Page 103 of Bad Intentions

“We are leaving tomorrow, right?” I tried to calm myself so I wouldn’t sound desperate.

“Who is we?”

“You and I.”

“There is no you and I.”

The air was sucked out of my lungs. “You said we are going away together.”

“I don’t remember that part. Anyway, don’t call this number again.”

I gasped, but he’d already hung up.

I called his number, but it went straight to voicemail.

I called again.

Voicemail.

I screamed at the top of my voice, infuriated. Dialed his number and hit the voicemail.

Call.

No answer.

Call.

No answer.

Call.

No answer.

Call.

No answer.

Call.

No answer.

I sat in my car by his house for an hour. No sight of him.

I drove home, then called again.

No answer.

I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think of anything but him. So I kept dialing his number all through the night, dozens of times, a hundred. I dozed off at dawn, got up, and right away went to check the newspaper. The bar fire and Dougie’s murder were breaking news.

I gritted my teeth. They all deserved it.

I dialed Derek again, but hit voicemail.

I hopped in my car and drove to his house. If that woman answered the door again, I would break her face. If Derek dared to ignore me, I would blackmail him. Dozens of scenarios raced through my head as I drove, but when I pulled into his driveway, an unfamiliar car was parked there.

An old guy was sweeping the porch.

My heart sank as I got out of my car. “Where’s Derek?”