Page 1 of The Weekend Getaway

PROLOGUE

Fifteen Years Ago

Phil

Phil moaned, trying to open his eyes.

His head felt like it had been split open, like a grenade had exploded inside of it. And for a few panicked seconds, he wondered if he’d been shot. If maybe someone had brought a gun to his party and fired it into the crowd. Maybe he’d been standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe the bullet had slammed into his skull.

Groaning in pain, Phil brought his hand to his head, carefully touching his forehead, his hair, praying his fingers wouldn’t sink into a mess of pulpy goo. Moving his fingers back and forth across his head, Phil struggled to open his eyes.

“Phil …”

Wincing, Phil tried to turn his head toward the voice thatsaid his name. A voice that sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“Are you awake? Phil?”

Lids fluttering, Phil took a deep breath. Who was talking to him? Where was he? Why did his head hurt so bad? He coughed, tried to swallow, but choked. His mouth was so dry. Like cotton.

“Phil …”

Managing to get his left eye open, Phil stared at the face hovering above him.

“Alex …”

“Man, thank God you’re okay,” Alex said, exhaling a deep sigh.

Terrified by the worry on Alex’s face, Phil blinked rapidly, forcing himself to wake up. Had he been asleep? Or unconscious? Fear threatened to paralyze him. Had someone hit him on the head? Did he have a concussion? A brain injury? Did he need to go to the hospital? The emergency room?

“What …” Phil coughed, then managed to swallow, nearly gagging on the sour bile in his mouth. “What happened to … my head?”

“Phil, listen to me,” Alex said. “You’re going to be okay?”

“Why does my head hurt?” Phil asked, staring at Alex. “What happened?”

“Your head is fine, okay,” Alex said. “But …”

“But …” Phil prompted, trying to read the expression on Alex’s face. Something was wrong. Something Alex didn’t want to tell him. “But what?”

Alex shook his head, looked away.

Phil’s heart slammed. Something in Alex’s voice, in the way his furtive gaze flitted back and forth, made Phil nervous. Anxious. What the hell wasn’t Alex telling him? What the hell was going on?

“Tell me what happened,” Phil said, pushing himself to a sitting position, glancing around. He was in one of the upstairs bedrooms. But why? What was he doing upstairs? Why wasn’t he down at the party?

Alex was pacing at the foot of the bed, walking back and forth, making Phil dizzy.

“Something … happened … with you and … Sarah …”

“Sarah?” Frustrated by Alex’s hesitation, Phil said, “What the hell?—”

Phil stopped, staring at his right hand. Was that … blood … on his knuckles? His heart dropped into his stomach. He glanced at Alex, who was looking down at the bed. Following Alex’s gaze, Phil stared at the bed sheets draped over him.

White sheets stained with smears and splotches of bright red blood.

CHAPTER 1

MIA

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