Another call?
Surely, she wouldn’t turn the phone off when we’re in the middle of what feels like a war.
“Something wrong?” Caylon asks, reading my expression with the long ease of friendship.
“Are you any closer to finding an address for him?”
“Narrowing it down.” He hooks up an eyebrow and I back off, dialling Rosa and hoping it’s third time lucky.
It isn’t.
A car full of Stefan’s henchmen arrive and approach him for instruction. A nervous tremor wriggles up my spine, lodging at my brain stem, making me dizzy.
Then the phone rings in my hand and I eagerly check the number, my second of joy immediately stripped away.
It’s Sashe.
Why the hell would my father’s new bit of fluff call me?
With a sense of foreboding, I answer the call.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
ROSA
The moment Trent leaves,I want him to come back. Waiting at his house is an exercise in torture. As much as I don’t want to place myself in danger, I also don’t want to be pacing back and forth, miles away from where my uncle is causing havoc.
I don’t want to lose someone I care about—no, someone Ilove—as collateral damage to a madman whose sole target should be me.
Finley is at Polytech, and I’ve warned her to stay there. Stay in a protective cluster of as many people as she can until this whole mess is resolved.
She’ll do it. Out of the two of us, I might be book-smart, but she’s plugged far deeper into common sense than I’ve ever been, letting my emotions rule my head.
I want my mother but she’s safest where she is. The hospice won’t release details to anyone if they can’t prove they’re family. My so-called uncle shouldn’t be able to gain access.
It’s the leeway in that ‘should’ that gives me vivid nightmares. A thousand scenes from a thousand slasher movies play on a loop in the back of my mind.
Real life should make things harder. It’s not like he has supernatural abilities or a lack of appreciation for the laws of physics and biology my favourite films indulge in.
But harder isn’t impossible. People slip up all the time. Human error is a well-known phrase for a reason.
I go into the kitchen just for something to do and find Sashe there, flipping through a magazine at the counter. She glances up in surprise, like I caught her doing something she shouldn’t.
“You’re home early,” she says, then adds, “Sorry. I’m not used to having other people around during the day.”
“Apart from all the staff?”
She wrinkles her nose, appearing playful. “My husband assures me they don’t count.”
“Right.” I raise my eyebrows and she laughs.
“I know. I’m ticking off the minutes till I don’t count either.”
She smiles as she says the words, but I’m appalled. “That’s not what I meant.”
“No, I know.” Sashes gives an indulgently long sigh. “But it’s how I feel most of the time. Trent seems so used to the churn; he doesn’t even bother to be polite.”
I hesitate, unsure of how much of what’s going on she knows. “He’s got a lot of stuff going on at the moment. I’m sure it’s nothing to do with you.”
