Chapter Two
"What the fuckare you talking about?" Rhys is at my side in an instant. Squatting down, he pulls my hands away. I was mostly talking to myself, but he’s searching my eyes for any hint of seriousness.
"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that," I mumble, swallowing over the sudden lump in my throat.
Did I, though?
I stare at our interlaced fingers.
Rhys rolls back on his heels, not letting go of me. "Babe, talk to me." His tone is wary.
I'm a coward. I didn’t think twice about chasing my past, despite being fully aware of my kidnapper being out there. But the mere thought of walking back into Westbridge High makes me want to run. Add Francis Turner into the mix, and I'm more scared than when I woke up at the vineyard.
I force myself to make eye contact. "Nate doesn’t think it’s safe here."
"What do you mean?" Rhys cocks his head, watching me closely.
I feel sick just thinking about what my brother found out today. "Francis Garrison Turner died thirteen years ago."
His face drains of color, and I continue, "Turner was a former Army Ranger. He was dishonorably discharged for attacking a superior officer under the influence of narcotics. He died not long after. His car went over a cliff on the Pacific Coast Highway."
"California?" Several emotions flash across Rhys’s face at once.
I nod. This is not a coincidence.
"Are we sure it’s the same guy?"
Standing up, I pull Rhys with me into the bathroom. I motion for him to take a seat on the closed toilet while I dig through my feminine products. With the burner phone in hand, I move in front of him and hold it out. "Check the texts."
Rhys does as he’s told. I don’t have to ask if he found the evidence my brother sent over; his grip on the phone intensifies to the point of his knuckles turning white.
Nate discovered the proof that we’re dealing with the same guy after doing some digging. Don’t ask me how he did it, but he got a hold of Francis Garrison Turner’s old driver’s license picture, as well as the police accident report and death certificate.
Rhys looks up. "The report says the body was unidentifiable."
"Keep reading."
I memorized it hours ago. The accident happened in the middle of the night; the crash site wasn’t discovered until mid-morning. Turner’s SUV went through a barrier and crashed onto the rocks. The car caught fire on impact, just to later be submerged by the tide. The first responders were able to secure the vehicle enough to pull the body out. The DNA evidence indicated that the remains were Turner’s, who owned the SUV.
"What are we gonna do now?" Rhys’s question snaps me out of recapping the gory details in my head.
He is so not going to like the answer to that.
I pry the phone out of his hands out of fear he'll send it flying. "Nate wants me to come to LA, and George wants me to stay put and act as bait to figure out what Turner wants."
Crash.
And there goes my toothbrush holder. Damn it!
"ARE THEY FUCKING INSANE?" he yells.
"Lower your voice! Tristen is home," I whisper-shout.
Rhys stands, jamming his hands in his hair and tugging on the strands. With his back to me, he exhales, "I can't take this shit anymore!"
Those are his parting words before I’m alone in my bathroom.
Unsure what to do, I stare at my bed through the now open bathroom door. I'm about to return the burner to its hiding spot to follow Rhys when it starts vibrating in my hand. Quickly, I close the door again and answer the call.