I stand, giving her a moment to breathe, then head for the door.
Ty’s safe for now. That’s all I need to keep this moving.
TEN
LONDYN
It’s been two hours.The witness is still talking, but I’m not hearing much anymore. My mind keeps drifting back to Ty. Excusing myself, I step out into the hallway, to call my Mom.
No answer.
I call again. Four rings, then voicemail. It’s not unusual. Mom’s always leaving her phone on the counter or buried in the laundry. Still…
Frowning, I check the time, then dial Dad’s number. Same thing… rings, then voicemail.
My thumb hovers over the screen. I try again.
Still nothing.
My stomach twists. I blink fast, suddenly aware of how loud the hallway feels. My fingers start to tremble. I press the phone to my ear one more time, but it’s like the silence is mocking me.
Tony rounds the corner, his face tight. “Londyn. You need to come with me.”
I straighten. “What’s going on?”
He hesitates. “I’m not sure yet. The patrol unit we sent by your parents’ place? They did a second pass. Said they saw a black SUV leaving the area fast and the front door was left open.”
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. A tight pressure builds in my chest, like my ribs are closing in.
“What do you mean… open?” The words come out slower than I intend, like my brain’s trying to catch up to what I just heard.
Tony hesitates. Just for a second, but it’s enough. His eyes won’t meet mine, and that silence says more than I want to hear.
“They called it in. Went in to clear the house. That’s all I’ve got right now.”
I don’t think I just move. By the time it registers, I’m already halfway down the hall, heading for the garage.
“Londyn, wait. I’ll drive,” Tony calls, quick on my heels.
I don’t argue. Just toss him the keys without slowing down. My hands are shaking too hard to drive anyway.
The ride over is dead quiet. Tony grips the wheel, glancing at me every few seconds like he wants to say something but doesn’t.
I’m staring at my phone, thumb tapping the screen harder each time. Mom. Dad. Ty.
Call. Voicemail. Redial.
Again.
My fingers fumble, too shaky to hit the right contact on the first try. I curse under my breath, and try again.
Still nothing.
They probably just didn’t hear it. Maybe the ringer’s off. Maybe they’re in the backyard. Maybe…
But the pit in my stomach is spreading. Hope’s still there, but it’s fading fast.
I keep calling anyway because the second I stop, I’ll have to admit what I already know.
