My blood went cold.
“Dad?” I said sharply.
The line crackled.
“Belle?” my father’s voice repeated faintly, confused.
My brain began spiraling so fast it felt like the floor dropped out from under me.
“What is going on?” I demanded.
Tripp’s voice slid back into the foreground.
“He wandered.”
“What?”
“He wandered out during transport. Someone picked him up. That someone was me.”
My pulse roared in my ears.
“Put him back on,” I said.
“Not yet.”
Ice flooded my veins.
“What do you mean, not yet?”
“We need to have a chat,” he said calmly. “Face-to-face.”
The rain hammered harder against the door.
“You do not have to do whatever this is,” I said, my voice shaking despite my effort to steady it.
“I don’t have to,” he agreed. “But I might.”
My mind raced. How had Dad left the facility? Transport for what?
“Where are you?” I demanded.
“Somewhere dry,” he said. “You come see me, we’ll sort this out.”
“You give me the address.”
“Not until you agree.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“You’re insane.”
“No,” he snapped suddenly, the calm cracking. “I’m tired of your bullshit.”
“Tired of what?”
“Of being made to look incompetent,” he ranted. “Of having my father breathe down my neck. Of your little husband buying everything in sight and thinking he can just?—”
He cut himself off. My stomach twisted.
