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I rack my brain, trying to think of what to do. My gut is telling me this isn’t just her spontaneously deciding to go to a movie or something. I call around to the old ladies, but none of them has seen her, either. I even call the Viking, but she hasn’t been in.
Finally, out of desperation, I ask Hans and Gina, the cook, whether they have Rory’s mom’s number.
She answers on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, uh, Susan? This is Brody Hicks.”
“Brody!” Her voice is friendly at first, but her tone instantly changes. “Oh my god. Has something happened to Rory?”
“Well, see, that’s what I don’t know,” I say carefully. “She went out for a run a few hours ago, but she hasn’t come back. I can’t get hold of her. She isn’t answering calls or texts.”
“Brody.” Her voice cracks. “Oh my god…”
“I know. You got any ideas?”
“No! I haven’t talked to her in a couple of days!”
Shit. “Okay, look. I’m sorry to worry you like this. Call me back if you hear from her. I’ll be in touch.”
I hang up, at a loss. I start to pace in the entryway.Think, goddamnit. Think. Where could she be?
A few minutes later, just when I’m starting to feel like I’m gonna go out of my fucking mind, my cell rings.Rory!I stare at the screen, but it’s not her number.
“What?” I growl.
“Brody! It’s Susan!” Her voice is high, trembling. “I forgot I have an app on my phone that tracks hers!”
It’s a lifeline. “Talk to me!”
“Hold on, I’m opening it up. Wait…”
The next ten seconds are an agony. But then:
“Her phone is on-line!” she exclaims. “She’s not in Ironwood. She’s east of there. It doesn’t look like she’s moving.”
I’m already running out to my truck. “Zoom in!” I shout as I climb into the cab. “Take a picture and send it to me, then zoom out again and take another one. I’m on my way!”
Hans and Gina shout questions at me from the doorway. “No time!” I yell back. The truck’s engine roars to life, and I jam it into gear and gun it, flying through the neighborhood faster than anyone has ever driven on these tony streets. Seconds after I hang up with Susan, I’m calling Mal.
“Hey, need your help! Get Dante and Matthias and start driving east. I’ll text you with more info in a minute.”
“What’s going down, brother?”
“I don’t know who it is, but someone’s got Rory.” I blow through a stop sign, earning an angry honk from a chick in a minivan. “I need you to help me get her back.”
27
RORY
The trunk of the car is stiflingly hot. Within thirty seconds, I start to sweat profusely. I’m gasping for breath, and realize I might be starting to have a panic attack.
Air! I need air!
Calm down, Rory. You have to calm down. There’s no way this trunk is airtight. Stop it!
I don’t know where the voice within me comes from, but it’s like a lifeline. I do my best to listen to it, focusing on breathing slowly, on trying to think.
Isn’t there a law that every trunk has to have an escape thingy? My heart flips with hope. Taking another deep breath, I let it out slowly and deliberately, then reach out, groping blindly at all the surfaces for anything that might be a release lever. When I don’t find anything right away, the panic starts to creep back. There’s a weird buzzing on the surface of my skin; my racing heart sends my adrenaline spiking.
