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But whatever he was going to say, Drew never sent a reply back as I refreshed the screen to the point of obsession.
So I called him. I’d make that fucker answer me.
Except, it rang and rang. It didn’t even go to voicemail.
Not only was the bastard not picking up, he wasn’t giving me an opportunity to ask him questions or vent my frustration.
What a dick move.
“Fuck!” I yelled to the bright moon as if it might reveal revelations to me.
The panic spreading through my body was like a boiling poison corrupting my soul. As if it possessed a hundred feet, I could feel it crawl up my legs as it formed knots deep in my stomach. My chest ached, my heart pounded, my fingers were slowly going numb. Stabbing spears of pain exploded behind my eyes each time I attempted to blink back the river of tears falling down my cheeks.
It was a stupid, fleeting thought, but just the knowledge that I could walk to the cliff and just keep walking was an oddly comforting decision. It was something I could decide, something I could control. Instead, I stood here in agony, letting everything happen to me. Every decision happened to me.
I wanted—no, I needed—to feel some semblance of control over my life.
And that meant getting answers from Drew.
I’ll just go to Vegas, I decided. He can’t ignore me if I confront him in person.
The Vaulteneaus had multiple jets, right? I’d be in Vegas in less than two hours. Except, I had no clue how to arrange the logistics. Would Davies to take me to the airport? Who contacted the pilot? Could that occur in real time or was it scheduled in advance?
It didn’t matter. It was a sound plan, I told myself as I mentally consulted the checklist in my head.
I pulled open drawers and invaded my closet to pack an overnight bag with enough clothes and toiletries to get me through a few days. I’d crash at Raj’s apartment. I’d call him when I got to the airport. This was going to work out. Some of my earlier panic subsided.
In my goal to avoid Matty and the rest of the big house’s staff, I kept my head down as I entered the servant stairwell and descended into the basement section.
When I found myself in the garage, I hunted for Davies’ office, which was near the stairwell.
She was sitting at a desk facing away from the doorway. Against the wall, dozens of car keys hung from hooks while her attention was focused on the monitors on her desk. There were CCTV camera feeds for the vehicle gate, the pedestrian gate, various sections of the outside perimeter of the property, as well as several cameras from inside the garage. I wondered if someone sat here day and night to keep an eye on things.
“Um, Davies,” I said in as natural a voice as possible.
The compact Black woman swiveled around in her chair but relaxed her tense shoulders when she saw it was me. I hadn’t had much interaction with Davies, but she struck me as a no-nonsense woman of few words. Based on bits of conversation here or there, I knew that she was a prior military soldier who drove armored vehicles in combat zones, but in that moment, as she came to a standing position, her dark eyebrows knit together as she studied my face.
Davies tried, and failed, to hide her grimace when I plastered a smile on my face.
I wasn’t exactly a professional at hiding my emotions.
Her gaze shifted to the gym bag hoisted over my shoulder.
“Going somewhere, Mr. Galbraith?” Davies asked in a tone one might use with a wounded animal.
“Yes,” I blurted. I knew my tear-streaked face spoke volumes, but it was none of her business. It was no one’s business. For once, the stoic, non-interfering nature of every Vaulteneau employee worked in my favor. Davies didn’t pry. I asked her, “Can you drive me to the airport?”
“Are we picking up someone from arrivals or…?”
“I need to get to Las Vegas as soon as possible. It’s an emergency. Maybe you can advise me if the jet can fly me there?”
Something like sorrow filled her warm amber eyes. “Captain Sosa flew the Challenger 606 to LaGuardia Airport in New York yesterday in anticipation of Mr. and Mrs. Vaulteneau’s stateside arrival. The captain will stay put until their departure. Can your trip wait a few days?”
“No, it cannot,” I said as I pivoted out of her office. Her rapid footsteps tapped against the concrete as she caught up to me. For as far as the eye could see, the Vaulteneau garage was filled with dozens of vehicles. One of them could get me to Las Vegas. I had a driver’s license. “Can I borrow a car, Davies?”
46
MATTHIAS
