Page 88 of Running to You

Sam didn’t need to lean. It was a snapshot of Denise Masters and Grant’s wife, Summer, surrounded by Christmas decorations. Posted on Instagram.

Jon took the phone back, showed it to Grant.

“Oh. A fan.”

“One who doesn’t give a”—his gaze flicked in the rearview—“whit about Denise’s safety, obviously, broadcasting to the world exactly where she is.”

“How did they find us, though?” Eliza asked.

Sam fielded that. “Jon’s truck. It was parked outside the restaurant.”

“Yup.” Jon sounded furious. “I should have been more careful. It just never crossed my mind…”

“But why were they watching Grant?” Sam asked. “I mean, why not Dad or Daniel or—”

“They’re all being watched,” Jon said. “Your whole family.”

“All of them?” Sam’s heart thumped in his chest. He’d known it was possible, in theory, but… Were that many people after Eliza?

“That’s what Gil told me,” Jon said. “Your brothers. Your parents. Gil said they figured you’d eventually reach out to one of them. They put their money on Grant, which is what I would have done. Farthest away, a cop with military experience.”

Grant turned to face Sam, face red, eyes hard. “We practically handed you guys to them.”

“You didn’t know.” Eliza reached into the front seat and squeezed his shoulder. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Are Denise and Summer safe?” Sam asked.

Oh. That hadn't occurred to Eliza. “Did we put them in danger?”

“They’re fine,” Jon said. “I called them right after the attack and told them to get an Uber home.”

“I’m sure Summer went from buddy to bodyguard in about three seconds,” Grant added. “She can handle herself. She’s always armed and ready. And on her guard when she’s with Denise.”

“I’m sorry.” Tears wobbled Eliza’s voice. “I never meant for any of this to happen. To pull you guys into this. It all just spun out of control.”

Sam handed her his handkerchief, itching to hear what she remembered. “Take us back to Colton’s car.”

“We’re going there, but you won’t be driving it.” Jon reversed out of his spot. “There weren’t that many cars on that street, and only one with Maine plates. I assume you were in the Porsche?”

“Yeah.”

“Even if they didn’t get the license number, how many cherry red Porsche 911s do you think are registered in Maine?”

Grant said, “Seriously, bro. Could you have picked a more conspicuous car?”

“I didn’t plan on them finding us.”

“Plans go awry,” Jon muttered.

No kidding. “So what are we doing?”

Grant said, “We’re meeting Michael.”

“What?” Sam couldn’t help the anger in his voice. “Forget it. I’m not putting him in danger too. Besides, I’m sure he has better things to do than—”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Grant said. “He’s your brother. He wants to help.”

Sam seriously doubted that.