Protecting What's His(62)

He punched Willa’s number in his phone. When she answered, the blast of dance music in the background nearly drowned her voice out completely.

“Where is Ginger?” he demanded. “Did she tell you where she was going?”

“Derek? Wait, hold on. Let me go outside so I can actually hear you.”

By the time she came back on the line, Derek’s patience had reached a breaking point. His voice reflected the strain. “Willa, think. Do you have any idea where your sister might have gone?”

His tone seemed to give her pause. “No. Isn’t she at home?”

Derek paced the hallway like a caged animal. “She’s not here. She left me a note saying she had something important to do.”

Willa didn’t speak for a long moment. “Oh God.”

Derek froze, his hand tightening on the phone. “What, goddammit?”

“I can’t believe this. I really fucked up.”

“Explain. Now.”

She dragged in a gulp of breath. “Earlier this week, I was upset over something. I couldn’t find Ginger. She wouldn’t answer her phone. So I…I called our mother.”

Derek’s vision blurred around the edges.

“I called her house phone,” Willa said quickly. “There’s no caller ID. She doesn’t know we’re in Chicago.”

Relief threatened to swamp him, but there had to be more. He could feel the ax above his head, waiting to drop. “Then how exactly did you fuck up, Willa?”

Willa’s voice shook as she rambled out the story. “My mother told me Ginger stole some money from her. The night we left. Ginger never told me, but it makes total sense now. Why she snuck me out in the middle of the night.”

Derek left behind a gaping Patty, rushing toward his apartment. “And someone back home wants the money back. Is that what your mother told you?”

“Yes,” Willa whispered. “Derek, my sister’s not a thief. You don’t know what it was like—”

He cut her off, already knowing the answer to his question. “Where. Is. Ginger?”

“I think she’s on her way to Nashville. I know her. Just before I left for the dance, she told me she was going to do the right thing. I didn’t know what she was talking about, but it’s the money. It has to be.” Willa choked on a sob. “Oh God, she doesn’t know what’s waiting for her down there.”

“Shit!” Derek hung up and redialed Ginger’s number. He’d planned for every eventuality except Ginger’s willfulness. She’d been the wild card all along. And now his carefully laid plan was blowing up in his face. His fist slammed against the wall as he waited for the beep. “Ginger, you turn the goddamn car around right now or I’m coming after you. Call me back immediately.”

He needed to move. The drive from Chicago to Nashville would take about eight hours and she was already halfway there. Derek hung up the call and grabbed his gun and car keys. Ginger wouldn’t turn the car around. He knew it for a fact.

He crumpled the note in his fist and threw it against the wall. Try not to worry? She would be a target the moment she entered Nashville. Valerie knew Ginger had the money. By now, that information had gotten back to Haywood Devon. And Ginger thought she could waltz back into the picture and return what she’d stolen without any consequences?

Re-holstering his gun, Derek hit redial on his cell and waited once more for the beep, closing his eyes at the sound of Ginger’s soft drawl. God, he wanted her safe in his arms so bad it physically pained him.

“Baby, listen to me. There are things you don’t know. You are walking into a very dangerous situation. Pull over and wait for me, please.” He swallowed. “Ginger, I need you. Don’t do this.”

Derek didn’t wait for her to call back, knowing she wouldn’t anyway. He took two quick steps toward his desk and picked up the file he’d been building on Haywood Devon over the past week, then slammed out of his apartment.

If he broke the speed limit and got lucky with traffic, he would be in Nashville by morning. Every hour would be critical if he had a shot in hell of saving Ginger.





Chapter Twenty-Four

Peering into the darkened house and deeming it empty, Ginger jiggled the broken window leading to her old bedroom, unsurprised to find it still in disrepair. From her position on the ground, she slid the window as far up as possible, then tossed the canvas sack through the opening. When no one came running, she dragged over an old paint can to boost herself over the sill and climbed inside. The sound of her cowboy boots hitting the floor echoed through the still house and Ginger paused a moment to listen for movement besides her own. Silence greeted her ears.