Page 63 of Catch
“Right back at you, Miss Anderson.”
Just as I was about to pull her fully into my lap and derail the fourth movie entirely, a sound rang out from the back of the house and we both froze.
It was faint, but familiar. Not a knock, not footsteps. Something… electronic? A ringtone?
Loxley’s head snapped toward the hallway. “Shit,” she whispered, suddenly on her feet. She bolted down the hall toward the bedroom, flung open the door, and the ringtone grew louder, shrill and insistent.
I followed her, watching as she grabbed her phone from the bed and silenced it, her fingers trembling slightly.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice escalating, “oh my God, oh my God?—”
“You turned your phone on,” I said quietly. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like I wasn’t suddenly fighting the sick feeling that this was one more step toward losing her.
“Yeah. I forgot I left it on. And I logged into my social media yesterday.” She was pacing now, the phone clutched in her hand. “After what you said to your grandparents… I just wanted to see what everyone was saying. If Sam had posted anything. Or the label.”
I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around her. The phone dropped from her hand and landed on the carpet with a soft thud. She buried her face in my chest, gripping my shirt like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
“Lox,” I whispered into her hair, “you’re safe here. I meant what I said. Unless someone hired a literal ex-CIA agent, turning your phone on isn’t going to blow this whole thing up.”
That was a lie. A well-intentioned lie.
Because deep down, I knew the truth. The people who wanted Loxley back on that stage didn’t care about lines or limits. If they thought she was a paycheck slipping through their fingers, they’d burn the whole world down to get her back.
They already knew she hadn’t flown anywhere. And they knew based on the towed car where shecouldbe. They had several police divisions notified and used a lot of assets as it was.
I knew how it worked and that it was all possible. That is why I’d made damn sure on day one that all accounts she logged into were tied to me. That the card she used to buy things, and the accounts she ordered from were mine. No trails of Loxley were being sprinkled across the internet.
Until she turned her phone on. The GPS was probably pinging her location as we stood there.
I took a little solace in the fact that she hadn’t run from the mafia, though. She wasn’t on the run from a hitman, or from her former life as a spy embedded in war torn countries. They wanted her on the stage, not dead.
They could strong arm her with threats of a lawsuit, but no one would ever lay hands on her again.
Loxley let out a long breath against my chest and tilted her head back to look at me, her hair a mess, her phone still buzzing quietly on the floor.
“Guess I kind of screwed up our peaceful Saturday,” she murmured.
I smiled, brushing a strand of yarn off her shoulder. “Nah. You just made it interesting. But next time, if you want chaos, let’s at least discuss the parameters. And for the love of God, grab that phone and turn it off.”
She laughed and leaned down, once again silencing the call and then turning the phone all the way off. “Think they found me?”
“Probably,” I huffed a laugh, trying to lighten the mood, “but we can deal with that Monday. Today, we are finishing that yarn empire.”
“Milox Enterprises? Creators of high-end chaotic yarn necklaces? Side effects may include?—”
“—me getting yarn burns in questionable places?” I offered, laughing as she swatted me.
The world was about to come knocking, and it was going to try to remind Loxley of who she used to be. I just hoped she remembered who she was now. The woman who made yarn necklaces, who laughed at my terrible jokes, and who kissed me like I was home.
Maybe that wouldn’t be enough to keep the world out forever.
But for now, it was enough to keep it quiet.
Chapter Thirty-Four
MILES
SUNDAY DINNER
