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"What did Agent Camden say?" I suck on the inside of my cheek as I wait for their answer.
"Mr. Conway was contacted by a member of the press. He was told about evidence that you are faking your memory loss, and you are protecting the kidnapper." Tristen stares at me intently, and my heart sinks.
He knows.
At that moment, something crashes in Tristen's office, and a roar of "FUCKING TURNER!" bursts through the speaker on my end. All three of us jump at Rhys's outburst.
"Turner?" Heather narrows her eyes to somewhere behind the phone.
"Who do you think is behind that? A member of the press," Rhys mocks the wording. "Well, fuck that shit. Turner is trying to flush Calla out because he knows she's no longer here."
"Why would this man do that?" Tristen inquires suspiciously, and I tense.
Do not take his bait, Rhys. Please, please, please.I’m begging in my head.
There is a moment of silence until he answers, "Probably for the same reason some chick kills your cleaning lady and steals a teddy bear." He’s playing the you-have-your-secrets-we-have-ours card.
I don't know how long we can keep this up. My phone starts shaking again, and I lean it against one of the monitors, sitting down on both of my hands this time. Thank goodness I answered on the small phone screen. The built-in camera on the desktop would have shown my whole body, revealing my physical state of panic. There would have been no hiding anything.
Heather's mouth turns to a slit before she focuses back on me. "I spoke to Vivienne, and she asked for you to come in once you are back in town. She wants to ask you some questions about both of your kidnappings."
"Okay," I choke the word out. The last thing I want is to answer any question regarding Nate.
Suddenly, the camera on their end moves violently, and I am face to face with Rhys, who doesn’t look at the screen. "Now that that’s all cleared up, there is nothing else to discuss." He flips around and marches out of the room and up the stairs.
As soon as he clears the threshold, Rhys kicks the door shut with one foot.
"MOTHERFUCKING COCKSUCKER!"
He knocks something off his desk, and I cringe. It doesn't sound like it was anything overly breakable, and for a moment, all I see are strands of his brown hair as he grabs fistfuls with the phone still in one hand. I wish I were there to wrap my arms around him and hold him. It becomes more and more apparent that my decision to run has made everything worse instead of better.
Eventually, his green eyes lock on mine sadly. He’s back in the same position on his bed as this morning when he first called.
"Babe, this is getting out of hand."
"I know." I can’t get my voice above a whisper.
I findGeorge in the motor pool—calling it a garage would be like saying the Vanderbilt estate is a cute little cottage. His upper body is in the backseat of his RAM, one foot on the nerf bar, the other balancing in the air. He is maneuvering something large around in an attempt to get it under the bench.
"What are you doing?" I step behind him to get a better look.
He jerks, and the object slams into the opposite door with a clang. "Good Lord, Miss Lilly."
Unable to suppress the chuckle for actually startling the scariest man alive, I apologize behind a cupped hand. "Um, sorry."
He adjusts the large black box I can finally identify as a rifle lockbox. "More firepower? I thought you have at least two guns on you at all times." I purse my lips mockingly, remembering when Rhys told me about George’s arsenal in Morristown.
"It’s a custom design. I ordered it before Nate sent me to Virginia. It fits under the backseat with the opening in the front. It’s connected to a button in the dashboard, which will automatically unlatch the lid, and a mechanism inside moves the rifle out. That way, I can reach for it without having to bend back."
I lean in. "That’s pretty impressive. Tristen would love that setup. He has to open his manually," I say, exaggerating the last word with a teasing eye roll.
"Did you need something?" George steps down from the truck.
Oh yeah, the reason I came to find him. Part of me wants to ignore all of it and be a normal girl, even if it’s just for a few hours. But I don’t get the luxury. Turner, Camden, the upcoming meeting with Lakatos, the possibility of something else being wrong with my brain...none of that will go away, no matter how much I want it to.
"Actually, yes." I swallow down the burning sensation in my throat. How do I phrase this? "It seems Turner contacted Ava Conway’s father, who now demands for me to be questioned. I wasn’t sure if I should call Nate or not." I steady my voice, suppressing the quiver that wants to break through at the thought of being interrogated.
George snaps to attention and reaches for his phone that's laying in the front seat. He doesn't have to wait long for my brother to answer. "We have a situation." Pause. "She is fine, but I would suggest for you to come by on the way home from the office." Pause. "That is unfortunate. Okay. Call me when you can."
