The phone sat on the kitchen table, the call on speaker as everyone in the room listened intently.
"We found everything on Lyleâhis home address, his past job, and his car title. Weâre starting at his house. Stay put, stay safe, and keep those doors locked. Iâll call when I have more."
Detective Singerâs voice was firm, but the weight of his words filled the room with an unbearable tension. The moment the call ended, silence fell. No one dared to speak for a moment. Then, Jake, already typing away on his laptop, pulled up the location of Lyleâs last known job.
"It was a warehouse position," he said, eyes scanning the screen. "The place shut down in 2015 due to bankruptcy. But I found the address." He paused, his voice quieter now. "Itâs two hours from the park."
Miss Harper felt her stomach twist into a tight knot. Two hours. That meant there was a chanceâmaybe a good oneâthat Alex was there. That he was still close enough to reach in time. But waiting around for a phone call wasnât an option anymore.
Her fists clenched, and before she could think twice, she grabbed the Impala keys off the kitchen counter. The metal was cold against her palm, but her blood was boiling.
Mrs. Faulkner turned sharply toward her. "What are you doing?"
Miss Harperâs jaw tightened as she stepped toward the garage. "Iâm getting Alex back."
She barely made it to the driverâs seat before the passenger door swung open, and Jake slid in beside her. He shut the door and fastened his seatbelt as if this was a planned trip, as if this wasnât about to be the most reckless thing they had ever done.
"Jake, no. Youâre staying here," Miss Harper snapped, gripping the wheel.
Jake turned to face her, his eyes burning with determination. "Alex is my brother. Iâm helping get him back."
There was no hesitation in his voice. No fear. Just the same anger and desperation she felt tightening her chest. She exhaled sharply, gripping the wheel even tighter.
"Alright," she finally said. "Buckle up."
The garage door rolled open, and the Impala roared to life. Tires screeched against the pavement as they sped into the night, heading straight for the only lead they had.
Miss Harper put the pedal to the metal, going well over the speed limit, following the GPS to the warehouse location. The highway stretched ahead, empty and dark, the only sound the engine growling beneath them. She didnât care about speed traps or reckless driving charges. The only thing that mattered was getting to Alex before it was too late.
Jake reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a cassette, and slid it into the player. A familiar guitar riff filled the car before Johnny Cashâs steady voice rang out.
"Well, I wonât back downâ¦"
Miss Harper exhaled through her nose, gripping the wheel tighter. "Damn right, we wonât."
There was no turning back now.
They made it to the warehouse in just 45 minutes, the Impala screeching to a halt as Miss Harper yanked the handbrake. She barely took a breath before she was out of the car, storming to the trunk. Jake followed, watching as she reached inside and pulled a small latch, revealing a hidden compartment beneath the lining.
Jakeâs eyes widened as she flipped it open, revealing an arsenal of weaponsâhandguns, knives, even a sawed-off shotgun. The setup looked eerily similar to something out of Supernatural.
"What the hell?" Jake whispered, eyes darting between her and the weapons.
Miss Harper grabbed a handgun and checked the magazine before tucking it into the back of her jeans. She looked up at Jake, her eyes dark and serious. "We donât know what weâre walking into. Better to be prepared."
Jake swallowed hard, nodding. He wasnât sure what shocked him moreâthe hidden compartment or the fact that Miss Harper clearly knew how to use what was inside it.
"Alright," she said, shutting the trunk. "Letâs go get Alex."
With that, they turned toward the darkened warehouse, their hearts pounding in sync with each determined step forward.
Inside, the air was thick with dust, the scent of rust and mildew lingering. Their footsteps were nearly silent against the concrete floor. Moonlight seeped through shattered windows, casting long, eerie shadows.
Miss Harper held up a hand, signaling Jake to stop. She pointed toward a metal staircase leading to an office overlooking the main floor. A faint light flickered inside. Someone was there.
They moved carefully, pressing against the walls as they approached. The closer they got, the clearer the muffled voices became. Miss Harper gritted her teeth, her grip tightening around the gun.
Then, they heard it.
A muffled cry.
Alex.
Jake tensed beside her, his fists clenched.
Meanwhile, back at Lyleâs homeâ¦
Detective Singer and his team searched through the abandoned house, dust settling in the air with every step. The place was a wreckâfurniture covered in sheets, papers strewn across the floor, signs that no one had lived there for years.
An officer at the far end of the room rifled through a stack of old letters. "Sir!" he called out.
Singer turned, making his way over. "What is it?"
The officer held up a crumpled envelope. "Itâs a letter of termination addressed to Lyle. Itâs from his old job."
Singer grabbed the paper and scanned the contents. The company letterhead at the top read Wilcox Industrial Shipping. His eyes flicked to the address printed on the letterâit was the same warehouse listed as Lyleâs past job.
Singerâs grip tightened around the paper. "Son of a bitchâ¦" He turned to his team. "Get me everything on this placeâblueprints, past reports, anything. We might have just found where heâs keeping that kid."
One of the officers nodded and rushed off to make the call.
Singer exhaled sharply, pulling out his phone. He needed to update the family. And if Lyle was at that warehouse, they werenât going to waste another damn second getting there.
An hour later, Singer pulled up to the warehouse, keeping his lights and sirens off. His heart pounded as he spotted the Impala and another carâLyleâs, no doubt. He pulled his pocket knife from his belt and quickly slashed the front tire of Lyleâs car, ensuring the bastard wouldnât have an easy getaway.
Taking a deep breath, Singer pulled his gun from its holster and crept toward the entrance. The warehouse loomed before him, dark and silent except for the faint flickering of a light inside.
He prayed he wasnât too late.
Harpers pov
Miss Harper took a deep breath, then whispered, "We do this fast, we do this quiet. No mistakes."
Jake nodded.
Together, they moved up the metal stairs, placing each step carefully to avoid making noise. The office window loomed ahead, the dim glow inside revealing the silhouette of a man. They crouched low, peering through the glass.
Alex sat tied to a chair, his face streaked with tears. Across from him, Bobby Lyle leaned over a desk, twirling a knife absentmindedly into the wood. His expression was eerily calm, his posture relaxed, but the tension in the room was suffocating.
Miss Harperâs pulse pounded in her ears. Lyle was dangerous, unpredictable. Every second they wasted was another second Alex remained in his grasp.
Then, Lyle shifted. His head began to turn toward the window.
Without thinking, Miss Harper grabbed Jakeâs shirt and yanked him down below the window frame, pressing a finger to her lips.
Jakeâs breath was shaky, his hands clenched into fists.
Miss Harper exhaled slowly, reaching for the gun at her back and clicking the safety off.
It was time to end this.
She exhaled slowly, gripping her gun. There was no time to wait for backup.
In one swift motion, she stood up and kicked the office door open.
Lyle jolted, his eyes widening. He lunged toward Alex, raising the knife.
Bang!
The first shot hit his hand, sending the knife clattering to the floor. The second struck his shoulder, spinning him sideways. The third buried itself in his right leg, dropping him to the ground with a strangled cry of pain.
Miss Harper didnât lower her gun.
"You so much as breathe wrong, and Iâll put the next one between your eyes."
Downstairs, Detective Singer had just entered the warehouse when the gunshots rang out. His heart clenched. No, no, no. He thought Lyle had the gun.
With a curse under his breath, he ran toward the stairs, his own weapon drawn. If Miss Harper and Jake were in there, he prayed he wasnât too late.
He ran up the metal stairs, his boots clanging loudly with each step. At the top, he spotted Jake sitting below the office window, his face pale but alert. Then, he saw Miss Harper, gun raised, standing over Lyle, who lay on the floor clutching his shoulder and leg, groaning in pain.
Singer exhaled, lowering his weapon slightly. "Not bad, kid."
He stepped forward, pulling out his cuffs. "Now letâs wrap this up."
Lyle glared up at him, teeth clenched, but he was in no position to fight. Singer wasted no time slapping the cuffs on him, yanking his arms behind his back. He glanced at Alex, who was still tied to the chair, shaking but alive.
Miss Harper quickly moved to untie Alex, and the moment the ropes fell away, he lunged forward, throwing his arms around her and Jake, sobbing into their shoulders. Jake held onto him tightly, his own eyes brimming with tears.
Detective Singer gave them a moment before clearing his throat. "Alright, letâs get you all home. And get this piece of shit where he belongs."
With that, the nightmare was over.
For now.
They all walked out. Miss Harper secured her gun back in the trunkâs hidden compartment while Singer shoved Lyle into his squad car.
He looked at her. "What you did was reckless, but Iâm glad you did it."
Miss Harper met his gaze, unwavering. "I was serious at that car show when I told that guy I was a mama bearâeven if they ainât my cubs."
Singer smirked, shaking his head. "Letâs get them home."