Page 187 of Deliverance

“Oh my fucking God,” she hisses a heartbeat later and I catch relief in her tone. “Zander?”

“Yeah,” I confirm, steadying myself against the furniture, but anxiety and adrenaline are already working their way through my limbs. The restlessness is there, beneath my skin, kicking the rusty gears.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Preston starts talking and my mind puts together the images of her dressed in a tutu with fluffed hair and purple eyeshadow. The night of Santiago’s going away party was the only time I’ve seen her, and somehow, I can’t imagine her looking any different.

“I already called the cops, but the lady I spoke to started asking me all these questions about what she was wearing and what state of mind she was in and I didn’t know what to say…and then I found the ring.”

I grip the edge of the dresser.

“I think you should be the one to call. She was with you last night, wasn’t she? She told me she wasn’t going to come back until Wednesday. That’s why I came in—to accept the shipment. And she never leaves her paint out like this. Open.”

I turn over all the information Preston is dumping at me, then ask, “What about the car?”

“What car?”

“The Lexus? Is it there?”

I hear the slap of footsteps over the cement floor. “No, there’s no Lexus here.”

“Okay.”Think, think, think.“Okay. Did you call her?”

“Only three hundred million times. Her phone is here too. She wouldn’t have left like this, Zander. Something happened to her.”

I know that much now, but I’m not sure what exactly Preston is privy to, and I don’t want to betray Drew’s trust by spilling her secrets to a twenty-year-old. “Okay, I’m heading out. Can you go to her place and see if she’s home?”

“Umm, sure. I don’t know where she lives, though.”

“I’ll send you the address. The security guard at the desk can help you.”

“All right,” she agrees.

Thirty minutes later, I’m on the freeway, driving to L.A.

“Does she smoke or drink?” the scratchy voice pours from the speakers. The police officer I’m talking to has been asking the most ridiculous questions about Drew, and I’m not certain how her habits have anything to do with her disappearance.

“She drinks socially.”

“What does she drink?”

“How is this going to help you find her?”

“Could you please answer the question?”

I will my nerves to calm down, but it doesn’t really help, not with Drew missing and her psychotic ex hiding somewhere out there. I can feel it in my gut that he’s behind it. We discounted the asshole too early.

He has a plan.

It definitely involves the wife.

“Wine, cocktails.” I stammer through the list of beverages she normally consumes, listening to the muffled clicking of the keyboard somewhere in the background as the officer records my answers. He did ask me if the car had a GPS tracking, and I provided him with the company name, but the subject wasn’t pursued any further.

Outside, the dark line of buildings nestled on either side of the freeway changes to the high walls, studded by large square tiles with bright-colored artwork that looks like something Drew would create.

My heart shrinks in my chest at the memories of my last moments with her.

I fought so hard for everything I have that I’m adamant about not giving it up.

I fucking cornered her and perhaps she panicked and ran. Perhaps it has nothing to do with the fact that there’s a man—no, a piece of shit—whose entire life goal can be summed up as one thing only. Harming Drew.

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