Chapter 13
13
Gage
I dial Leah, but the call won’t go through. I want to dial emergency services, but I don’t have any details. A possible car accident—but where?
We don’t have location sharing on our phones. I regret that. As soon as I find her, we’ll set that up for safety.
If I find her.
No, I’m going to find her.
I text Dmitri. Leah’s missing. She’s in trouble .
I call Ironwood next. I’m sure that was Leah’s bodyguard in the background. If they can get in touch with him, we’ll find Leah.
I have Jaxon’s number, so I’ll call him.
Dmitri’s text comes in as I dial. On my way to yours .
Jaxon answers immediately.
“We’re already on it.” He doesn’t even let me say hello, and his voice carries urgency. “I was just about to call you. Brody didn’t check in on the hour, and his phone is out of service. We’re searching his last known location and going from there.”
“It sounded like they were in a car accident, if that helps.” I check the timestamp on Leah’s voicemail. “She was leaving me a voice message. She—we were having trouble, Jaxon, but we were fixing it.” I look up at the ceiling and force myself to take a deep breath. I’m spiraling, and spiraling won’t help locate Leah. Jaxon doesn’t need our backstory, our drama. He needs cold, hard facts. “Thirty minutes ago. That’s when the accident happened.”
“We’ll find her. If there’s anything extra you think we should know…”
“No. That’s all I know. I’ll start calling hospitals.”
“The team is already?—”
I end the call and start pulling up a list of hospitals. I don’t care if his team is already doing it. I need to do something . My hands are shaking. I force them still. Margaret Chung, San Esteban Mercy, what else is there…and why did I spend the past two days ignoring Leah? How was that ever going to help her? It only hurt her, and if something has happened to her, I’ll never forgive myself.
Except, I know something has happened to her.
I want to blame Harvey Billings for all of this. But I know it was my fault.
Harvey Billings, who was trying to talk to me about something. He indicated it was urgent.
Dmitri strides into the apartment. He hasn’t moved in yet—that’s a conversation we’ll have with Leah, first—but he has all the access codes. His gray eyes are wide with panic, his jaw hard. “What the fuck happened?”
“I—I don’t know.” I’m trying not to lose it. “An accident. Call the hospitals. I’m calling Billings.”
“Billings.” Dmitri takes out his phone. “That’s the asshole who pissed you off in the parking lot?”
I nod. “He might know something.”
* * *
Leah
My entire body aches. Something’s pinching against my neck, a deep pressure making it hard to breathe. Dmitri’s arm? Gage’s? Are they accidentally strangling me in their sleep?
I move an arm to push them away.
Ow. That hurts, too. And my hand meets with blank nothing before smacking into glass.
I’m not in bed with one of the guys. I’m not in bed at all.
I open my eyes. Headlights flicker. The side of a hill stretches up past my view through a cracked windshield. The pain in my neck is my seatbelt. Next to me, Brody is motionless, his neck bent awkwardly.
I’m in a car.
I’m in a ditch.
I’m in a nightmare.
* * *
Dmitri
The hospitals don’t have anyone with Leah’s name or description, at least not that they can share with me, a random guy calling. Who is her emergency contact? Hopefully not her dick mom and stepdad.
“Billings. It’s Gage.” Gage sends me a meaningful look and puts his phone on speaker.
“Gage. Thank you for calling. I want you to be careful.”
Gage clenches his fist, squeezing the phone. “Does this have to do with the recent attacks?”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Billings says with a heavy sigh, “but I do think you should?—”
We don’t have time for this guy’s bullshit. I say, “You know something.”
“Who’s that?” Billings asks.
“A friend.” Gage shakes his head at me.
He’s right, I should shut up. We don’t want to scare off Billings before he can share what he knows.
Gage continues, “My girlfriend was just in an accident. She was in my car. I don’t know where it happened. I can’t find her. What do you know?”
Billings is quiet. I want to reach through the phone and strangle him. Gage just stares patiently at his phone, waiting.
Billings starts, “I won’t say who’s behind it, but…”
Gage finishes for him. “So it’s Vanessa. Where is she? Right now, where is she, Harvey?”
“I don’t know.” He hesitates. “I can call her. But don’t involve the police. Please. She needs help.”
“She’s killing people .”
“She needs help,” Billings insists. “She’s mentally unwell.”
Gage closes his eyes. “Find her. That’s how we can get her help. Call her right now. Keep us on the line.”
I look at Gage and mouth, “ What the fuck? ”
A couple of beeps sound through the phone’s speaker, and I’m worried that Billings hung up on us. But the other line rings. It sounds several times before going to voicemail. “Hi!” a bubbly, feminine voice says. “This is Vanessa Billings. Please leave a message.”
“Try again,” I say.
He does it again. And again, it goes to voicemail. I want to claw my way out of this penthouse and find our girl. The ringing tone is making everything worse.
“Can you locate her phone?” Gage asks.
“No.” Billings makes a sound of dismay. “I should be able to. She must have turned the location off, or she’s out of range.”
“Keep trying.” Gage looks at me while Vanessa’s phone continues to ring. His face mirrors the panic I’m feeling. He covers the phone and says in a low voice, “I’ll keep him on the line. But we have to get out. We have to go…somewhere. We have to find Leah.”
* * *
Leah
Brody isn’t moving. I need to know if he’s all right. Is he breathing? He can’t be dead—no, I can’t say it, can’t even think it. He has to be alive.
“Brody?” I whisper. “Hey—Brody.”
It feels wrong to touch him. I haven’t known him longer than a few hours. The headlights beyond our car don’t illuminate much. I can’t tell if he’s breathing or not—not by looking at him.
Fear strangles me, pressing in on my chest and windpipe worse than the seatbelt.
I have to touch him. “Brody. I’m going to touch you. Please be alive. Please.”
I reach over and place my palm against his chest, trying to feel for movement, a heartbeat, anything.
There. A slight rise and fall. I don’t think I imagined it. I push in gently with my hand, applying pressure. I don’t want to hurt him, but I need to wake him. “Hey. Brody. It’s me, Leah. Wake up, okay? We need to get out of here.”
He groans softly.
It’s a start. It’s something.
I can’t depend on him to get us out of this mess. He promised he would, but he’s done everything he could to keep us both alive. There’s nothing he can do right now.
It’s my turn.
“I’m going to get help.” I swallow back the emotion clogging my throat. All I want to do is cry, but there’s no time for that. “I’m afraid to move you. Can you sit tight?”
He groans again, then whispers, “Find phone. Call.”
My phone. It must be in here somewhere. It flew out of my hand when the car rammed us. I look up—down, I guess—at the ceiling. It’s next to the visor. I reach down and grab it. The screen is cracked, and it doesn’t light up. Please work. I tap the screen. Nothing. I press the buttons on the side. More nothing.
Broken phone. Where’s Brody’s?
“Is your phone in your pocket?” I ask him.
He doesn’t respond. I check for his pulse in his neck. It’s there, thrumming away. I think he passed out again.
“I’m going to try your pocket, okay?” I feel around on the side of his closest pocket. Nothing.
Before I can unbuckle my seatbelt and go for his other pocket, something rings in the distance. His phone—it must have flown out of the car somehow. One of the backseat windows is busted and it could’ve gone through there. Finally hopeful about something, I brace one hand on the car’s ceiling and unbuckle myself with the other.
The seatbelt gives. I tumble awkwardly onto my head and shoulders. Hurts. But I don’t have time to worry about that—I need to get out of the car, find Brody’s phone.
It takes far too much effort, but my door opens with a creaky groan. I do a weird half-somersault and crawl out. On all fours, my hands and knees sink into leaves and mud. It looks like we landed next to a creek.
My neck is killing me, my arm aching. I stumble upright and stagger toward the sound of the ringing phone. Shouldn’t it be lighting up? Where the hell is it?
Just when I think I’m getting close, the ringing stops.
“Damn it all. Fuck. Stupid fucking phone, why did you have to?—”
It starts ringing again. Thank God. My eyes fill with tears. I don’t want to do this. I can’t do this.
But I have to.
It isn’t until I’m ten feet away from it, that I realize where the sound is coming from. That phone isn’t nestled in the dirt somewhere.
It’s inside the car that rammed into ours.