Chapter 78
SOMETHING TERRIBLE IS HAPPENING. I have no idea what it might be. But from the tone of Cove’s voice, I know I’m in danger.
Maybe it’s not just me. Maybe Amber and Lily are in danger too. Could it be because of Ben? Has he done something to anger the cartel?
So many possibilities are running through my brain, none of them good.
I text Metcalf: What’s going on? I need to know.
Yes, he’s been ghosting me on and off. But if this was an emergency, I’m sure he’d get right back to me. He doesn’t. That’s a good sign. I breathe a little easier.
But wait. Maybe they—whoever “they” are—have gotten to him and warned him to back down. Could Metcalf and his merry band of under-the-radar people be in jeopardy too? I have no way of knowing. I call. Once again, he doesn’t pick up.
I dial Amber. As soon as I hear her say, “Hi,” I start to babble. “Are you okay? I just got the weirdest call—”
“This is Amber. I can’t pick up now…”
She’s probably in the shower. No. Wait. She took one after I did. I look at my watch. Lily should still be asleep, and Amber’s never without her cell. She always picks up. Even if she’s getting a manicure. So where is she?
If anything is going on in the house, Hailey will know. She must be home from school by now. I text her. I make it as short as I can, all caps:
PLEASE GET IN TOUCH EMERGENCY!
Hailey can’t possibly ignore that. Except she does. I count to ten, twenty. Nothing.
My mind jumps to the worst-case scenario: She and Amber are being held hostage or lying in pools of blood. And the baby is… where?
Okay, I tell myself, lighten up. There could be lots of innocent reasons why Amber and Hailey are not calling back.
But as I sit here alone on a deserted beach, I can’t think of a single one.
Whatever’s going on, it’s clearly related to Ben.
I could call him. But will he pick up if he sees it’s me?
Feels like I’d have a better shot if I came in as SPAM RISK.
The beach is getting chillier. Or maybe I’m just getting more frightened. How long has it been since Cove’s call? Just a few minutes. But in my frame of mind, it seems like the beach, the whole world, has suddenly grown much darker.
I’m running out of people to call. Then—a brainstorm. Of course! Why didn’t I think of this sooner? I dial the number.
It rings once, twice. Someone picks up. Finally!
“Harrison Gallery,” a woman says.
“This is Caroline Babulewicz, Ben’s baby’s nanny,” I tell her, trying not to stumble over the b’s. “I need to speak to him. It’s very important.”
“Ben’s not here.”
“Do you have any idea where he might be?” I ask, hoping she’ll hear the desperation in my voice. Just to make sure, I add, “It’s urgent.”
“I’m not sure,” the woman tells me. “He took a phone call, then rushed out.”
That’s all I need to hear.
Cove asked—no, insisted—that I stay where I am. But on this long, lonely stretch of beach, I feel way too vulnerable. Cove was wrong. I’m not safe here. With cell tower triangulation, anybody could pinpoint exactly where I am. And then—
I look around. Is there anything I could use to defend myself—a rock, a piece of driftwood? Who am I kidding? Penfield is one of those pristine Connecticut beaches. I bet they vacuum it nightly.
But… wait. I spoke too soon. I see something in the distance. I walk over, pick it up, and smile. What a relief. If anyone shows up with an AK-47 pointed at me, I’ll be able to fend them off with this Frisbee.
I’ve joked about being killed. But suddenly the possibility seems all too real.
The hell with Cove’s warning. I jump in my car and head back to the Harrisons’. It’s either the safest place I could go right now or the most dangerous.
And I won’t know until I get there.