The abandoned house was swarmed by locals after the police cordoned off the crime scene.
The narrow road leading there was clogged with cars, trapping James's truck in place.
"Hey! You can't go through here!" a man shouted. "The police blocked the road. Turn back!"
"Great. Just great. The cops are already here," James muttered under his breath, his mind racing. How was he supposed to catch Yvette now?
Lyra peered through the tightly closed window, hoping for a glimpse of her family, but the crowd blocked her view.
She bit her finger, thinking carefully. She knew James had turned back because he wanted to catch Yvette, but he had just let Yvette go—so why was he after her now? Something about it didn't feel right.
Lyra examined James, who looked slightly uneasy, and asked, "Why are we turning back?"
James took a deep breath and replied obediently, "I won't let that kidnapper get away."
"Why?" Lyra asked.
"She must face the consequences of what she's done. I'll gladly deliver her into Rowan Pierce's hands," James said tightly.
"So you're on Rowan's side?" Lyra pressed.
James said nothing. He wasn't on Rowan's side, but even his name gave people pause. Rowan was a storm of fear, his wrath crushing anyone who stood against him.
James sighed. If he'd known who she was, he'd never have gotten involved. Too late now.
"Why so quiet?" Lyra asked, noticing how he'd suddenly gone silent.
"I'm racking my brain on how to get you back to your husband—and catch that brat." he snapped.
"If I'd known you were Rowan Pierce's wife, I'd have stayed out of it."
She blinked. "You… you want to send me back?"
James nodded. "And catch Yvette."
Her eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to act like some hero, saving me in front of my husband?"
"No, that's not it," James said. "I just want to wash my hands of this mess. I'm a victim too—Yvette Windsor trapped me to get to you."
The truck was still stuck. "What now, boss?" the driver asked.
"Let's walk," James said, but his gaze fell on Lyra's bare feet. "No… we can't. She's barefoot."
He crossed his arms, thinking hard. Then his eyes lit up.
"Give me your husband's number. Call him. Let him come get you."
"I don't have his number," Lyra admitted.
James froze, bewildered. "What kind of wife doesn't have her husband's number?"
Lyra said nothing, staring straight ahead. There's no way she'd tell him she only met Rowan two days ago.
After all, she hadn't exactly had the chance to get to know her husband, and their so-called "first night" had been a spectacular failure—thanks to her being kidnapped.
…
Back at the crime scene, police scoured the area for evidence.
A wounded woman, the so-called sole witness, sat in the back of an ambulance, receiving treatment while a police officer took her statement.
Though only she knew how carefully she was playing the part of the victim.
Yvette sobbed uncontrollably, her face swollen and her eyes bruised.
"I was kidnapped and brought here to be sold by those two," she said, pointing to the two bodies lying on the ground.
Truly, she shot them dead when they returned, after leaving her beaten by James's men.
"I heard them calling their boss… um, maybe Jimmy Dolan or James Nolan."
She looked at Rowan with a sorrowful expression. "I didn't get a chance to do anything… they took Mr. Pierce's wife."
Rowan's jaw tightened. He turned to Damian, clearly ordering him to find out where James Dolan was.
He couldn't stay calm—his wife had fallen into the hands of James Dolan, an underworld trafficker and gang leader. The man had dared to kidnap her.
Behind the yellow tape, a tall man and a woman just a little shorter than him pushed their way through the crowd.
Lyra wore the worn-out pair of shoes they'd bought from a local outside the crime scene. The same pair James had paid a hundred bucks for.
"Excuse me, please make way," James muttered, shoving anyone blocking the path.
Lyra noticed James carefully shielding her as they pushed through the crowd, keeping her from bumping into anyone.
She caught a glimpse of Damian moving swiftly, clearly carrying out Rowan's orders.
"Mr. Arthur!" Lyra shouted, waving desperately, hoping he would notice. James, seeing that Damian hadn't heard her, bellowed in his rough voice, "Mr. Arthur… here!"
Damian heard someone calling him from a distance and saw James holding Lyra as the crowd jostled around them—he misread the situation.
"Stop that man! He's the culprit!" he shouted.
The police quickly raised their pistols, advancing cautiously. The crowd scattered in panic, leaving only two behind the yellow line. James froze, Lyra stiff at his side, both hands raised.
"No! Don't shoot—he's innocent!" Lyra screamed, her voice cutting through the chaos.
Damian raised his hand, signaling the officers to hold their fire. He was more worried about his madam's safety than anything else.
"Madam, it's okay," he said gently. "We'll rescue you." He feared James might have a sniper trained on his madam.
From afar, Rowan came running at the sound of the commotion, unable to contain his anger.
"James Dolan! You've got a death wish—how dare you lay a hand on my wife!" he shouted, his voice rough with rage.
His pistol was in hand, ready to fire. Rowan was a sharpshooter, hitting his target came easily.
Damian added, "James Dolan! You're surrounded. It's best you surrender!"
"Damn it," James cursed under his breath. "The devil's here. What now?" he asked Lyra.
Lyra thought hard. She knew James was involved, but she had promised to let him go because he'd brought her back.
"W—wait! Don't shoot!" Lyra shouted, her gaze fixed on Rowan. "I'm with him! He saved me!"
Everyone stared in bewilderment. The statement from the sole victim completely contradicted what Lyra had just said.
"Yvette Windsor kidnapped me—she's the culprit!" Lyra gasped, exhausted and dehydrated, wiping sweat from her brow under the scorching sun.
"James Dolan is innocent… please!" Her throat parched, her words trembling as she begged him to stop, to reconsider, not to hurt James.
…
The medic by the ambulance glanced around in confusion, Yvette was nowhere to be seen.
She had believed James had already spirited Lyra away by boat, but they'd doubled back, and she was about to be exposed.
She slipped away, limping and clutching at the pain in her side.
She pried open the police-secured cache, grabbed a rifle, and hauled herself to a second-floor window.
From the dark frame, she watched them below, drawing a slow breath to steady the barrel—her aim shaky with one swollen, bruised eye.
"You'll die, bitch," she hissed, and lined the shot for Lyra's heart.
"Crack! Crack! Crack!" Three sudden, sharp cracks echoed from the abandoned house.
Yvette laughed, certain she had hit her mark.
Rowan's blood ran cold. No! His heart slammed against his ribs as he lunged toward her. Horror clawed at him as he saw blood gushing across the ground.
The police froze for a split second, stunned by the shots, before springing into action. They spotted Yvette and returned fire.
Yvette tumbled from the second-floor window, landing in the overgrown grass below. The officers crept closer. "Medic!" one of them shouted.