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Her soothing tone does nothing to calm me. Panic and fear are raging through my entire body and all she wants to do is fucking talk.
“Stay calm? Did you read the fucking note?” I yell.
“Ethan, do not go to Trent’s house. You can’t go there. Let the detective and the police handle it. They’ll be there soon. We don’t even know for sure if she is with Trent.”
“I will fucking kill him,” I say menacingly into the phone. I hang up on her panicked response.
I don’t remember the elevator ride or getting into the car. I don’t remember the ten times I tried to call Liz or the terrified call I made to my brothers. I don’t remember anything except the fear, the terror, the belief that Liz was in danger.
There’s no way I’m willing to wait until detectives arrive. Hoping that Lincoln, the backup bodyguard, is still at Peggy’s house, I quickly dial his number. Thankfully, he answers on the first ring.
“Lincoln!” I shout into the phone. “I can’t reach Liz, and she might be in trouble. I need you to go to Trent Ellington’s house. You have the address. I think she is in danger, and you need to get to her immediately.”
“On my way,” he says swiftly. I hear him slam his car door and then the increased rhythm of his breathing as he rushes off.
“Thank you. Do whatever it takes to make sure she’s safe. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lincoln hangs up, and I try to focus on my driving but fail miserably. It’s a forty-five-minute ride to Trent’s house but it feels like hours. The panic inside me refuses to subside as I race through the streets. I don’t see, nor do I care about, the accidents I almost cause as I swerve in and out of the lanes of traffic. What if she’s not at Trent’s house? What if he’s already done something to her?
About halfway through the drive, I finally get a text.
Backup Bodyguard
I have her, she’s safe. Police are on their way.
When there’s no follow-up text or phone call, I immediately call Lincoln. He doesn’t answer. I try texting him back.
Tell me what happened
No answer.
As I pull up to Trent’s townhouse, I see a police car with flashing lights and several other cars parked to the side. My heart drops as I realize I might be too late. I rush out of the car and run toward the house, ignoring the officers’ commands to stop. “Sir, you can’t go in there,” I hear them yell at me.
The front door is open, and I rush in.
A guy in a suit approaches me. He puts a calming hand on my shoulder. “You must be Ethan Anders? Peyton told me to expect you. We have Ms. Blakely. She’s okay.”
I feel wild and out of control. My eyes scan the room and narrow as I try to peek down the hallway. I shrug the man’s hand off my shoulder. “Get out of my way.”
“Mr. Anders, I need you to calm down so that we can talk,” the guy in the suit says.
“Get the hell away from me.” I push past him, desperately looking around for any sign of Liz.
The man keeps pace behind me as I rush around. He must decide it’s futile to keep me away, because he finally says, “She’s in the kitchen. This way.” He points to the left, and I take off running.
“Damn it,” the detective mutters behind me.
“Liz!” I call out.
I run into the kitchen. She looks up as I enter, shock and fear showing in her eyes.
“Ethan. Oh my God, Iwas so scared.”
I rush over to where she is sitting at the table. I lean down and hug her tightly, kissing her head, her cheeks, her lips. I frantically run my hands up and down her arms. I just need to make sure she is okay. “Babe, I’ve never known terror like what I just experienced. Are you really okay? What happened? Did he do anything to you? Where is he?”
The detective comes over and puts his hand back on my shoulder. “Mr. Anders, please have a seat. We need to ask Ms. Blakely some questions.”
