Casey’s mouth fell open. “If you hadn’t—”
Travis cut him off. “Henry must be proud of you, huh?”
Swallowing the sudden lump in my throat, I stared out the car window. “I wouldn’t know,” I said softly.
Travis’s phone rang then, thankfully interrupting the conversation. He answered it and I tuned the call out, instead thinking of my brother. What had I gotten myself into, agreeing to spend weeks with a whole bunch of people I didn’t know? A sudden ache of loneliness welled in my chest. I fought the urge to message John and tell him that I needed him here to hold my hand.
“Grace?” Casey spoke quietly.
I glanced up, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. “What?”
His eyes flicked to the road briefly before returning to the mirror. He shook his head, dismissing me. “Nothing.”
Soon after, we pulled up to the huge duplex where Henry lived. There was a mammoth security gate out front with black cameras trained on the drive like scary sentinels. I concluded the high brick fence was new going by the dug out turf bordering along the edges. There was no doubt fame had stripped their anonymity. It had probably resulted in rabid fans camping out on their doorstep until better security measures were put in place.
As though Casey’s car had just said “open sesame,” the gates began opening, allowing us through the drive. The amount of parked cars announced it as a current hive of activity. They ranged from a huge blue Hilux to a gleaming black Porsche and a savage looking Subaru.
Travis and Casey exited the car, but my confidence gasped its last breath like a rapidly deflating balloon. I went for the door handle but my hand wouldn’t move. What if I let Henry down? What if—
My phone rang, cutting off my meltdown.
Digging through my bag, I pulled it out and checked the screen.
Shit.
Suddenly the urge to projectile puke all over the interior of Casey’s unicorn car overwhelmed me.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
My glance fell on Mitsy chewing the interior with his inherent ferocity. He had bigger balls than I did. The tough little furbeast could probably teach me a thing or two.
With a churning stomach, I hit the answer key and put the phone to my ear.
“H-hello?”
“Grace,” came the firm male voice on the other line.
“Yes?” I whispered.
“You know we’ve been trying to reach you for two weeks now.”
“I-I know. I just … I’m sorry, but—”
“Did you receive the package we sent you?”
“Yes,” I whispered repetitively. My brain couldn’t seem to grasp much more out of the English language than a simple word.
When the call ended, I threw the phone back in my bag like it was viper about to bite my face off. Oh God. Why did I have to answer?
Stupid, stupid girl.
The passenger door closest to Mitsy flew open and Travis ducked his head. “Coming?” His eyes widened in panic as they fell on the mutilated seat. Mitsy must have felt the sudden vibe of terror because he growled ominously.
“You’re dead,” Travis said. “You know that, right? It was nice knowing you, Grace, and it was a privilege to have you share your last moments with me.”
I fought the urge to laugh hysterically. It was quite possible my life was forfeited already anyway. The thought made me gag, literally, and Travis’s eyes widened further. “You okay?”
“Absolutely,” I muttered on a heave. Knowing I needed to pick my battles meant Casey was priority threat number one. I ran my eyes over Travis’s thickly muscled, six-foot-three frame with hope. “You’re a big dude, Travis. You can take him in a fight, can’t you?”
Travis shook his head. “These muscles are for display purposes only.”
“Har har. Thanks for noth—”
I flinched wildly when a loud rap came on the car window next to me and my head bumped the roof of the car. “You coming in, Slim, or are you going to sit in my car all day talking to yourself?”
“Go,” Travis whispered with sudden urgency. “I got this.” He shut the door, offered a quick thumbs up, and walked around the back of the car. “Oh shit,” he said loudly. “Is that a scratch on the back of Marjorie?”
“What the fuck?” Casey squawked before disappearing from view. Marjorie? The big badass car with the massive, motherfucker tyres was called Marjorie? “The eighteen hundreds called, Casey, they want their name back,” I mumbled under my breath.
Realising I had only a short window of time to escape, I shouldered my bag and put Mitsy in a stranglehold. Bracing myself, I pushed the car door open and got out, shutting it quickly behind me. I was setting Mitsy on the grass when they concluded the potential scratch was simply a false alarm and returned to my side. I flashed Travis a grateful smile. He returned it before humming the death march as he wheeled my suitcase up the driveway.