“Let’s go chill on the couch,” I say, wishing I could just shove my sister out the door and take these last minutes to say goodbye. To hold Clara close and make them drag her from me, keeping her for every second possible. Forever if I could.
But I can’t, so instead, I drag her into my lap on the couch, and Evie rolls her eyes, but lets me get away with manhandling her conversation partner. Clara’s fingers press against my sternum, the tension in them felt, but unseen. Trips joins us next, leaning back in his chair with a practiced casualness that sets my teeth on edge. RJ and Walker come down a moment later, but head to the kitchen, and during the first break in the conversation, Clara jumps up to get Evie and me drinks, disappearing from the room to say her goodbyes.
She’s just coming back with water when there’s a knock on the door. Trips pushes to his feet, and I drag Clara back into my lap, burrowing my face into her hair, my arms banding around her waist as fear, a kind I can’t turn into something fun, claws at my insides.
I’m not ready for this. I’m not sure I ever will be.
The next sound, a crack and thud, has Evie on her feet, running for the door, RJ barely getting there in time to hold her back, his silent stare enough to cool even my sister’s natural inclination to run toward trouble instead of away from it. There are grumbles from the front, angry sounds without words, and I inch back farther into the couch, wishing there were some way to turn us both invisible.
Evie glances my way, and I can’t lie in this moment. She might be confused, but she’s surrounded by people who know what’s happening, and none of us are happy about it. And I’m sure it’s written across all our faces, Walker coming and kneeling next to Clara and me, his hands in tight fists as he keeps himself from dragging her out of my arms in front of my sister.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper, desperation making my voice quake.
The pounding of boots hits my ears before the door swings open, but then Clara twists in my lap, straddling me, holding me as tightly as I hold her. “You have to, Jansen. You have to, and you will. We can do this.” Her palms cradle my face, her dark eyes burning with force, giving me no choice but to nod as she presses her lips to mine.
Then she’s yanked from my arms, hauled over the shoulder of a gigantic man in black tactical gear, and they’re gone, only the conviction of her gaze lingering as the house falls eerily silent.
“What the fuck just happened?” Evie hisses as I wipe tears from my face.
“The plan,” I mutter, explaining nothing.
Chapter 49
Clara
I’m tossed into the back of a black SUV like a bag of dirty laundry, the giant man stepping away to let a smaller, wiry man through, who locks me in with a seatbelt like I’m a toddler. Something about him looks familiar, and when I note his multihued eyes, I realize he’s the man who talked to me at the masquerade. He’s the one who took those photos last winter, another tail that I wasn’t even watching for.
Anger, at both the violation and the manhandling, surges up, but before I can say anything, he leans across me and mutters in Trips’ ear. “You shouldn’t have come back, Archie.” It stops me in my tracks. It’s not a threat—the statement is coated in regret.
Trips twists his lips, not replying. We have our reasons. But this man doesn’t need to know them.
The man takes a second to pluck both of our cell phones from our pockets, then backs out, leaving me with a sullen Trips,his hands handcuffed to the roof of the vehicle, a red mark that might bruise bright on his cheek. Despite the awkward position he’s in, he still looks like he’s holding court at some exclusive country club—his restraints are just a momentary inconvenience.
I check the door, unsurprised to find it locked, as the wiry man takes the driver’s seat, his face grim as he glances at us in the rearview mirror, the engine still rumbling from when they broke in. Ready for a quick getaway, I suppose.
The fact that I’m loose back here tells me how much of a danger they think I am: obviously none at all.
Trips crosses his ankle over his knee and stares out the window, his mock ease not unexpected, but worrying. I mirror him, though, looking out my window, watching the familiar sights zip away as we drive farther out to the suburbs.
The big guy looks over his shoulder at us, his gaze dismissive as he takes me in. “Are you sure this is the right girl?”
My hands clench in the skirt of my red sundress, then relax, smoothing out the wrinkles, not wanting to show how nervous I am.
The other man gives a curt nod. “That’s her.”
“She was clinging to some other guy, kissing him and everything when I took her. I don’t see why Mr. Westerhouse would want a cheater in the family.”
“It’s above our pay grade to question what the boss wants, so don’t bother trying.”
And that’s the stab to the gut I should expect going forward. Only people willing to hear me out could understand what we all have together. It’s so much bigger than a simple ‘boy meets girl’ story. We’re a mess of so many knots and points of contact that we’re inescapable, parts of a whole, locked together in such a way to turn the separate strings of our lives into a net that can catch even the largest predators.
The miles roll by, Trips and I not sharing a glance, even when the SUV inches through the gate and follows the long winding drive to the former hotel. They get Trips out first, his hands locked behind his back before the wiry man encourages him up the front stairs, leaving the big guy for me. I get out on my own and trail Trips into the house, the picture of docile as the large guard hovers half a pace behind me.
We’re taken straight to Trips’ dad’s office, the path only vaguely familiar. This time, I pay attention, though, catching sight of at least one camera on the way there.
The wiry man knocks, and after a painful wait, we’re called through. Trips’ father doesn’t turn as we’re hustled in, instead looking out the full wall of windows at the back of the office. The view is stunning, vivid greens and red roses chasing down the hill from the house to the lake, a splash from the pool just barely visible to the side, reminding me it isn’t just Trips and me caught here.
“Thank you, Falk,” Trips’ father says, nodding at the wiry man with Trips. My unnamed guard pulls out a chair for me in front of the desk, which I take before he goes to stand with the other man, Falk. They shift so each of them has a hold of one of Trips’ arms.
