Page 38

Ava

“Fuck!”

My eyes snap open at the angry sound. I blink and rub my eyes. The room is dark and there are flickering golden lights along the wall. Smooth silk cocoons my body.

“Ava? Are you down here?” Sophia’s voice is distant.

“We overslept. It’s almost ten.” Jack’s pants are on but unzipped, and he’s pulling on his white dress shirt. “There’s no fucking light in here. No alarm.”

“Dad?” Sophia’s voice sounds farther away, like she’s headed in the opposite direction.

I’m completely nude. The black lingerie I wore last night is in a pile on the floor. Jack flicks overhead lights on, and bright light washes over the room, forcing me to shelter my eyes.

“Here,” I say, one hand over my eyes as I attempt to move to my clothes. “You sneak out. She’ll think you went to work early. I’ll get dressed and meet her.”

“Sneak out? How?” He’s fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, and from what I can tell, he’s not making any progress. He’s acting like a teenager about to get busted for having a girl in his room. If I wasn’t for a veil of grogginess, I’d probably laugh.

“She’s about to go outside. When she does, just run up the stairs.” It’s not rocket science. “She thinks this room is storage, right?”

He glances at me, and there’s panic splayed across his facial expressions. I wave a hand at him as I bend down and scoop up the lingerie. If I remember correctly, he destroyed the thong, so there’s no point in trying to put anything back on.

“My bedroom’s close by. I’ll sneak down the hall and jump in the shower. When she comes around, I’ll tell her I went out for a walk… what time did you say it is?”

“Ten!” he practically yells.

Yeah, this story has some holes. But she’s going to want to believe us, and that’ll work in our favor. These are things I know from experience.

Jack presses his ear to the door.

“I thought this was a soundproof room. How are we hearing her?”

“Clearly, it’s not,” he snaps.

He opens the door and peeks his head out.

“She’s headed down to the pool.”

“Go!” I hiss.

And he’s gone. The door clicks closed behind him.

The bed is rumpled, and the used plug sits on a glass plate on a shelf. This place needs to be cleaned, but there’s no time now. I mimic Jack, crack the door, view the empty hall, and take off, running naked as a jaybird down the hall to my bedroom.

Thankfully, the covers on my bed are pulled back, as I had been lying there reading, waiting to see if Jack stopped by. I rush into the bathroom. The stage of dressing I’ve accomplished by the time Sophia finds me will determine the story I weave.

After the quickest shower of my life, I get dressed, pulling on workout leggings and a jog bra. In the mirror, I spot hickeys across my boobs and abs. Fuck . I pull on a long sleeve black sweater. It’s a light summer sweater that shouldn’t look suspect.

My phone vibrates on my bedside table. It’s charging.

I ignore the phone and dig out socks. I’ll put on running shoes.

If I pull back my hair into a low knot, Sophia may not notice my hair is wet.

I can tell her I went for a long walk and lost track of time.

It’s something I would do, so I think it’s believable.

I can even tell her I stopped for coffee and ran into someone I know.

Without my phone and watch, the morning just slipped away. As I tie the laces on my shoes, I run through my concocted story, and it strikes me as solid. All that experience making up excuses is paying off. Lying must come naturally to some people, and by some people, I mean me.

My phone vibrates again, and I debate answering. My story for Sophia is better if I don’t have my phone in hand. I’ll leave it.

I scan the back yard, searching for Sophia. Where’d she go?

And then I see her in the back corner of the yard. She’s leaning over the fence, talking to someone. Based on the crew cut, she must be talking to Fisher. I can’t get to the side yard from here without her seeing me, unless I go upstairs and out the garage, but she’d still see me on the side path.

My phone vibrates again. That’s weird.

I could pick up my phone and claim I went on that walk and came straight in to get my phone. That she and I must have crossed paths. That works.

I grab my phone and head outside. I’m through the sliding doors for the back patio as the screen unlocks.

Patrick

Call me

Curiosity kicks in, and I press the message app. Forty-two messages.

“There you are,” Sophia calls. I glance up, holding my index finger to her.

“Yeah, I went for a walk this morning and lost track of time. Left my phone home…” I scroll through the messages and the tips of my fingers grow cold.

Patrick

We have an issue. I need you to call me.

Patrick

Don’t do anything stupid. Will you call me?

Patrick

Call me.

Patrick

I’m coming to you. Stay where you are.

The messages are more of the same. Short and demanding. But there’s no information. What the hell happened?

I click to my voicemails. There are multiple messages from Buena Vida and a couple of messages from Reid, which isn’t unusual, but all these other messages are. My heart rate spikes, and my breath becomes shallow. What the hell happened?

I press the most recent message from Buena Vida and hold the phone to my ear.

“Want to go paddleboarding? Did you eat breakfast?” Sophia asks.

I hold my index finger to my lips, asking for her silence so I can hear.

“Ava, this is Juliette. I’m calling you from Buena Vida. I’ve been here overseeing the police investigation. They said you aren’t answering phone calls. I know this must be difficult for you, but I need you to call me.”

She ends the call. What is difficult? What the hell happened at the center?

My feet move in the house's direction. I need my pocketbook and keys. I press the next message and listen as I speed walk.

“Is everything okay?” Sophia trails behind me.

“I don’t know. No.”

I press Patrick’s name on my phone as I sling my pocketbook over my shoulder and snag my keys off my desk. I get his voicemail and hang up.

There’s a police investigation. Something happened at Buena Vida. It has to be drugs. There was a drug bust or something.

I scroll through my missed calls, looking at all the missed calls from unknown numbers. Fuck. Well, if I need a lawyer, at least I can afford one now.

I charge up the stairs, forgetting about the messages. Every fiber in my being pulses, my instincts telling me I need to get to Buena Vida as fast as possible. Rush hour is over, so I should be able to get there fast.

My fist slams the square button on the wall of the garage for the fourth bay, where my car has been parked for weeks. The garage door cranks open. Fisher passes by in the driveway.

“I’ve got to go.”

“I can get someone to drive you.”

I shake my head as I open my car door and throw my pocketbook on the passenger seat.

“No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”

I jump in my car, not giving him time to argue. I actually do believe Sophia needs every bit of security Jack is throwing her way, but they have basically locked me in their house, out of sight of the media or anyone who might look for a way to access Sophia.

My tires squeal as I hit reverse, probably because he has some slick, shiny garage floor surface. I curse at the obnoxious noise.

Sophia stands near the garage bay beside Fisher. I roll down my passenger window and shout, “Something happened at the center. I’ll be back later.”

I press the accelerator. Wind whips from the open passenger window, and I raise it. Speeding through the neighborhood, I scan the sidewalks for any children or animals. The moment I pass through the security gate at the neighborhood entrance, I pick my phone up and dial Patrick.

Again with the voicemail. Where the fuck is he ?

I dial Juliette. Voicemail.

Fuck. What the hell is going on?

I speed through the side streets on my way to the freeway. I press the voicemail tab.

The first in the list is from an unknown number.

“Hello,” a robotic voice states. “Your auto warranty—”

I end the call and click the next message.

A horn blasts, and I lift my head and shoot the fucker the bird. Slow damn driver.

“Avaaaaaa. Baby. Where are you?” I would recognize the deep tone and the slurred words anywhere.

It’s Reid. Dammit . He sounds drunk. Music plays in the background.

I lift the phone to read the time of the message.

“You’re too good for me. But you know that, don’t you?

You’re smart to stay away. You… you were always the smart one.

Knew I’d fuck up again. Yep. So damn smart, you are.

Never returned my calls. Nope. Not youuuu.

You’re smart. My smart baby. My smart girl.

” Another voice pipes in, “Hey, Reid. Whatcha’ doing, man? ” And the call disconnects.

The call is from three this morning. I play the message again. This time I recognize the song playing in the background. It’s an old song from the seventies called “Summer Breeze.” What the hell, Reid? Are you hanging out with potheads?

I press the voicemail icon again, searching for more messages from Reid.

My phone lights up in my hand, and I answer immediately.

“Hello?”

“Ava. Honey. How are you?”

“Juliette? What the hell is going on?”

The entrance to the freeway is up ahead. There’s one intersection before the on-ramp. The car in front of me is going slow, and I swerve to pass it so I can beat the yellow light.

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“What a clusterfuck. Reid OD’d. When they called 911, cops came. Three of our residents were getting high with him—”

Crash! My windshield crumbles. Glass flies everywhere. A force hits my chest. I spin. Metal crunches. And blackness falls.