When he reached the bedroom, he saw Melissa sprawled across the bed, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. An empty bottle of red wine sat on the nightstand beside her.
Daniel felt his stomach tighten.
But the moment that truly triggered his instincts came seconds later.
He walked down the hall to his son’s room.
The bed was neatly made.
Too neatly.
The blankets were pulled tight, the pillow perfectly centered. And the one thing that was always on the bed—his son’s old stuffed rabbit—was gone.
Daniel’s chest tightened.
He returned to the bedroom and shook Melissa awake.
“Where is our son, Melissa?” he asked quietly.
His voice carried the low, controlled tone he used when something had gone terribly wrong on a mission.
Melissa blinked groggily.
“He’s fine,” she muttered. “He’s at my mother’s retreat center. Discipline program. The boy needed structure.”
A cold feeling spread through Daniel.
Melissa’s mother was Margaret Caldwell, a woman known for her rigid beliefs about punishment and “moral correction.”
Daniel didn’t wait for further explanation.
Within seconds he was back in his truck, tires spinning against the gravel as he drove toward the mountains.