by Danah Logan
"What are you talking about? Babe, where are you? See me when?" He is full-on shouting, and the panic laced with anger is clearly noticeable.
Nate snaps his fingers to get my attention and makes a "wrap it up" motion. No! It’s not been two minutes. I send him a pleading look, but he shakes his head. "I have to go. I’ll call again. Please tell them to stop looking for me. They won’t find me." I rush everything out as fast as I can.
"Please don’t hang up."
Tears start welling up in my eyes, hearing his desperation, and I whisper, "I have to go." Swallowing a sob, I add, "I’ll see you soon."
Click.
"Rhys?" I yell into the headpiece, even though I know he’s no longer there.
"I’m sorry, Lilly."
"THAT WAS LESS THAN TWO MINUTES!" I roar with tears running down my face.
"His phone is bugged," Nate says calmly.
"Bugged?" I echo, incredulous, all fury gone. "Can they trace it?"
"No." He doesn’t elaborate. Simply no.
"What’s the problem then?" I don’t understand.
Nate leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "The problem is that someone was listening. You just told him you’re fine—that you’re safe. They will hear that and start asking questions. How can you be fine if you are held against your will?"
Oh.
"What are we going to do now? I told him I would call him again." Panic starts building up, and my nails dig into the leather of the couch.
"You will talk to him again, but we need to get the story straight. And we need a different way to contact him."
I cover my face with my hands and let my entire upper body rest on my thighs. I’m not going to lose it; I’m not going to lose it; fuck, I am going to lose it. I jump up and start pacing with my hands interlaced behind my neck. This cannot be happening.
"We can contact him through Wes…or Den. They can get him out of the house."
Nate watches me. "Okay."
"We need to figure out what the deal with Emily and Brooks was; something is off."
"I agree." There is no emotion in his response.
I fully face him and swallow several times before I get the next words out. "And we need to talk about what you did and how you are going to make it right." I almost said pay for it, but the phrase feels wrong. He has done terrible things; there is no excuse for taking a girl from her home, no matter what the motivation was. But I also learned a lot of good about him in the last few days, and deep down, I believe he will listen to me.
"We will, and I will make it right."
Chapter Ten
I dial Gray’s number for the third time—no answer. How dare he ignore my calls; he knows better. Especially after the news he broke to me the day before.
The sound of the infinity pool’s water is like a rushing river. I massage my temples, but it’s not helping. Neither the cloudless sky nor the azure-colored water of the ocean I can see in the distance calms my nerves today.
I adore this house, which was why I refused to move after our time in this location was up. People sooner or later ask questions, but this property reminds me of the only person I ever loved. Instead, I replaced the staff and ensured none of the old would be able to talk.
Last night still has me on edge. That irritating tremor in my right arm hasn’t stopped, and my head is throbbing. When that idiot doctor is done upstairs, we’re going to have a friendly little chat. He assured me this would stop after the new injections. I tip my chin with my index finger—it might be time to replace the medical staff as well.
I use my left hand to reach over to the small square wooden table and pick up the glass with the 2002 Chateau Lafite Rothschild I had Elise pull from the wine cellar. She gave me her usual disapproving look when she brought it out but knows better than to voice her opinions. She is not being paid to think. Plus, she heard what I did to the last maid that refused my request.
It’s only nine, but since I haven’t slept since the alarm went off at one a.m., it might as well be afternoon. My gaze lands on the monitor sitting on the table. The screen is linked to the camera in his bedroom—he’s sleeping. Good, the new sedative seems to be working. That’s at least something the staff managed to do right in the last twenty-four hours. I watch our personal physician move around the room and check all the vitals. If he would’ve gotten to the house phone in the hallway, all hell would’ve broken loose.
I grab my cell phone next to the monitor and send a voice message to my head of maintenance to remove that phone. I dislike voice messages, but my right hand won’t obey to type, and my left is holding the wine.
It’s the first time he got that far. I may have to add the restraints back to his bed. I’m not going to risk him ruining everything. Not now. Not ever.
The coincidence of that happening the same night I get the call about Lilly’s disappearance is not lost on me. I’ve had my eyes on her for years, but when Gray called to tell me that he hasn’t been able to locate her in several days, it was clear the only other person interested in Lilly found her again.
And so it begins.
Chapter Eleven
I’m finally alone.
In the kitchen, Dad and our houseguests kept going over the conversation so many times that, eventually, I tuned them out. One guy kept looking between me and his laptop as if he was comparing something. I replayed Lilly’s words over and over in my head—the way she sounded, what she said. She wasn’t scared. Then, the agent in charge focused on my father and made a comment that caused me to snap back to attention.
"Miss McGuire said she is safe. What do you think she meant by that?"
I sure as shit hadn’t mentioned that particular phrase. Something is off. My father eyed me, assessing if I was listening. I averted my gaze and looked back down at my hands.
"I’m not sure. Let’s go over the other case files again." I wonder if he tried to divert the conversation while I was in the room or if there was something in the other files that would help.
Up until then, Mom had been sitting silently next to me at the table. "Excuse me. I’m going to lie down."
She stood up and left the room without waiting for anyone’s response or a backward glance. I took that as my opportunity to flee as well.
I caught up to her on the second floor. "Mom?"
She turned, her eyes red-rimmed and her usually perfect eye makeup smeared. I’d never seen her that exhausted. She loves Lilly like a daughter, and where Dad is unusually calm, she is the opposite. I haven’t seen either of my parents like that. I can only explain it that Dad is in full-on military mode, and Mom is—well, she is the mother whose daughter disappeared.
"Yes, honey?"
We’ve never been super affectionate, besides with Natty. I think forcing me to keep Lilly’s secret drove a wedge between us years ago. "Uh, do you need anything?"
She gave me a tight smile and took a step closer, touching her hand to the side of my face.
"No, honey. I just need to lie down for a bit. The call was a good sign; it was just…it was a lot. For both of us."
Her comment startled me.
Does she know?
I nodded, and she released my cheek, disappearing to the third floor.
Closing the door behind me in my room now, I immediately zero in on my phone. I want to call Wes or Denielle and tell them about Lilly, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is off. The agent knew what she said without me telling them. There is only one explanation, and my father allowing this to happen makes my hackles rise.
I glance at the spot on the floor I occupied not too long ago after Lilly hung up on me. The walls start to close in, and I can’t breathe. I need to get out. Pulling my boots on, I slip a hoodie over my head, not bothering with a jacket. I grab my keys and barrel down the stairs. I can hear my father call after me as I sprint to my car in the driveway. Pulling out, the silhouettes of two men appear in the doorway, but I back out of the driveway without slowing do
wn. I’m glad Wes left the Defender in the driveway when he drove us home. If I would've had to go through the kitchen to get to my car, I wouldn't have been able to leave that easily.
Several hours later, I let myself in, unannounced, to Wes’s house through the side door. It’s the middle of the night, but having had a key for years, no one in the Sheats’s household bats an eye anymore when I walk in at all hours. However, this time, when I round the corner to the kitchen, I find Wes and Denielle huddled at the table. Wes’s parents are on the opposite side, mugs in front of them. Four exhausted sets of eyes swivel to me, and I stop in my tracks. Denielle’s usually impeccably applied mascara is smudged, and even Wes’s eyes show red rims.
What the fuck is going on?
Before I can say anything, Denielle launches herself out of the chair, fresh tears running down her face, and I can barely brace myself for the impact before she tackles me. Denielle is taller than Lilly, and with her wearing her usual heels—even in the middle of the night—she is almost my height. Her arms wind around my midsection and squeeze so tightly I have trouble breathing.
"We didn’t know where you were," she hiccups into my neck.
I return her embrace and blink rapidly. I want to be strong for my friends who have been my support for the last few days. I mumble, "She’s fine," into Denielle’s hair, which makes Wes look up from his place at the table. He’s been my best friend for ten years, but I’ve never seen him anything but joking or with a tough exterior. Wes is like me; we don’t show vulnerability. But looking at him now, it sinks in how the last few days have impacted him as well. His eyes are bloodshot and have dark circles. Like me, he hasn’t shaved since Tuesday morning.
I untangle one arm from Den and hold it out to Wes, who doesn’t hesitate and stands up from his chair. Wrapping his arms around both of us, I feel him shudder, and my control snaps, tears streaking my cheeks and soaking Denielle’s hair. At school, all three of us are the tough ones. We’re at the top. We don’t show weakness. But right now, we stand in a tangle of arms and hold onto each other. Supporting each other.
I hear footsteps leave the room and turn my head to see Mr. and Mrs. Sheats’s retreating forms. My guess is they want to give us space.
Wes steps back first and rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands. "Let’s go to my room. We have something for you."
Huh?
Denielle mirrors Wes’s motion, but it only results in her creating more black streaks under her eyes. She has taken Lilly’s disappearance just as hard and keeps holding onto my arm as we follow Wes. I’m still confused why she is at Wes’s house in the middle of the night, but I figure with Charlie at school, Wes is the only other person for her to lean on. It’s not like I’m very useful these days.
Once inside, I drop into my usual spot on his couch, and Denielle sits close beside me. Wes walks over to his desk, grabbing his laptop. While he walks back over to me, he types in something, and I raise my eyebrows.
"Since when do you have a password?"
"Since two hours ago," Wes deadpans. He holds the computer out to me, and I scan the screen. HOLY FUCK! I tear the device out of his hands and place it onto my thighs. Denielle leans in but doesn’t say anything.
Sender: UNKNOWN
Subject: Rhys McGuire
Message:
Weston,
Or should I call you Wes? I’m contacting you despite my better judgment. Lilly believes that you are trustworthy and that you can reach Rhys without the FBI or his father knowing.
Before I get to the reason for this message, let me begin with, you prefer hot cocoa over coffee but pretend with your "buddies" that you drink your coffee black. Let me ask you, do the cool kids drink their coffee black these days? When did that become a thing?
Your history shows that every night before you go to bed, you check the local and world news, followed by the stock market. You are not the dumb jock you want your peers to think you are. Which brings me to the following question: why? But this is a topic for a later, in-person discussion.
As for this message, I promised Lilly two minutes, but her phone call to Rhys was cut short due to an unfortunate bug infestation on the other end. Not that this would’ve made the call more traceable. So far, no one has been able to trace me. But Lilly revealed information that was solely meant for her boyfriend’s ears, and I had to step in. She was not happy when I disconnected the call, and despite my assurance of her speaking with him again soon, I realize soon is not fast enough. I do not like to see her unhappy.
You will receive a delivery that needs to be handed over to Rhys. Lilly will call him tomorrow at 6:30 p.m. to finish their conversation.
Here are the rules:
1. No one besides the people currently in your room is to know about this message, or there will be no call.
2. At the time of the call, Rhys is to be in the same spot where Lilly’s favorite picture of them was taken, or there will be no call.
3. If anyone—and I mean ANYONE—is in the vicinity of Rhys at the time of the call, there will be no call.
I apologize for involving you and Denielle in this exchange, but Lilly’s well-being is of utmost importance, and it seems her talking to Rhys is an integral part of it.
Rhys and I will have a separate conversation as to how he believes he is good enough for her after spending two years with Cheerleader Barbie.
This email is untraceable, but for Lilly and Rhys’s ability to talk, I must advise you again: DO NOT share this message with anyone besides the three people involved in this exchange.
I. WILL. KNOW.
P.S.: Please tell Denielle that she should get the bird excrement on her Audi’s hood taken care of. Unless she doesn’t plan to trade it in again next year. I did prefer her last model, though—much more her style.
I stare at the words on the screen, trying to comprehend what I’ve just read. I mean, I do understand the words, but…how? I glance up and find both Wes and Denielle watching me. Then something clicks—involving you and Denielle. I zero in on the girl next to me. She must’ve sensed that I caught on, because she reaches behind her, pulling out a cell phone from the back pocket of her jeans.
What. The. Fuck?
"This is for you." Her tone is flat as she holds it out. I can’t tell if she’s upset that she got dragged into this—more than she already was—or what? My hands won’t obey and take the small gadget from her. My gaze ping-pongs between the phone, Denielle, and my best friend.
"How?" is all I can muster before my voice cracks.
Wes plops down at the foot of his bed and faces the couch.
"The email came a few hours ago. Your father had just called, telling me that you took off and asked if you were here. You left your phone?" He scowls at me. "I tried to reach you."
I don’t respond; I just hold his gaze, and Wes nods. The bug infestation.
"They called me, too, but I just told your dad that I hadn’t seen you since I left your house. I was about to go to bed when I got this." Denielle wiggles the phone in her hand.
"How?" My entire vocabulary is reduced to one word.
Wes leans forward and rests his interlaced hands on his thighs, looking at me.
"After I read the email, I puked in my fucking trash can." Shaking his head, he nods toward the now empty and clean basket next to his desk. "How does he know these things about me?"
I would like to know the same thing.
I know about the cocoa-coffee deception, but only because we ride to school enough that he can’t hide the smell from me. He’s never admitted it, though, always pretending it was black coffee—extra strong. However, I didn’t know about his news obsession. My stomach clenches. I don’t care that he’s interested in the world’s affairs, but I thought I knew everything about my best friend. And the knowledge that the psycho stalker knows more than me about Wes rubs me the wrong way.
Before I can question him further, Denielle speaks up. "I got a text message to check the door around ten, and
I found this on the doormat with a note to go to Wes’s." She holds the flat phone in the palm of her hand. "Guess he knew you’d be turning up here at one point or another."
"Why are you so calm?" I narrow my eyes at her. Where Wes is freaked out, she is entirely composed. It’s unnerving.
Denielle snorts. "Oh, I’m not calm. I dropped the thing like it was on fire and hid in my closet for a good thirty minutes, hyperventilating. How Lilly can function at all is beyond me," she says, sarcasm dripping off her voice.
"She was still in the closet when I called her," Wes chuckles.
Denielle glares at him. "Fuck you, asshat; at least I didn’t hurl."
Wes flips her off, and I can’t hold back. "Why did you never tell me about the news?"
"That’s what you care about?" Wes stares at me incredulously.
"I thought I was your best friend?" I’m acting like a ten-year-old but can’t stop myself.
"Oh, you thought I was your best friend. What about you? Why didn’t you tell me that you’re in love with your sister—who is not your sister? You’ve been hiding at my house for years, and I just took your dumbass excuses." Wes sneers at me.
"Are you fucking kidding me? I couldn’t tell Lilly, but I should’ve told you?" He can’t be serious. I rake my hands through my hair and grab a fistful, pulling on it.
"WHO. THE. FUCK. CARES!" Denielle barks. "Get it together, BOTH OF YOU! You act like fucking imbeciles." Then, she turns to me. "And stop always raking your hands through your freaking hair; it’ll decrease your hairline."
What?
"Fuck." My hands let go of my hair, and I rub them over my face then focus on the only two people I can trust these days. "You’re right; I’m sorry. The psycho has Lilly, who acts like she’s on vacation, my phone is bugged, and that freak knows more about us than we know about each other."