But something might happen to my sister, or Lynn, or my parents. I was close, but Nate and Zane had people even closer. I silently got into the car, my head spinning. Did Nate own The Dish? If he did, it made me sick to think that my family ate a very expensive meal there and put money into Nate's pocket. The talk of rezoning and offers made it sound like he sold real estate too, in addition to an underground sex business.
It dawned on me that people would wonder how he had so much money if he didn't have a legitimate job, and the fact that he was ambitious enough to run not only one but two real businesses scared me. Nate loved money and he would do anything to get it. Now I was certain he would think I was more trouble than I was worth.
I hugged my chest and shivered. I had been too wrapped up in anger and fear to realize that I was cold. My slutty costume left a lot of skin open to the chilly fall air. I looked at the dial for the heater and debated on reaching out and turning it on. I turned the radio on once, and Zane pulled over and hit me. Deciding against it, I huddled down in the seat, closed my eyes, and waited until we arrived back at the farmhouse.
Zane exited first, going around the car as he always did to pull me out. Not needing direction from him, I opened my door and slowly walked down the cobblestone path and onto the front porch. I stood to the side so that Zane could punch in the code to open the door. I stepped into the foyer and removed my shoes from my aching feet
Jackson sat on the living room couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, reading. My nostrils flared as I gave him a jealous stare. He looked up from the book, dark eyes flitting from me to Zane, and pushed his eyebrows together in question.
Zane slammed the door so hard a picture fell off the wall and clattered to the floor. Shattered glass scattered on the dark hard wood floors.
"Clean it up," he spat and glared at Jackson before storming up the stairs.
"Everything okay?" Jackson asked and dog-eared a page in his book, making me cringe.
"When will you learn to stop asking me that?" I retorted and walked through the living room. Tears stung my eyes and I shook my head. I swallowed my emotions and went into the kitchen. To my surprise, the basement door was unlocked and open. I hesitated, looking at the open door as if it was some sort of trick. For months, this door was kept under lock and key and here it was, wide open. Something was wrong.#p#分页标题#e#
Fearing something had happened to Phoebe, I pushed past my fear and placed a bare foot on the first step. Dirt and grit stuck to my heel and the wood creaked under my weight. My heart began to beat faster with each step I took.
I finally reached the bottom, the hard, cold concrete familiar on my feet. I reached out in front of me and felt around for the thin white string to pull to turn on the light. I tangled it around my fingers and pulled, bathing the basement in a yellow glow.
"Addie?" Phoebe asked and sat up, blinking. I let out a breath and nodded. "What wrong?" She pushed herself off the cot. "You back too soon."
"Someone saw me," I told her and moved to my cot, which was next to hers.
"Lots of people see us," she replied, confused.
I shook my head. "No, I mean someone saw me and knew who I was. They knew I was kidnapped."
Phoebe's eyes widened, and she almost smiled before she shook her head. "How you come back here?"
"Zane … Zane killed him,” I spat.
Her face blanked. Then shock brought up her eyebrows. “Kill?”
I swallowed and pressed my hands over my chest. “Yeah. He just shot him. Right there.” I moved my hands to my face, pressing my cold fingers on my cheeks. “It was like he panicked.”
“Wow. Kill is messy,” she said. “Maybe he get caught.”
That hadn’t even occurred to me. “That would be wonderful.”
“We can hope.”
I let out a breath. “And I do.” Phoebe gave me a halfhearted smile. "How are you feeling?" I asked her, feeling bad for not addressing it right away.
She shrugged and held out her hands, revealing reddish brown spots. "Doesn't hurt," she assured me when she saw the concern on my face. "But I have headache and bumps here." She pointed under her chin and on the back of her neck.
"Your lymph nodes are swollen," I told her and she gave me a puzzled look. "It means you're sick and your body is fighting an infection."
"Oh," she said and nodded. "I feel okay other than headache," she said. "Just tired."
"Get some rest," I told her. She nodded, pulled the blanket around her shoulders, and lay back down. I began to get that disorienting floating feeling where my mind tried to escape reality. I longed for a book to get lost in, to worry about someone else's problems and forget about my own.