Page 29 of Perfect Convergence

They were supposed to check in by now. Elliot should’ve called.

Maybe they’re still hiding. They don’t know I shot Tyler.

“Oliver? Are you okay?”

I look at her, but my mind barely registers her form, or the worried expression on her face.

“Oliver, we have to go.”

“I can’t lose them,” I say. It’s a struggle to get the words out of my mouth. My chest is tight, and it feels like my lungs are filled with lead.

Wren gives me a terrified look. And then she’s getting out of the car, coming around, and opening my door. “C’mon,” she says, pulling me out. “I’ll drive. Give me your phone.”

She walks me around to the passenger side, getting me situated before climbing into the driver’s seat. Then she’s turning the car around and driving back the way we came while hitting a few buttons on my phone.

After a second, she places it between her ear and shoulder, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. I try to focus on her face, on the way her hair is wrapped up on top of her head. But it does nothing to stop the panic growing in my chest.

“Rhett didn’t answer,” she murmurs, tapping the phone screen and holding it to her ear again. She takes the curve in the road gracefully, biting her lip. “Elliot isn’t answering either.”

Shit. Fuck. No.

“Oliver, I need you to tell me what to do. Do we go back and try to find them? Is there any reason why they wouldn’t answer?”

“We keep our phones on silent while we work.” I get the words out in between short breaths.

It’s possible they didn’t see her calling.

“Okay. But everyone’s dead, right? The job is over?”

I nod as a tear makes its way down my face. “They don’t know that.”

Or they’re dead.

Fuck. They’re dead.

“Okay. Okay, so do we go back?”

“No.” I rub my face with my hands, soaking them with my tears. “No, we can’t risk getting caught. Someone may have heard the gunfire.”

Wren is silent for a moment. Then she places a hand on my thigh. “I’m sure they’re okay.”

She sounds about as confident as I feel.

And it pulls me deeper into my panic.

CHAPTER EIGHT

WREN

EACH BREATH OLIVER gasps in is like a stab to the heart. His hands are trembling, and when I grab one of them, it’s drenched with tears.

The road is dark and winding, so I go slow, not wanting to slide on a patch of ice and end up in a ditch.

To be honest, I have no idea how I’m staying so calm. But I have one thought and one thought only right now: get as far away from that mess of a crime scene as possible.

As we approach a stop sign, I peer down the road. “Oliver, do I go straight here? Or turn? I don’t remember.”

He doesn’t answer, and when I’ve come to a complete stop, I turn to him. “Oliver,” I whisper, squeezing his hand, but I don’t think he even hears me.

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