I’ve never been more worried about her than I am right now.
* * *
Zoe
I wake to find myself under a blanket and alone on the couch. I get up, slightly wobbly on my feet from all the gin and tonics. I go to the bedroom, but Rachel’s not sleeping there. I grab my phone to text and find a message from her.
My driver came for me. Hope you’re not too hungover tomorrow. Have fun with that guy. I love you.
I frown, leaning against the wall. The text is from an hour earlier so she left around one a.m....
There’s a soft knock on the door. I glance at it and shake my head.
It’s not the way Connor would knock and, other than Rachel, he’s the only person I’d want to see right now.
Suddenly there’s shouting in the hall. My head jerks up. The sound of heavy footfalls, and then silence.
A few minutes later, there’s a sharp rap on the door and then someone’s fiddling with the lock.
I type in the numbers nine-one-one and then I hear, “Zoe, it’s Trick.”
I pause with my finger over the call button. The lock clicks open, my mouth dropping. The door opens, and Patrick strolls in. Behind him, I see Anvil’s hulking figure.
“Hey, good morning. Pack a bag, sweetheart,” he says, snagging the duffle from the floor and pushing it into my arms.
“What’s going on?”
“There was a guy in a hoodie at your door, playing with the lock.”
“Where were you? What are you doing here?”
Anvil, still outside, shines a light in both directions, and I can see he’s got a flashlight in one hand and a gun in the other.
“What’s happening?” I say more sharply.
“Some clothes in a bag. Now,” he says, pulling me from the wall and giving me a small shove in the direction of my bedroom. I pause, looking back, and he gives my ass a swat.
“Hey, what the hell?” I demand.
“Get moving,” he says firmly. “Or you can come bagless.”
I glare at him, but stalk into the bedroom. I quickly fill the duffle and a second tote with things.
He’s in the doorway in another couple of minutes. “That’s good. Let’s go.”
I want to snap at him, but I’m too startled when he takes me by the arm and ushers me out, closing my door and locking it behind us.
In the truck, Trick’s mood is lighter, but Anvil is still deadly serious. Trick’s in the driver’s seat, in the front on his own. I’m in the back with Anvil, whose gun is resting on his thigh.
“Why do you need that in here?” I ask.
He slides it into a holster that’s strapped to his chest.
“So you were watching my apartment? Waiting for what?”
“Who was the guy in the hoodie?” Trick asks.
“I have no idea, but he knocked, so I don’t know why you had to drag me out in the middle of the night.”
