"Blakely," Riggs calls again.
I tear down the steps, past the media, who scream at me.
Noah's getting out of his car. I call out, "Noah!"
He assesses the situation, then meets me a few steps from the car. He ushers me into the backseat. "Get in."
"Blakely!" Riggs shouts again.
I slide into Noah's backseat, and he follows.
Riggs pounds on the window, and the driver takes off.
We weave in and out of the L.A. streets as more shock fills me.
I need to find out what Riggs sent them.
How could he do this?
No. My father has to be lying.
Riggs is capable of anything.
My gut flips faster.
Noah quietly asks, "Blakely, what's going on?"
I stay quiet, fighting tears.
"Blakely?" Noah asks again.
I blurt out, "I need you to take me to Malibu."
"Why there?"
"I need to go home before Riggs gets there. Can you take me?"
"Sure," he agrees and pushes the button for the divider. He tells the driver, "Malibu. Blakely, what's the address?"
I state it, then Noah puts the divider window up.
"What did Riggs do?"
I don't answer, just shake my head and turn toward the window, doing my best to hold in my tears.
When we pull up to the gate, I order, "Stay here, please." I get out, put my hand on the screen, and the side door opens. I get through the gate, then put my hand on the alarm for the house and go directly to the bedroom.
I grab a suitcase out of the closet, open it, and toss a few outfits inside. I go into the bathroom and gather my toiletries. Then I slide it into the zippered pocket of the suitcase.
My hand hits something. I pull it out, and the hairs on my arms rise. It's a burner phone, similar to the one Riggs gave me.
My gut tells me to turn it on. I push the button, and my stomach pitches. There's only one number on it. It's my father's.
I scroll through the text messages, feeling more ill with each one. My voice fills the air, and my face and body appear in multiple audio and video clips.
How could he?
My father's angry, threatening messages and Riggs's taunting ones all become blurry.