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“I’m looking for Lincoln St. James.” It’s a woman’s voice, but I don’t recognize it.
More importantly, it’s not one of the only two women I want to hear from so I don’t really fucking care who it is.
“Who is this?” Bane asks.
“Is this Lincoln St. James?” she insists, her voice lowering to near whisper.
I can feel Bane’s gaze on me, and I glance at him briefly. His face is carefully neutral, shoulders high and tense.
My cousin and I have always been on the same wavelength. It’s part of what makes us such a formidable team. Nova and I are a team in our own right, but he’s unpredictable to Bane’s reliability.
“Yes, who is this?” he says. There's a quiet, cautionary bite in his voice.
It’s better than I would have given her. My nerves are fucking shot, and I don’t have the bandwidth for much else right now.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and focus on the road in front of me. There’s a fine line between urgency and recklessness. And I’ll be damned if I crash our truck right now. I don’t have time for a car accident or a speeding ticket or being stopped by anyone for any reason.
Unless it’s to get Hunter and Ma and Evie out of danger, I couldn’t care less right now.
So it takes all of my concentration to keep us on this road safely and get us the fuck back to town.
But the next words float in this tumultuous, charged space the three of us are occupying nearly have me swerving into the shoulder of the road.
“This is Elizabeth Carter and I messed up. I-I need your help.”
My neck spasms as I whip my head toward Bane, and the car swerves along with me. Of all the people I could’ve guessed, a Carter didn’t even come close to being on the list.
“Oi,” Nova grunts from next to me, his shoulders jamming into the passenger seat.
I jerk the steering wheel left, righting us on the road. A grimace pulls the corners of my mouth down and I blow out a breath. My eyes narrow as they fixate on the phone clutched in his hand. The bright screen illuminates the quiet fury in his gaze. But it isn’t directed at me or Nova—it’s focused on the screen.
“Start talking,” Bane snaps.
I chance one more glance at him, trying and failing to read his vibe, get any sort of clue to what the fuck is going on.
Shame drags its forked tongue up my spine. I recognize the last name, but that’s it. That’s fucking it. And it’s so goddamn unacceptable that they know more about her than I do.
I have no idea who Elizabeth Carter is in relation to Evangeline, and I fucking should know.
By the way Bane and Nova have reacted, they both know, and it’s far from good.
I adjust my grip on the steering wheel and shift in my seat, a lame attempt at dislodging the barbs of jealousy stuck in my back.
I don’t have time for this. I don’t have time to feel shame or space to feel jealous. I don't have time to be worried about who Evangeline's relatives are.
Right now, my sole focus is getting back to the compound—to Hunter. Checking on Ma. And making sure Evie is okay.
There’s rustling on the other line, and her voice quiets further. “I can’t talk now. It’s not—I can’t—just meet me in an hour at Maple Leaf Diner. Over in Brookhaven.”
“Tell me what this is about,” Bane demands. The leather creaks beneath him as he shifts forward.
“One hour. Maple Leaf Diner,” she says,
Bane shakes his head and glances at the clock on the dashboard. “I know where it is. I’ll need three hours.”
More rustling fills the line, and I hear shouting in the background, but it’s muffled, and I can’t make anything out.
“Fine,” she whispers. “Three hours.”
