Page 14 of Broken Princess

I tried tracing Amelia's phone after that phone call, of course, but came up dry. Hopefully Carrillo has some more methods of investigation up his sleeve.

By now, everyone at school is talking about the fact that Amelia is missing, but they still haven't put two and two together about who and what she is.

I'm about to head out of the dorm when the front door flies open and Anthony appears on the other side. "Oh, good. You're here."

I raise an eyebrow. "Now those are words I never imagined I would hear coming from you."

He rolls his eyes in exasperation and slams the door, glancing around the open room. "Is anyone else here?"

I hesitate, glancing at the stairs. "Calvin and Theo left a few minutes ago, so no, I don't think so."

"Good," he mutters, stalking into the living room and dropping his messenger bag by the couch I'm sitting on. "There's something we need to discuss. It's about Amelia."

That part's not a surprise, considering that's the only reason he would talk to me, but he hasn't been telling me to stay the fuck away from her quite as often lately.

"What is it?" I ask, resisting the temptation to start grilling him.

He purses his lips and studies me intently, like he’s still not sure he wants to come out with it. "You haven't heard from her, have you?"

I hesitate. "She is hiding from me, remember? You said it yourself."

He gives me a weary look. "Enough bullshit, I know you stole my phone and called her."

I snort a laugh. Of course she told him that. "So I did. If you're asking if I've heard from her since that, no. Have you?"

The troubled look on his face is enough of an answer.

And suddenly, I go from freaking out to melting down.

Anthony is Amelia's best friend. Practically a brother. She definitely would’ve told him if she was leaving wherever the hell she went to in the first place, and she would've stayed in contact regularly.

The one and only thing that kept me from having a complete meltdown before is that I can grudgingly acknowledge Anthony wouldn't let her get hurt, so if he's calm, there's probably reason to be.

I still don't like it, though. The fact that he's lost track of her is proof I'm right not to.

"I haven't heard from her in a couple of days," he admits.

"A couple of days?" I ask. "Is that unusual?"

"Obviously," he says in an impatient tone, folding his arms. "I know your idea of friendship is a bunch of meatheads to howl at the screen with whenever they're playing sport ball or whatever, but some people actually talk to each other."

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. "I prefer playing to watching, and when was the last time you heard from her?" I ask, standing from the couch. "Be specific."

From the way his demeanor changes, I can tell I'm not staying quite as chill as I plan to, and he takes a subtle step back. One I'm not even sure he recognizes. I tend to have that effect on people.

With one notable exception.

"Friday night, around nine, I think," he says, raking a hand through his hair. "It was right before I went to a concert or off campus, so it had to be around then."

"And where was she?" I demand.

He hesitates again, but just as I'm about to remind him of the gravity of the situation, he finally answers, "Vegas."

"Vegas?" I echo. "Are you serious?"

Vegas is just about the last place Amelia would go, to the point where I wonder if he's fucking with me.

"That's the point," he says, as if reading my mind. "It's a big city, it's cheap, and it's the last place you'd think she was."

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