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Taylor: Fine, whatever. We’re just going to get into the cab. If you did send it then thanks. If not, thanks for nothing. Seriously, Zhara, since when can’t I count on you with this stuff?
My lip twitches with irritation, but only for a moment. Then I move to the next message, which is the one that flashed across the screen and made me decide to read the texts to begin with. I thrum my fingers against my legs as I reread the messages and check the time stamps. Zhara was passed out when Taylor first mentioned the cab, which means she couldn’t have sent it to pick Taylor up. So why would a cab driver tell Taylor Zhara sent him?
“Something’s not right.” Even though I don’t want to get involved with anything that has to do with Taylor, I can’t just let this go, not only because something potentially bad could be happening, but because Zhara wouldn’t forgive me if I let Taylor get hurt.
I decide to type a reply to make sure Taylor isn’t just being a drunk dumbass.
Zhara: Are you okay? What’s wrong?
Taylor: Is this Zhara?
WTF? “Ridge, get in here. Now!” Two seconds later, I start to get impatient and jump to my feet, ready to track him down.
But he comes running in, his eyes wide, a thermometer in his hand. “What’s wrong?”
I hurry and tell him about the messages Taylor sent.
“There’s no way that could be Taylor, right?” I tell him. “I mean, why send out a text saying there’s an emergency, then question if it’s Zhara texting from Zhara’s phone?”
“Well, technically it wasn’t Zhara,” Ridge says as he skim reads the text. “But yeah, this is definitely suspicious, especially the cab part.”
“Can you track the location and see where Taylor’s at?” I ask. “I’m not a fan of her, but I want to make sure she’s okay.”
“Yeah, give me about five minutes.” Ridge hands me Zhara’s phone and heads over to his computer. “You should text something back, though. Keep the messages going. It’ll be easier to track.”
Nodding, I sink down on the edge of the bed and type a reply.
Zhara: Yeah, of course this is Zhara, Silly. Who else would this be?
A text pings through almost instantaneously.
Taylor: I don’t know. Maybe Benton.
Wait. Did Zhara tell Taylor what was going on? I asked her not to and Zhara doesn’t seem like the type who would babble secrets.
I try to conjure up a good reply that will get me some answers without seeming too suspicious, but another text pings through before I get the opportunity.
Taylor: Have I got your attention yet?
Zhara: Yes… What’s going on? Who is this? Is this Taylor?
Taylor: Who is this?
Zhara: It’s Zhara… You texted me, remember? Just how drunk are you?
Taylor: If this is Zhara, then tell me what date her parents allegedly died?
Three things race through my mind then. 1). I’m pretty sure I’m not texting with Taylor. 2). If this isn’t Taylor, then who the hell is it and where is Taylor? And 3). They said allegedly, as in Zhara’s parents might not really be dead.
But that can’t be true. I went through her records, both the locked and unlocked ones and everything I read stated that her parents died in a car accident. The only suspicious thing I found about their deaths was that the dates listed on the locked files for the undercover organization was different from the date listed on the unlocked, public files.
I start to type the public files date because that’s the one Zhara knows, but then stop myself. Nope. I need to go about this another way.
Zhara: What do you mean allegedly? My parents died. Why would you say that? I don’t understand. What’s going on? Who is this? Because this doesn’t sound like Taylor anymore.
Taylor: It’s not.
A beat of silence ticks by.
Taylor: Zhara, if you ever want to see your best friend again, meet me at the Honeyton Café by the railroad tracks in exactly one hour. Make sure you come alone and under no circumstances are you to call the police or tell your new friends. I’ll know if you do.
The moment I finish the message another one comes through.
Taylor: And Zhara, you’re a smart girl so I’m going to skip over the details of what I’ll do to Taylor if you don’t follow the rules. If you’re anything like your mom, I’m sure you can figure it out.
I glance at the time and then jump to my feet. “I need to go.”
Ridge continues to type without looking up. “Why? What’s going on?”
I hurry and give him a recap of what just happened. By the time I’m finished, he’s got a location on Taylor’s phone. It’s at the Honeyton cemetery. I try not to be too unsettled by the location, but I’m worried.
“Make sure Zhara stays here when she wakes up.” I tuck my gun into my holster and slip on a jacket to cover up the weapon. “I messaged Loki and said she was going to spend the night at Taylor’s. Check her temperature too and then text me… I need to know she’s okay.” Since I have no clue who I’m going up against, I put on an ankle holster as an extra precautionary measure and then tuck my knife into it. “If she wakes up, don’t tell her what’s going on with Taylor. I don’t want to worry her unless we absolutely have to.” I turn toward the bed and brush my knuckles across Zhara’s cheek. Her skin still feels too cold and her eyelashes flutter from the contact of my fingers. I feel so damn bad for bringing her into this mess, but wonder if she would’ve fallen into it eventually. I just wish I knew exactly what was
—is—going on with her family, so I can give her some answers when she wakes up, because I know she’s going to have a lot of questions. “And Ridge, make sure nothing happens to her.”
“Of course.” Ridge puts the laptop aside on the nightstand and checks his phone. “Who are you taking with you?”
“Xavier and Jackson.” I reluctantly withdraw my hand from her cheek, but pause as Zhara whispers my name in her sleep. She’s sleep talking? That has to be a good sign, right? When I look at Ridge, he’s giving me a funny look. “What?”
He shrugs, his gaze wandering from Zhara to me. “It just seems like you’re getting attached to her.”
“I’m not getting attached,” I say. But it feels like a lie. I think I might have started getting attached the moment I kissed her. No, scratch that. I think I started getting attached the moment she lost her temper with me when I wouldn’t let her into my party. The combination of anger, hurt, and determination in her eyes, pulled at me in a way I’ve never felt before. But I’m not about to admit this to anyone. “I’m just concerned about her. She was tranquilized for fuck’s sake.”
“I know.” He doesn’t look like he’s buying into my bullshit.
I don’t have time to argue with him, even though I want to. “I need to go.” I unwillingly turn away from Zhara and stride for the door. “If you can, try to hack into some video surveillance in the area of the cemetery. It’ll help if I can get an idea of who we’re dealing with before I show up at the café.”
“On it,” he says, collecting his computer.
I take one final glance at Zhara before walking out of the room, hoping that no matter what happens—no matter how this turns out—she’ll be okay.
Stuck in Dreamland
I’m having the best dream…
I’m driving in the car with Benton, Wilder, and Jackson. Benton and Wilder are in the backseat and Jackson is driving. The radio is on, the windows are down, my shoes are kicked off, and my bare feet are propped up on the dashboard. The strange thing is, I know it’s a dream. I don’t know why or how I know this, other than maybe it feels too good to be true.
