Page 117 of Wicked Sin

I dial him again, and this time the phone goes straight to voicemail.

Something is wrong.Something is wrong, and I don’t have a car, because a mad man blew it up, and Luke’s house is a solid twenty minutes away anyway.

He once told me to call 911 if anything happened. If I had a worry for any reason.

I’m sure, sickeningly so, that something terrible has just happened. My fingers shake as I dial.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

Oh God, oh God, oh God. If Luke’s phone has just died, I’m going to be very sorry about this. “I was talking to a cop just now, and his phone went dead. Now I can’t reach him. His name is Luke Vasquez and his address is…” I fumble over it, forgetting the street number. My words are spilling out too quickly, not making much sense, but I’m sure in my head that there’s a problem and I can’t fix it by myself. “He just arrived home. He called me from his garage, and then we got disconnected. And I know that sounds crazy, but he arrested a Secret Service agent for stalking me, and there’s a solid chance that someone isn’t happy with him. Can you check if Perry Newcomb is still in jail?”

I hear myself.

I hear that I sound crazy.

“Ma’am, please stay on the phone. We’re dispatching a police unit to that address right now.”

Fuck this shit. Stay on the phone. I jump out of bed, my legs just as shaky as my fingers, and I run into the living room. I need my purse, I need a hoodie, and I need to get to Luke’s house. “I have to go,” I say out loud. To myself, to the dispatcher.

“Ma’am—”

I hang up and go into the Uber app. Is it wrong to ask a complete stranger to drive you to a crime scene?

Well it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done something morally ambiguous.

But my fucking credit card doesn’t work, so I call Cole, crying.

“I’ll get you a ride,” he says. “We’ll meet you there.”

“I’m not waiting for your guys, Cole.”

“I have Uber, too. It’s okay. Go downstairs. Someone will be there soon. Do not go into the house even if police have arrived. You don’t want to see it, Taylor.”

It. A crime scene.

Luke maybe killed because of me.

I’m sobbing by the time I get to the lobby. My Uber is waiting for me, a nice-looking guy named Muhamet who offers me tissues and turns down his radio. “You are not Cole?”

“It’s complicated,” I whisper through tears.

It’s probably better if he thinks I’m running away from a break up or something rather than toward a—

My phone rings again. I don’t recognize the number, so I don’t answer it.

Then Cole calls back. “I’m in the car,” I say.

“So are we.”

“Who’s we?”

“Me and one of the guys.” One of his goons. “Your sisters are at the hotel. You could go there. I can deal with whatever’s on the scene.”

“No.” I swallow around razor blades in my throat. I need to go to Luke. “I’ll see you there.”

I hang up the phone.

Then I turn it off. Back on again. Another unknown number call. Maybe that’s the police telling me not to be an idiot, that Luke is fine. I wait until the strange number goes away, then I try his phone again. Still no answer.

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