Page 129 of Anton

“No.” Her voice cracks around the word, and whatever relief I should feel doesn’t come because she sounds awful.

“What’s wrong?”

“I-I didn’t know who else to call.”

My hand constricts around the wheel, car gunning down the highway. “Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”

“What do you mean, you’ll come get me?” A faint hitch breaks her breathing. “Aren’t you back home?”

“No.” The light ahead changes, and I take a sharp turn, ignoring the horn that goes off in front of me. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know.” The words fracture, cutting straight through me. “I’m just driving. I don’t even know where I’m going.”

“Pull over somewhere public. A shopping center or gas station. Then stay in the car and tell me the address.”

Silence stretches between us while she fights back tears, and my fingers dig into the steering wheel. I don’t know who did this to her yet, but I will, and they’re not going to be alive when I’m finished.

“There’s a shopping center,” she finally says. “I’m pulling in.”

“Park in the front and lock your doors.”

“Okay.”

“Tell me the name.”

She reads it off a sign, and the second I have the address, I cut across two lanes and head toward her.

“I’m coming. I’m not far.”

“I’m sorry.” The words slip out so small, I almost don’t hear them. “I didn’t mean to call you like this.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Just wait for me. I have you.”

That only makes her cry more.

“I’m not hanging up.”

“Okay.”

“When I get there, you’re going to tell me what happened.” I weave through traffic with one eye on the road and the other on the navigation. “And then I’m going to fix it.”

A wet laugh escapes her. “You can’t fix this.”

“I can try.”

“No one can fix this, Anton.”

That sets my nerves on edge.

Chto s ney stalo? What happened to her?

“Stay on the phone,” I tell her. “I’m almost there.”

The shopping center comes into view a few minutes later, and I spot her car near the edge of the lot, the same one she drove to the gala. One of her father’s vehicles.