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I excuse myself to the kitchen where I plugged it in after finding it, dead, in Tripp’s bathroom when I was cleaning up a couple days ago. The screen lights when I lift it off the granite counter, and without even trying to pry, I see that her family, and who knows who else, have been trying to get ahold of her. A lot.
I unplug the phone and the charger and take both back to Maddie’s waiting hands.
“Thank you so much for all you’ve done, Marco,” she says, tucking it into the outer pocket of the bag. “So, did Brett mention—”
I hold up my hand. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m leaving town.”
Blinking, she studies me for a moment, then breaks into a soft smile. “I understand.”
I’m afraid she actually does.
It is also entirely possible I’ve shut the door on the best offer I’ll have for some time to
∞∞∞
Sunday morning dawns grey and gloomy, as if God synced the weather with my mood. My time in Galveston was not all I had hoped but has become a sort of inflection point.
I’ve chastised Annalise for not letting her family in on her life, but it struck me in the wee hours that I’m as guilty as she is. My family knows of my troubles and wants to share the burden. I tell myself I’m sparing them by staying away, but in my heart, I know that’s bogus.
I’ll sort it out later, but for now, I’ve taken my final beach walk, stuffed my duffel, zipped it, and set it by the front door. I head upstairs for one last sweep of the house. I don’t want so much as a bed ruffle out of place. Pausing in Tripp’s old room, I step onto the balcony and soak in one last view of the mighty ocean.
Oddly deflated, I lock the French doors. My foot is on the first step when the telltale beep of the security system chirps the opening of a door.
Who on earth? The Walkers aren’t due back for days. Reassured by the pressure of the Glock against my spine, I jog down the stairs, hesitating when I see Tripp in the marbled foyer, Avery bringing up the rear.
“Hey, man. Avery. What are you guys doing here?”
My steps slow as Tripp stops, folds his arms, and pins a stare on me.
“What’s up? Is something wrong?” Is there a warrant out for my arrest?
“Where is Annalise?”
Oh man. I halt on the last step. “I’m sorry. Annalise?” I touch my ear as if I didn’t quite hear.
Tripp’s chin hikes. “Yeah. Annalise—my sister. You know.” Yes, and I also know that clipped tone and that it generally spells trouble for the person on its receiving end.
My brain latches onto a particular four-letter word and repeats it over and over. “Annalise? You do realize I’ve never—you’ve never introduced us, right?” I was about to saymet, but I’m going to attempt to be honest here, technically, if not in spirit.
“Which has nothing to do with the question. Where is Annalise, Gonzalez?”
“What makes you think I’d know?” Again, totally stalling here.
“Maybe because her Jeep is parked in the driveway. How’s that for starters?”
I feel the wince. I completely forgot about her car.
“I have been calling and texting for days.Days.So have Mom and Dad. Then, I decide to visit her at school—only to be told by her roommate that she packed up and headed home a week ago.” His heavy brow lowers at me.
I did not think it would come to this. Tripp is my friend, but Annalise has a right to her privacy. Her secrets aren’t mine to tell. I drag my hand across the back of my neck, still clammy from an early stroll along the shore. “Look, man, I am the wrong person to be asking.”
He stares me down, and I know he sees a guilty perp, cornered and spilling a worthless song and dance. He advances a slow step. “Tell me where she is.” He growls like a panther about to attack.
“Tripp, I—”
He pounces, double-fisting my shirt and slamming me against the balustrade, which shudders and groans. The granite planes of his face are hardened into a shape I’ve only ever witnessed on the job—most notably last spring while grilling a sleazy drug lord when Avery was missing. “Where is my sister? What did you do, Gonzalez?”
What did I—
