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My heart stutters. She isn't here. Where the fuck is she?
“Where the fuck is Pipes?”
I hear a strangled noise, and then it sounds like Rodeo drops the phone.
“Rodeo?” I bark. “What the fuck is goin’ on?”
“Fuck. It’s Pipes, he’s…unconscious.”
My eyes go wide. “Is he breathin’?”
A few more moments pass as I tug my jeans on and then my boots.
“Yeah, he’s groggy…”
“I’m comin’ down.”
I hang up and then dial my brother.
“What time do you call this?” he mutters.
“Aspyn’s gone,” I blurt out. “Tara’s the stalker. She’s obsessed with her. Linc sent some photos of her wall, and this chick is next level. Pipes was attacked…”
“I’m comin’ over. I’ll call the boys.”
“No, the best thing you can do is help Linc. I’m gonna get in my truck with Rodeo and?—”
“You saved my life again last night. If you think I’m lettin’ you do this alone, you can think again.”
“Fine. I’ll pick you up. We’ll be there in ten.”
Panic ripples through me as I take off for the elevator.
It can’t go fast enough as I pace inside, my hands in my hair, trying to wonder how I didn’t see this coming. Tara fooled us all.
As I pace, I suddenly remember about GPS tracking. Fumbling with my phone, I hope to God she has her phone on her. Even if she has it turned off, location services should still work or give a general location, but that takes time…
When the elevator finally stops and the doors open, I see Rodeo pulling Pipe’s limp body over to the truck.
“What the fuck?”
“Suspectin’ chloroform,” he says. “Someone must’ve jumped him when Aspyn was gettin’ in the elevator.”
“Where the fuck were you?” I bark.
“Out front. A car came and the friend got in.”
I shake my head, unlocking my truck as we haul Pipes in the back. “If anyone harms a hair on her head, I’m gonna hold you personally responsible.” I point at him.
He has the good sense to look sheepish as he climbs into the passenger seat.
“Tell me what you saw.”
He explains the dark sedan pulled up, that he assumed it was an Uber, and Tara got in. Aspyn leaned in to give her friend one last hug and that was that. Then he went back out front to man the doors.
“Fuck!” I hiss, hitting the steering wheel as I fumble to start the damn thing, reversing like a bat out of hell.
My phone rings, and I answer on Bluetooth.
