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Instead, Johnny Vitale is standing in another doorway, arms crossed, not much different than how Hattie was standing, but his face is clear to read.
His hand moves to his pocket as I continue to stand there, panic flooding me and making me turn to ice. I force my face to stay still, not to slip, the politician’s daughter mask going into place.
He grabs his phone, typing before he stares at me again. My phone vibrates in my hand, and the voice in my ear tells me I have a text from an unknown number.
Do you want me to read it?the tinny, robot voice asks as it always does with new numbers.
I don’t.
I don’t want to know what he has said.
There is no good reason for this man to be here. But there is one terrible,terriblereason for him to be here. Of course, I have nothing for him. Not in the way he’d accept, at least.
Shaking hands move the phone, swiping to see the screen.
Unknown: I know about Lilah.
Unknown: Follow me.
Nausea instantly roils in my throat.
He knows about Lilah.
There is only one reasonable way to decode that message.
He knows who she is and what it means.
And the look in his eyes . . . Jesus. I see it. He has a plan. A plan I am not going to like one single bit.
My eyes move to Hattie as I make my decision. She’s already looking elsewhere, chatting with an attendee, her red dress shimmering with her quick, excited movements.
Another quick glance around the room, and I move toward the entrance Johnny disappeared through.
When I walk through the doorway into a still busy but not as much so area, my eye catches him again, moving to another door that saysstairs.
I follow.
I don’t want to.
But I have to.
Old Lola clicks back into place, fitting like an old glove you haven’t worn in a while, familiar but just a bit tight, not stretched and worn the way you once thought it was.
I need to protect my sister.
I might be through helping my father, and I might have finally realized that this life isn’t what my mother wanted for me, but she absolutely wanted me to keep Lilah safe.
She demanded it.
And if I don’t continue that mission, what were the last 15 years of sacrifice for?
So I listen to the way the expensive heels clack on the marble, letting the noise become my purpose as I open the door and start down the stairs.
He’s going to the parking garage.
I need to be smart, though. I need to tell someone, call someone, tell Ben or Hattie or—
But as my hand starts for my phone, a hand grabs my wrist while another grabs my phone.
