip hard, tasted blood.
The art studio looked nice. It had plate-glass windows, and sage-green trim. A pretty, watercolor landscape hung in the window.
It didn’t look like it was hiding something ugly.
She dragged in a breath, and she casually walked past, but didn’t see anyone inside.
But he was in there. He could be hurting Ella-Mae right now.
Then she squared her shoulders and pushed open the studio door.
Hunt had never felt this afraid before. He sped toward the Norcross office, his brain turning every bloody crime scene he’d ever seen over in his head.
All the possibilities of what could happen to Savannah.
He knew just what damage a man could inflict on a woman.
Savannah was walking into the hands of a killer. One who was obsessed with her.
Hunt’s woman was in danger.
He screeched into the lower-level parking at the Norcross office and leaped out of the car. He took the stairs two at a time.
The office was in upheaval. The men were crowded around the door to Ace’s office.
Cam came straight toward Hunt, his face a terrible mask. “Hunt, I’m sorry. It’s my fucking fault she got away.”
Hunt gripped his brother’s arm. “This is Walkson’s fault. You were there to protect her, you had no idea he’d get to her and she’d sneak out.” Hunt drew in a breath. He planned to have a long, angry conversation with Savannah about her actions.
But a part of him got where her head was at. Walkson was a manipulative bastard, and he’d taken someone Savannah cared about, an innocent. Savannah was used to depending on herself and going it alone.
Well, not anymore. He’d make her accept that.
After he got her back safely.
“For now, we focus on getting her back. You with me?”
Cam nodded.
Now Hunt just had to follow that advice.
“Hunt.” Vander eyed him carefully. “How are you holding up?”
“I’ll be better once we have her back.”
Brynn jogged up the stairs. “I got your message.” She moved over and hugged Hunt. “We’ll find her.”
He gave his cousin a tight nod.
Brynn gave Vander a quick kiss. “I confirmed that Ella-Mae Birbeck never made it to her summer job today. It looks like she was snatched off the street, somewhere.”
“He would’ve lured her,” Hunt said. “Posed as an art dealer or gallery owner interested in her work. The asshole has an unassuming face.”
Brynn nodded. “Women trust him.”
“Savannah got a call. I knew something was off.” Cam pressed a hand to his hip. “I should’ve trusted my instincts, but I’ve been trying to calm myself down. To not read danger in every little thing. She blew me off, said it was Harlow.”
Ace strode out of his office, tablet in hand. “It wasn’t Harlow. It was a call from a burner phone.” He thumbed the screen and the call played.
“Hello, Susannah.”
Hunt clenched his teeth. He listened to the conversation and Walkson’s smarmy tone, Savannah’s fear.
The call ended.
“An art studio she would know?” Hunt frowned.
“I’ve already set up searches to see if anything pops with studios here in San Francisco,” Ace said.
“Maybe there’s one with the same name as the gallery where she had showings in New York?” Brynn suggested.
Ace shook his head. “I already checked. Nothing came up. I’ve also looked up all versions of her name and Walkson’s name.”
“Hunt, can you think of anything?” Vander asked.
Hunt ground his teeth together. “No.”
“Okay, let’s hope the search hits something,” Ace said.
“For now, we’ll start researching studios around Nob Hill,” Vander said. “We work in pairs. Ace will send everyone the list. Hunt, you’re with me.”
Brynn and Saxon headed out. Cam was paired with Rhys. Hunt strode across the open plan space. It was like he had a rock in his chest, pressing harder and harder against his lungs, his heart. He tried to lock down his fear-drenched rage.
It was how he’d felt when he’d heard what had happened to Manny, Eric and Mitchell.
“Hunt?” Vander’s deep voice.
“Searching one by one will take too long. That murderous asshole has her.”
“We’ll get her back. Don’t lose hope.” Vander grabbed his shoulder. “I know exactly how hard that is.”
Yes, Vander had been through it before, when Brynn had been taken by a dangerous biker gang. But Brynn was a trained cop.
“Savannah’s smart,” Vander said. “And she knows how to survive. She’s focused on freeing the girl, then she’ll be waiting for you to rescue her.”
Hunt released a shuddering breath.
Vander squeezed his shoulder. “Keep it together, and let’s go find your woman.”
Hunt nodded. Soon he was in the passenger seat of an X6, as Vander drove them to Nob Hill.
Hold the fuck on, Savannah. Hunt stared through the windshield and hoped to hell they found the studio soon.
He couldn’t lose her.
The front of the studio was empty. Savannah’s heart pounded in her ears, her footsteps echoing quietly. There were nice pieces of art on the walls, but she was too scared and distracted to take them in. The silence in the space made her fear ratchet up.
It was probably what Walkson wanted. She should’ve had some sort of plan, but her brain wouldn’t think clearly.
She swallowed, and headed toward the back.
There was a narrow hall, with some gear stacked on one side: paints, brushes, canvases, palette knives.
Her pulse spiked. She grabbed one of the knives and slid it into the pocket of her shirt.
Now, she was sorry she hadn’t admitted how she felt about Hunter.
God. She pressed a hand to the wall. She loved her detective. Her big, solid, protective detective.
She shouldn’t have let fear hold her back. She should’ve told him.
Dammit, she wanted the chance to tell him.
“Susannah?” Walkson’s voice echoed down the hall. “I knew you’d come to me.”
The bastard sounded so smug. She’d come because he’d threatened an innocent, teenaged girl, not because she wanted to be with him.
Savannah walked down the hall and stepped into the back room.
Ella-Mae was tied to a chair and gagged. When the girl saw Savannah, her eyes went wide, swimming with emotion.
“It’s going to be all right, Ella-Mae.” Savannah tried to keep her voice steady.
The room had been set up for artists to work in. There was an empty easel, potting wheel, shelves stocked with equipment, and drying racks. Walkson stood close to Ella-Mae, smiling.
“It’s so good to see you, Susannah.”
Savannah’s insides turned to ice. He looked almost the same as the first time she’d met him at her very first showing. Brown hair, normal, plain face, slender build. He could be anyone’s son, cousin, friend. An accountant, computer programmer, a store manager.