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I looked at my watch. Six fifteen. I’d be there by 9:30 if I stopped at home and took fifteen minutes to pack. I was bringing my gun.
On the drive up, I kept waiting for the call from her telling me it was a joke. She did not call.
I made it by 9:07. I drove down a main street that I could describe only as the set of a Christmas movie. One of those cheesy over-the-top ones. Old-fashioned lampposts with festive wreaths lined the street. Stores had colorful Christmas trees and glossy candy apples in their windows. Everything was quaint and adorable. A hot chocolate shop. A struggling one, apparently.
I followed my phone’s navigation onto a side street and ended up in front of a very large, very beautiful Victorian house.
I put the car in park.
It was less hostagey than I’d expected, but I digress.
The front door swung open as I got out of the car, and my best friend jogged down the steps and jumped into my arms. “I’m so glad you’re here! This makes it feel so real.”
The feeling was not mutual. This definitely did not feel like reality.
Nicholas was standing at the top of the stairs behind her, smiling.
I peeled her off me. “Can we talk?” I whispered.
“Yeah, come inside.”
“No, can we talk alone?” I asked. “Like, in the car?”
“At least come meet him first—”
“Yeah, so we can both get trafficked? I don’t think so. Car.”
She gave me a look. “Lauren.”
“What?”
“Everything is fine,” she said.
“Get in the car to tell me it’s fine.”
She rolled her eyes. Then she looked back at her handsome flannel-wearing captor. “Babe, we need a minute.”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll get some apple cider started.”
She came back to me. “Happy?”
“Not really. Car.”
Once the door was closed, I put on the child-safety locks and started driving.
“Where are you going?” she said.
“Someplace safe.”
“Okay, you are being ridiculous—”
“Am I?” I said, looking at her incredulously. “Do you hear yourself? Who is this guy?”
“Pull over.”
“What?”
“Pull over,” she demanded.
