It’s a little before noon the next day
when Alden’s cell phone rings. I’m driving, Al asleep beside me,
when the ring cuts through the still air. My knuckles clench the
steering wheel, whitening beneath my anxious grip. The phone rings
again. I shouldn’t answer it; it’s Alden’s phone and isn’t for
me…what if it’s one of his men? I should just let it
ring.
But what if it’s
Tomas?
I look at the phone where it rests by
the gear shift. What if it is Tomas? He has Alden’s number.
Would he think to call it?
If he tried the house and
you weren’t there.
Damn that voice—I want it to be right.
I want it to be Tomas on the other end of the line when I pick up
and I want him to tell me he’s okay, he’s waiting for me and he’s
safe, he’s alive…
I snag the phone before it can ring a
th
