Page 230 of Midnight Curfew

Yanking open the doors, we climb into his Supra, and in seconds, we’re racing down the road toward St. Carmen.

How did she get to Marymount? Why?

She knows she’s not supposed to go anywhere without letting me know.

“Is your father tracking her?” Dallas asks, driving.

I shake my head, still distracted. “Uh, I pay for her phone,” I breathe out. “Ava and I monitor her settings, but…”

Who knows if he found a way to track it. We can’t make a move anymore without leaving a footprint.

He taps the screen of his phone on the mount, and I hear it ring several times.

He ends the call. “Army’s not answering.”

Should I call the police? Grady can be trusted. I think.

“Shit.” I roll down the window to get some air. My damn heart is about to explode. “Why would she leave without telling us?”

Did someone tell her I was there? Was she lured?

She knows to use Uber in an emergency, but she’s never had to. She uses her bike—which is at the house—or she uses…

Barnes.

Oh, shit.

Quickly, I call the driver. I would think someone would’ve noticed a sleek black car coming into the Bay, but you can’t see the road from the pool, and Dallas’s brothers are still out handling shit. Except for Trace, who’s at the pub.

Barnes picks up after two rings. I don’t wait for him to say hello.

“Did you pick up Anna-Katherine?” I burst out.

“Yes,” he replies. “We’re at the school.”

I wet my throat, thankful it wasn’t someone else who got her there under false pretenses.

“I’m waiting for her outside,” he tells me. “Something about checking her art after the storm.”

Right. The windows. She was probably panicked when she realized that St. Carmen probably had downed trees like Sanoa Bay.

“She called you, right?” I press.

“Yes.”

I almost smile, relieved.

Then it hits me, and my nerves fire again. I pull the phone away from my ear, looking to Dallas. “He’s not tracking her,” I whisper, “but he’s tracking the driver.”

If my father is in town, he uses the car. If it’s not at home, he’ll look to see where my stepmother or I’m at.

Sweat beads on Dallas’s neck. “Fuck.”

I hold the phone to my ear again. “I need you to go in and get her,” I say loud and clear. “Tell her I said it’s not safe. I’m on my way.”

“Your father just arrived,” he retorts. “He’s with her now.”

My heart sinks into my stomach. Goddammit!