“Tell us if we need to suit up and ride,” Odette says.
“How—fucking—dare—he,” I gasp as I push out onto the street. Where’s the parking garage? Where’s my car?
Shit.
I can’t drive.
I’m too angry.
Where’s Goldie’s car?
“This way,” she says quietly behind me. “Three blocks. Call Holt.”
Call Holt.
Call Holt.
Oh god.
Does he know?
I trail her while I dial his number and wait for him to pick up.
He doesn’t.
My call goes to voicemail.
It goes to voicemail three times in a row.
“Oh my god,” I whisper to Goldie while we load up in a red sports car in her building’s underground parking garage. “He quit.He quit.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No, but he’s not answering.”
“There’s approximately zero chance Holt would quit. Fletcher’s text didn’t say he quit, and Fletcher knows everything before it happens. Swear he does. Did Miranda tell you he quit?”
I shake my head as she starts the engine.
“Then he didn’t quit until he tells you he quit.” She eyes me before she puts the car in gear. “Even if he quit…that’s not going to fix things with your parents, will it?”
Dammit. “No.”
“So we’re going?”
I nod. “We’re going. My parents’ house. I’ll talk to Mom first.”
I barely notice the city passing and the strip malls taking over and then the entrance to Heartwood Valley Estates.
I’m too busy staring at my phone after texting Holt to call me.
He hasn’t.
Goldie pulls the sports car into my parents’ circle drive in front of their three-story mansion, and I don’t wait for her to kill the engine before I’m out and racing for the door.
I burst inside the foyer and head for the living room, but no one’s there.
I check Mom’s office.
