Page 89 of Snow Bound

“Ha, ha,” Anna said sourly and peeled the lid back off the ice cream carton.

“One question,” Lola said, still chuckling.

The ice cream had melted some, so Anna just tipped the carton to her mouth and slurped. “What?”

“In this text, did you happen to mention why you snuck out without saying goodbye?”

“Sort of,” Anna hedged, then sighed. “I said it was the best two weeks of my life, and I was grateful for everything he’d done for me.”

Lola rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Anna.”

“Then I said I was in love with him and if he was interested in seeing me again he should call me when he got back to Chicago.”

Lola gaped. “What?”

Anna dug her phone out of her pocket to frown at the screen. “I know he’s not back in town yet, but I kind of expected him to call by now. Do you think it’s a good sign or a bad one that he hasn’t?”

Lola was laughing too hard to answer.

On Sunday morning Grant crossed the Michigan state line into Indiana. He’d been driving for five hours and to say he was in a shitty mood was an understatement. He should’ve waited until morning to leave, but he’d been too full of justifiable rage. He’d worked some of it out setting the house to rights, but there was plenty left to keep him awake, so he’d locked up and hit the road with a sleepy Henry riding shotgun.

After gassing up, that is, because when he’d retrieved his truck from the short-term parking lot at the Marquette airport, he’d neglected to notice the near empty gas tank. Thank God for all night truck stops.

He checked the clock on the dash. It was just after eight in Chicago, and that was late enough. He tapped the in-dash screen to call Simon.

“What the hell?” Simon grunted.

“Run her.”

“What?”

“Run her,” Grant repeated.

There was a rustle of sheets. “Anna?”

“Who else? Go deep—full criminal, employment history, education, credit, family members.”

“Hang on,” Simon began, but Grant ignored him.

“Do the family, too,” Grant said. “Anyone that comes up gets a full run.”

“Sure. One question.”

“What?”

“Why?”

Grant clenched his jaw. “She left.”

“She what?”

“Left,” Grant snapped. “Skipped. Took off. Disa-fucking-peared.”

“What? When?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“She tell you why?”

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