“No,” I said.
She blinked. “What?”
“I’m not leaving. You want to stay here and hide? Fine. But I’m staying too.”
“That’s insane.”
“Probably.” I crossed my arms. “But I’m not going back to Paso Robles without getting some answers. And I’m sure as hell not leaving you alone when you look like you haven’t slept since I last saw you.” I reached for my phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Baron. Not to tell him where you are, but to let him know I’m with you.”
“Kick—”
I was already dialing. Baron answered on the first ring.
“Did you find her?”
“Yes. She’s safe, and she’s with me.”
“Where?” His words were sharp. “I’ll send someone?—”
“She doesn’t want to come home yet. She needs time.”
A long silence. “Time? Is this about the trust fund? Tell her if she thinks running away will change my mind?—”
“This isn’tabout money.”
“Everything with Isabel is about money. Or attention.” Another pause. “What’s she doing? Who’s she with?”
“She’s working?—”
“Working?” His laugh was bitter. “My daughter has never worked a day in her life.”
“She’s safe, Baron. That’s what matters.”
“What matters is she disappeared. Do you know how that looks? Jesus, now, I have to call the sheriff and tell him she’s okay.” He seethed in anger. “You tell her she has two weeks to stop this nonsense and come home. After that, I’m cutting her off completely.”
1
ISABEL
Christmas Day started the same way every holiday did in the Van Orr household—just another day, nothing special about it at all. It was true even before my mother died.
I knocked on the door of my father’s study around noon, hoping we could at least have lunch together. The house echoed with emptiness, too quiet.
“Enter,” he barked.
I eased the door open just as he took a sip from a glass of wine.
Before I could say anything, he looked up from his papers with that expression I knew too well—the one that said I was annoying him.
“Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.
I sat, hands clasped in my lap. At twenty-seven years old, I still reverted to that posture around him. Always waiting for approval that never came.
“What you did with the private-reserve wine.” He set his glass down with deliberate care. “Do you have any idea how that made me look?”
