“We’ll get somebody.” Gavin used voice commands to initiate a call to Cait. “We don’t need to panic, but Cait will make sure her mom and Wren are both okay until we figure this out.”
When Cait answered and Gavin started explaining, Grant rested his head against the seat and closed his eyes. The pain was bad, but the fear for Wren was worse. He tried to remind himself that the man had never physically hurt her when they were together. That he hurt other people to manipulate her.
But, as Gavin had said before, that was before Mitchell did time behind bars. And he’d come to Boston to find her. That was an escalation and that meant all bets were off.
It wasn’t until he made up his mind to call her—she had to know Mitchell was in Boston—that he realized he’d left his phone at home. Fucking concussion.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself to ease the pounding in his head and waited for Gavin to get off his freaking phone so he could use it.
* * *
“Does Wren Everett work here?”
Wren froze as a flush of fear spread over her body like a wildfire. It wasn’t a voice on the phone this time and it felt as if a vise was tightening around her chest, keeping her from breathing.
She couldn’t be seen from the aisle she was in, but there was no way to get to the back office—or down past the walk-in to the back door—without being seen by whoever was at the front of the store, near the cash register.
If you get scared, call me. If you think something’s wrong, call 9-1-1 and then call me.
“Can I help you find something, sir?” Mr. Belostotsky sounded friendly enough, but she noticed he didn’t answer the question. And he was greatly overexaggerating his accent, perhaps to make the other speaker think he couldn’t understand him.
“I’m supposed to find Wren Everett and this is the address I was given, but my LT couldn’t remember the name of the market.”
She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket as she moved, wincing at the beep when she hit the button for the nine. But then she paused before hitting the one.
That wasn’t Ben’s voice.
My LT.
That’s what Grant called Danny and Rick, she thought, gathering the courage to peek out from behind the shelving. If she was seen and had to run, she could probably make the back door before he could catch her.
A man with dark salt-and-pepper hair was frowning as he lifted his phone to his ear. “Hey, Jamie. I’m here but I’m not sure if I’ve got the right place.”
He was wearing a Boston Fire sweatshirt and talking to Jamie. Most importantly, he wasn’t Ben.
Keeping her finger over the button on her phone because it made her feel better, Wren stepped into view. “I’m Wren.”
“Never mind, I’ve got her.” The man hung up and smiled at her. “I’m Steve and I work with Jamie Kincaid. I guess somebody with 59’s looking for you and I live around the corner, so I was closest.”
When her phone buzzed in her hand, Wren dropped it, choking off a startled scream.
“You okay?” Steve asked.
No, she was definitely not okay. She looked down and saw Cait’s number on the screen of her phone, which luckily didn’t look cracked. After glancing at Steve to make sure he hadn’t moved any closer, she bent and picked it up. “Cait? What’s going on?”
“You sound scared. Are you okay? Somebody from the fire department should show up any second, but I’ll call the police if you need them.”
“No, I don’t think so. Steve is here, and his sweatshirt is from the fire department. He said he works with Jamie.”
“Yup, I know Steve. Nice guy. He’s going to give you a ride to my mom’s house, okay?”
“No, it is not okay,” she said, fear making her loud. “What is going on? Did something happen to Grant?”
“Grant’s okay.”
“Then why didn’t he call me? I want to talk to Grant.”
“He left his phone at home and then he was vomiting in Gavin’s truck and—”
