Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
The sharp ring of the phone jolted Gypsy awake. Annoyed at the disturbance, especially with the sun barely making an appearance, he growled into the receiver. "What?"
A pause. Then a voice, official and clipped. "Is this Nicolea Petrovic?"
Hearing his Christian name snapped him fully awake. His head cleared as he sat up, already bracing for whatever this was about. "This is he."
"Do you own a black 2023 Escalade?"
Tension coiled in his chest. "I do. Who is this?"
"Sorry, Mr. Petrovic, this is the California Highway Patrol."
Shit. His first thought was theft. Had someone stolen his SUV during the night? As he racked his memory, he realized he hadn’t seen it in the parking lot when they pulled in the night before.
"What's this about, Officer?"
"Your vehicle was involved in an accident last night. The driver is Brandi Kidd. Do you know the young lady?"
Gypsy’s blood ran cold. "Yeah, she’s a friend of my family."
Beside him, Quinn stirred, blinking sleepily as she sat up. Her hair was a tangled mess—just the way he liked it in the mornings. But the moment she saw his expression, her drowsiness vanished.
Whispering a quick summary to her, he listened as the officer filled in the details—the accident, where Brandi had been found, the hospital she was taken to.
"Thank you for calling," Gypsy said, already moving. "We’ll be leaving shortly to head to the hospital."
As he hung up, he turned to Quinn, his voice tight. "Did you give Brandi the keys to the Escalade?"
She hesitated. A flicker of something crossed her face—guilt, maybe. "I did." A sigh. Then, softer, "I know she was upset over Tool when you guys left last night."
Quinn didn’t want Brandi in any kind of trouble. She just wanted her to be okay. "Is she?" Her voice was almost a whisper.
Gypsy exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "She’s in the hospital."
His jaw tightened as he grabbed his phone again, this time dialing Tool. The man needed to know.
Tool fumbled for his phone, knocking it off the nightstand with a curse. Grumbling, he reached down, grabbing it from the floor.
"Gypsy? Is something wrong?"
Was something wrong? Hell yes, something was wrong. Gypsy’s voice was sharp, tense. "Brandi’s been in a car accident."
Tool froze. "Sorry, what did you just say?"
Gypsy didn’t have the patience to repeat himself. "I didn’t whisper. Brandi’s in the hospital. I don’t have all the details yet. I’m leaving in fifteen. Meet me in the parking lot."
“Okay."
The call ended, but Tool barely registered it. He sat there for a moment, phone in hand, Gypsy’s words ringing in his ears.
That explained why she never answered the door. Why his calls had gone straight to voicemail after he came back last night.
Fuck. Pushing back the covers, he climbed out of bed, his movements tight, restless. He had to see her. Had to know if she was okay.
A quick shower—get the night off of him, clear his head. Then he’d be focused on what needed to be done.
Stepping under the cold spray of the shower, Tool let the water jolt him awake, but it did nothing to quiet the storm of questions raging in his head. What car had she been in? Was she hitchhiking home? Where did the wreck happen? How did it happen?
His fists clenched against the cool tile as frustration built inside him. Then—his eyes snapped open.
They had driven past a crash scene on the two-lane stretch running from Oakville back to Sonoma Valley. At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it—just another wreck, another poor soul who had a rough night.
But what if it had been Brandi? His stomach knotted.
Shoving a hand through his wet hair, Tool shut off the water and stepped out, his movements quick, urgent. He needed answers. And he needed to see her with his own eyes.