Page 155 of Unruly

She got his point without him directly saying it. He never answered her personal phone because he had his own. Should something be wrong with Cece at her parents’ home, or even if Cross could not get ahold of her, those people had Miguel’s number. They knew to call him when she wasn’t answering.

She hadn’t bothered to put her heels back on after her shower. She’d simply changed into a more comfortable jeans and blouse outfit. It made crossing the room to pick up her ringing phone faster, anyway.

“Hello?” Catherine said into the receiver, balancing the phone between her shoulder and ear. She kept running the towel through her hair, trying to get it to dry faster. The noise in her ear made it difficult to hear whoever was talking on the other end. “Just a sec, I can’t hear.”

Putting the phone on speaker, Catherine said, “Okay, go ahead.”

“Do you have access to a television?”

Catherine’s brow furrowed at Zeke’s voice. “Yeah, why?”

“Can you turn it on?”

Over her shoulder, Catherine waved at Miguel to do what Zeke wanted them to. She heard the television click on, and then voices from a romantic comedy fill the room. “TV is on, Zeke.”

“Get to a major news channel.”

“Like CNN or some shit?” Miguel asked.

“CNN works considering they’ve been running the fucking story on loop ever since they got word of it.”

Catherine nodded, as she supposed that would work. Turning on her heel, she waited to see whatever had Zeke in such an uproar. Like he said, the loop of highlights for the latest news run was going through.

Three soldiers killed in a sneak attack in Siberia.

The President taking his daughter to visit colleges.

A shipment of smuggled guns stopped at the border between Maine and—

“Oh, my God,” Catherine whispered.

“Yeah,” Zeke muttered heavily.

Miguel’s gaze drifted to Catherine, and then back to the television. No one said a thing for a long while—too long, she thought.

Someone needed to say something.

“Where is he?” Catherine asked.

“Not caught,” Zeke said, “but that’s all I know right now.”

“How can that be all you fucking know?”

“I—”

“Where is my fucking husband?”

“Somewhere … there,” Zeke said, his own frustrations leaking through. “You know how Cross is with his runs and shit, Catherine. He lets very few people in on the details. He’s probably thought up ten different escape routes planned for each goddamn road. It’s like thirty damn miles of trees and fields beyond that border. Trees and fields.”

And cabins, Catherine thought.

Creeks, cabins, and a river.

She knew what Cross had been looking at.

“The brownstone,” she said, wishing her voice didn’t sound so faint, “there, Zeke.”

“What?”