“Mama Hart’s security alarm went off. The security company called the house to determine if she needed assistance, but there’s no answer.” He slaps the phone down against his thigh. “She’s not answering her cell, either.”
Fuckballs.
No wonder he’s such a mess. Or as much of a mess as Nick could ever be. I’d be a total basket case in his shoes.
Imagine how you’d feel if you’d lost your entire family in a horrific accident.
I reach over and cover his hand with mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. This must be a nightmare for Nick. Mama Hart and his brothers are his entire world. If anything happened to them, he’d be devastated. The urge to regurgitate meaningless platitudes wells up from the pit of my stomach, but I bite it back. Telling him everything will be okay won’t help. Because there’s no guarantee it’s true.
“Where does she live?” I ask, sneaking another look at him.
“West Lake Hills,” he answers stiffly, eyes trained on the empty road.
Relief washes over me. It’s only a fifteen-minute drive from Nick’s place. We’re probably halfway there already.
I rack my brain for something—anything—to distract him. “So what’s the deal with your car?”
He startles visibly. “Excuse me?”
“I just mean, what’s a hot young billionaire doing driving a Volvo meant for soccer moms? I figured you’d drive, I don’t know, an overpriced sports car or something.”
Good one, Scarlett. The guy’s in the midst of trauma and you’re busting his balls about his choice of transportation.
“This is one of the safest SUVs on the market.” The instant the words are out of his mouth, I feel like an asshole. His parents were killed in a car accident, an accident he survived. It’s only natural he’d be concerned about vehicle safety. “I bought one for Mama Hart, too.”
Of course he did. Because under that frosty exterior, Nick has a heart of gold, one he’s determined to protect at all costs. Even if it means cutting himself off emotionally from other people.
“You’re a good son,” I say as he picks up the phone and punches the redial button.
Hope flares in my chest, and I send up a silent prayer as the phone rings.
No answer.
“Where the hell could she be?” he growls, face lined with worry. “Can’t you go any faster?”
So much for safety.
“Let’s not panic.” I give his hand another squeeze, trying to quell my own rising sense of unease. “We’re almost there.”
With Nick’s guidance, I pull the SUV into Mama Hart’s driveway five minutes later. She lives in a mature neighborhood with tree-lined streets and large lots, and though her home is a modest mid-century rancher, I know home prices in this neighborhood rival Nick’s downtown condo. There’s a police cruiser parked at the curb, but no sign of the responding officer.
No lights or sirens. That has to be a good sign, right?
Shit. I should’ve called Miles. He could’ve met us. Then again, maybe it’s nothing. Better to wait and see what we’re dealing with before alarming the rest of the Hart family. Is that why Nick didn’t call? Or is it because he’s used to dealing with things on his own?
Nick bolts from the car before I can even throw it in park, leaving the door hanging wide open.
“Hello?” he calls, approaching the porch, which is lit by hanging lamps on either side of the front door. The night is quiet. Most of the suburban neighborhood is sound asleep and blissfully unaware of the scene unfolding in their midst. I strain my ears for any sound, even the hint of an alarm, but all’s quiet.
The alarm company probably shut it off after contacting the police.
An officer in a dark uniform rounds the corner of the house, flashlight in hand, as I climb out of the car. He’s a young Black man with close-cropped hair and kind eyes.
“Evening, sir.” The officer nods a greeting as he clicks off the flashlight and slides it into his belt. “Is this your property?”
“No.” Nick shakes his head, worry lining his features. “It’s my mother’s house.”
The officer nods again. “We got an alarm call. I knocked, but there was no answer. I’ve walked the perimeter of the house and nothing seems to be amiss.”
