Cassie’s neon-pink jacket.
They’ve taken Cassie, too. Because of me, her last moments will be here, in the dark with me.
The van slows, then turns onto a rougher, bumpier road. Gravel crunches under the tires.
We’re almost there.
The cold isn’t just fear anymore. It’s the promise of the water. The crushing weight of the blocks they spoke of and the endless, silent dark.
I close my eyes, not to fight, but to try to hold on to their faces one last time.
Mom.
Skye.
I hold them in the light of my mind as the van rolls to a stop.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Skye
The silence in Violet’s hotel room is thick and suffocating. Theo is pacing by the window like a caged animal, his face still pale from the sight of that note.
We’re done waiting.
Every second that has ticked by is a grain of sand in an hourglass I fear has already run out. I have scoured the lobby and the local cafes, but nothing has come up. Someone reported a commotion near an alley downtown, but no one could give me any details.
I’m staring at an empty space on the floor, running potential scenarios over in my mind, when the hotel door bursts open.
It doesn’t swing. It explodes inward, as if kicked by some force of nature.
The woman standing there is a compact hurricane in a tailored cream pantsuit. Her gray-streaked dark hair is pulled into a ruthless bun, and her eyes are like chips of flint behind designer glasses.
She canvases the room in a millisecond, her gaze slicing through Theo’s pathetic pacing and landing on me with the weight of judgment.
“Where the hell is she?” The voice is pure, unfiltered Long Island.
Theo jumps, but I don’t move. I just meet her fiery gaze. “Who’s asking?”
She struts into the room, ignoring me completely, her heels clicking on the tile. “I’m the lady who’s goin’ to rip someone a new one. Now, where’s Violet?When was the last time anyone with more than two brain cells to rub together saw her?”
Theo finds his voice. “We don’t know. She’s missing. Someone left a—”
He doesn’t get to finish. The woman turns on him. “You. You’re the cheating waste of space.” It’s not a question. She closes the distance between them in two strides, and with one fluid motion, slaps him upside the back of the head.
“Ow! What the—”
“Shut up. You lost the right to speak when you stuffed your dick inside her cousin. You’re lucky if slappin’ your empty head is all I do.” She dismisses him, turning back to me as Theo clutches his head, sputtering. “You. You’ve got the look of someone who actually does something. Talk.”
Part of me, the part currently frozen in dread, can’t help but appreciate the brutal efficiency. No hysterics, just action.
“Ollie,” I assume, my voice low.
“The one and only. And you’re the hockey player she’s been sighin’ over. Skye.” She says my name like she’s filing it under potentially useful. “Timelines. Now.”
I stand straighter and try to recall everything I know. It’s hard when you’re put on the spot.
Like an open net shot I can’t afford to miss.
