The thought drifts through my head, and I wave it away.
I could.
I probably should.
But instead, I pick up Donovan’s phone.
“Donovan! I was just talking about you,” he says, picking up after the first ring. His voice is bright and cheery. If I’d had any suspicion that Oakley was the one who hurt Donovan, this would alleviate it.
“Who would want to hurt him?”
There’s a pause, and all that bravado and charming cheer is gone when Oakley speaks again. “Is he there?”
“No,” I spit, looking around the apartment. “He’s not here. The door was open and the place looks like there was a fight.”
Oakley snorts. “I don’t know many people who could take Donovan in a fight.”
My fingers feel numb as I make my way across the room, gently trying to straighten the posters.
I only end up cutting the tips of my fingers on the shattered shards of glass.
“His posters are fucked up, Oakley. If you’re as close as you say you are, tell me I’m wrong. Go ahead.”
There’s a beat of silence, an intake of breath, and then a low sound that’s almost a growl.
“I’ll fucking kill him.”
Kill him.
That means he knows who did this.
“Who?”
“Have you called the police?” Oakley snaps instead of answering me, and I bark out a laugh.
“Right, because I can trust them to handle this in a timely fashion. No, I haven’t called the police. I need tofindhim, Oakley. So who did this?”
Like he’s not listening to me at all, I hear him start to shuffle around. “I can be on a plane in less than an hour and on my way there.”
I’ll give him points for being a good friend, because I have a feeling Oakley would draw the same logical conclusion that I am as to exactly what needs to happen to the person who took Donovan.
Which means I need him to listen even more. Him getting on a fucking plane to fly across the entire country is going to behoursof Donovan being gone.
We don’t have hours.
“You were right when you met me, Oakley.” The confession cuts him off short—the sound of rummaging stops. “I’m just as dangerous as you think I am. Whatever you were imagining that day when you saw me in his apartment, I’m worse. I know for a fact you’re halfway across the country… and webothknow that someone who would take Donovan isn’t going to play around while you get on a flight and come here.”
We both know.
Because Oakley is like me, and the low hiss of anger that escapes his lungs before he snorts confirms it. “There’s a reporter who’s been giving him trouble.” The information comeseasily, and I already expect the words that spill out after. “This is all your fucking fault. Iknewyou were fucked.”
“Yeah, welcome to the plot, Oakley. Though maybe Donovan is lucky that I’m here so I can take care of the problem.”
“I could?—”
“How long have you known about it?” I hiss, and he pauses.
That’s answer enough.
