Page 91 of Fangirl Down

Oh God. Something very bad had happened. He knew it. Heknewit.

Unable to think of any other options, Wells called his manager. He was twenty minutes from Palm Beach at this point, having cut the drive time in half by illegal means.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite golden goose.”

“Nate, please. I need help.”

Two seconds of silence. “Oh Jesus, Wells. Don’t tell me you’re in jail again. You can’t expect me to keep this out of the press. There are so many eyes on you right now—”

“I’m not in jail. I need Josephine’s address.” He couldn’t even recognize his voice as it slurred out of pure fear. “Didn’t she fill out some kind of form or whatever when she entered that contest?”

“I... yeah. But I can’t share that information. I told you that already.”

“It’s an emergency, Nate,” he growled. “Give me the fucking address!”

Something in Wells’s tone must have gotten through to the manager, because a moment later, the sound of computer keys started to click. Wells pressed even harder on the gas pedal, weaving his car in and out of traffic, ignoring the outraged honks sounding in his wake.

“Okay, here it is,” Nate came back, serious now. “Seven one one Malibu Bay Drive. Apartment six.”

“Text it to me, too,” Wells ordered, the address imprinting itself on his brain. “Thanks.”

He hung up the phone and shouted the location at the navigation screen, surprised when it came up despite his frantic tone. Six minutes. He’d be there in six minutes.

Still no blood sugar number for Josephine on the app.

What was he going to walk into?

His brain couldn’t even go there.

“Please, God, let her be okay.” The air conditioner had turned the sweat to ice on his skin, but he barely noticed. “I’ll be a nicer person. I’ll sell this car and give all the money to charity. I’ll never break another club. I’ll donate both of my kidneys. Yes, both. Take my soul, while you’re at it. Take everything. Whatever you want,I’ll do it. Please.”

***

Josephine woke up to the sound of her apartment door being kicked in.

She jackknifed on the couch, screaming so loud that it could be heard clear to Orlando.

This was it. HerDatelinemoment.

A robbery gone wrong.Or was it?questioned Keith Morrison.

Who would robher, though? She had nothing of serious value in the apartment. Her clubs were kept in a locker at the golf course. Jewelry? Did they want the locket from JCPenney her mother had given Josephine at her graduation brunch? Because she would stab first and ask questions later, if they went anywherenearthat locket—

Hold on.

Wakefulness collided with reality, bringing life back into focus.

She wasn’t being robbed. Not unless this shirtless, six-foot-two golfer with wild eyes had fallen on seriously desperate times.

“Wells?”

He didn’t move. Not right away. He simply continued to stare at her, chest heaving, the door behind him hanging off its hinges.

Finally, he held up his phone and pointed at it. “No dots.”

“What?”

He struggled through a swallow, his voice little more than a scrape. “There was an urgent low and then you just... went off the fucking map.” His breath sounded more like a wheeze. “And you wouldn’t answer your phone, Josephine. I thought... I thought you...”

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