Page 46 of Theo

“Don’t do anything stupid, or I will kill the girl.”

“Yes, sir.”

The line goes dead, but I barely notice. That cannot happen. I won’t allow it. Taking a deep breath, I dial the number I’ve had memorized for the last ten years. It rings for almost a minute before he answers.

“Tonight. Seven o’clock. The Manor.”

“I’ll see you there.”

The call ends with a click, and I release the rest of the air in my lungs. Charity and I need to finish our talk, and then I need to get her out of Forest Falls.

Moving across the house with renewed purpose, I carefully open the door to the bedroom, checking to make sure I won’t hit Charity if she’s still on the floor. When I don’t see her sitting there, my eyes dart around the room, but she’s nowhere to be found.

“Charity?”

My call goes unanswered, but I continue checking the rest of the rooms in the house until I can be one hundred percent certain.

She’s gone.

THIRTEEN

THE END

THEO

I hate this driveway.

I hate this dark and drafty mansion.

I hate this suit.

I hate these assholes.

I hate smiling.

That’s a new one, and it makes me pause. I’ve been coming to the Father’s “soirées” for the better part of the last twenty years, and my list of things I hate about them has been growing steadily over time.

It’s been a while since I’ve added something new to the list, but “smiling” isn’t coming very easily to me at this moment.

It becomes even more difficult when I spot Edmund Lawson walking toward me.

“Grady.”

“Lawson.”

His face contorts into something like a smile, and I wonder if he knows. Dane said Charity went back to his apartment, but did she stay there? Her car is still in the parking lot of his building, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t leave with someone else.

I should put a tracker on Dane’s car.

“You’re looking rather broody this evening. Something troubling you?”

Would it hurt my chances with Charity if I stabbed her father to death? “Your presence tends to be a difficult adjustment, but don’t worry. I’ll survive it.”

Edmund’s eyes narrow, all pretense of friendliness gone. “I told him about you.”

“That’s nice and vague,” I sigh, grabbing a flute of champagne off a passing tray. “But I assume you mean you told the Father I came to dinner the other night?”

“That you came to collect,” he corrects.

---