Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
The real stuff would be buried deep behind walls of money and legal teams. Jesus, Gabby had gone toe-to-toe with this? I had a thousand questions, and not a single one had a good answer.
I thumbed to my contacts and hit Sasha’s name.
“Hey,” she answered on the second ring, breathless. “Did you find her?”
“Not yet. I’m outside her place, but it’s empty.”
“Damn it,” she whispered.
“But listen, I need your help. I need to know if there’s anywhere she’d go. Think of familiar places, somewhere she’d feel safe that's off the grid.”
There was a pause, then the sound of her pacing. “Okay. Uh, let me think. Maybe my dads’ lake house? No, Gabby hates the mildew smell there. Um, maybe that roadside motel she used for that wedding weekend in Daytona? She raved about the cinnamon rolls.”
“Give me all of it,” I said. “I’ll check everything. But first, what’s she driving?”
“Oh, come on, Webb, I suck at cars," she groaned, but then a sigh followed it. "I think it's an old beat-up Corolla that's champagne colored.”
“Do you know the plate number?”
“I don't even know my own plate number.” She hesitated. “Webb… is she gonna be okay?”
I didn’t answer right away. I couldn’t lie to her.
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted finally. “But I’m gonna find her. Sasha, I need her number so I can try and contact her or trace it. Do you have that?”
“She texted me a few days ago from one that I didn't have saved. I’ll forward it and her other one to you.”
“Good, I’ll call and leave a message if she doesn't answer. Maybe she’ll bite.”
I hung up right as a group of kids ran past the sidewalk, sticky with melted ice cream, while their parents chased after them. They were blissfully carefree, unlike their parents and me.
I opened my messages, typed in the number Sasha sent, and left a voicemail when she didn't answer.
“Gabby, it’s Webb. I’m outside your place. Listen, I'm thinking that you’re scared, and I know you think you have to handle whatever you're going through alone, but you don’t. I’m not here to drag you home or blow up your spot, I’m here to help. So, please, wherever you are, call me back or text me. Hell, send smoke signals if you have to, just let me know you’re breathing.”
I ended the call, threw the truck into gear, and started cruising the surrounding neighborhoods, my eyes scanning every block for a beat-up champagne Corolla.
If Gabby thought she could disappear, she clearly didn’t know how damn persistent my family could be.
Chapter Four
Gabby
Of course it broke down. Of course it freaking did.
One moment, I was cruising down a nearly forgotten state road, watching the GPS wheel spin in futile circles. The next moment, I heard an angry hissing noise, and steam erupted from under the hood as if the car were attempting to launch itself into low orbit.
“Nononononono—”
I swerved off onto the gravel shoulder, slammed it into park, and jumped out like it was on fire—which it might well decide to do. My boot caught on the edge of the frame, and I stumbled sideways, arms flailing like an idiot as more smoke puffed out from the engine.
“Okay,” I sighed, hands on my knees, “so this is how I die. Car explosion. It’ll be tragic and mildly ironic.”
Realizing I was accepting that fate instead of avoiding it like a sane person would, I backed up until I was in the weeds, just in case the thing actually blew. Thankfully, it didn’t. It just hissed and groaned like it was tired of being underappreciated.
Same, buddy. Same.
After a full minute of crouching behind a tree like I was in some low-budget spy movie, I crept toward the Camry. Slowly, like I expected it to leap out and bite me now.
“Okay,” I told it, pointing at the hood, “I don’t know what your problem is, but we are in this together now, and I need you to not kill me.”
It gurgled in response. Cool. Great. Totally fine.
The engine still steamed like a hot spring in hell, but the important part was that it wasn’t on fire. Then again, that was good in most situations. There was no way it was moving again, though, so I popped the trunk, grabbed my bag, and cursed immediately. Because I’d packed for survival, not stealth. I had three days’ worth of food, two burner phones, backup drives, a change of clothes, and... why the hell had I brought three paperbacks?
The bag weighed at least thirty pounds. I adjusted the strap on my shoulder and shut the trunk, tossing the red wig back on my head and jamming a cap over it. The glasses, the pains in my ass usually, but especially now, were starting to slide from the sweat.
I checked my phone again. The little SOS icon mocked me from the corner of the screen.