Page 90 of Don’t Open Your Eyes

“See?” Avery said. “I bet he’s as curious about you as you are about him. Send him a message and see if you can meet.”

Scarlett began to type.

Annabelle

Annabelle paced as she waited to hear from Chase. She had wanted to go with him to pick up Lucas, but Chase was right; this wasn’t the way to meet him for the first time. Her phone rang and she jumped. Chase.

“Hey! Did you pick him up?” she asked.

“He wasn’t there. I’m heading to the house now. Tara picked him up early.”

“Shit! I knew it. I have a bad feeling, Chase. Can the police call airports? Alert them?”

“She’s not a fugitive. I don’t have any legal recourse until they serve her. Hopefully, they’re still at the house. I’ll call you back.”

Annabelle put down the phone and tried to take a deep breath. She was pumped full of adrenaline with no way to release it. She had to do something; she couldn’t just sit here and wait. She was going crazy. She knew Chase’s address. Before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed her purse and ran to her car.

—

Twenty minutes later, she pulled up to the house and saw that Chase’s car was parked in the driveway. He and Tara were in the front yard, and Tara was yelling. Annabelle flung her car door open and ran over to them.

“What’s going on? Where’s Lucas?”

Tara turned toward her, hatred in her eyes, then back to Chase. “What’s she doing here?”

“I want to know where my son is!” Annabelle said.

“He’s not your son. I raised him! You’ll never get him!” She poked her finger into Chase’s chest. “Tell your whore to get out of here, before I have her arrested for trespassing.”

It took everything in Annabelle’s power to hold herself back from striking the woman who had tried to kill her daughter. Tears of fury and helplessness spilled to her cheeks. “You’re vile! What kind of a mother would do what you did!”

Tara sprang toward her, her fist reaching out to hit Annabelle, but Chase jumped in front of her. “Where’s Lucas?” he yelled.

She looked at him with dead eyes. “He’s gone.”

The Wife—Tara

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Chase yells, his face inches from mine. I take my time answering, enjoying the look of fear in that bitch’s eyes.

I give Chase a bored look. “He took off on his bike. He said he needed to get some air. He was upset about all this trial stuff. He’ll be home later, and I’ll have him call you. For now, get the hell out of here.”

I don’t tell them the truth. That the little sneak snuck out. I went to check on him half an hour ago, and he wasn’t in his room. I went to the garage and saw that his bike was gone. I finished packing his suitcase, and I’ll be picking him up as soon as these two get out of here. The air tag under his bike seat keeps me posted on his every move. He’s at a park a few miles from here. Maybe he went there to cool off or to meet a friend. It doesn’t matter. His ass is getting on that plane with me.

The two of them look at each other, and I see red. Already coconspirators? Let’s see how long she waits for him once he’s given a prison sentence.

“What are you waiting—”

My words are cut off by the sound of a police siren. What’s going on? The car stops in front of the house, and two men get out and walk toward us.

“Mrs. Tara Sommers?”

“It’s Tara Winters,” I correct him.

“Winters,” he corrects himself. “You’re under arrest for the hit-and-run of Scarlett Reynolds.”

What is this fool talking about? “My husband did that. Not me!”

“Also, for perjury and making a false report to law enforcement. Please put your hands behind your back.”