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The phone rang three times, and he started to panic she wasn’t going to answer. Then, finally, her voice.
“Hey, good-looking. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Meeting already over?”
Her voice, sweet and warm, wasn’t enough to still the sudden racing of his heart. “Sylvie, we’re coming back.”
He wanted—needed—to say more, just in case the Trinity Masters got there first, but he was struggling to figure out how to drop that bomb over the phone.
“Oh, hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d see you again until tomorrow. I’m actually not home.”
“Where are you?” he asked, his question capturing Hugo’s attention. The other man frowned.
“I’m headed to Palm Coast, Florida, if you can believe it.”
Lancelot’s blood ran cold. “Why?”
“Alicia called. Asked to see me.”
All bets were fucking off. “Sylvie, turn the goddamn car around now. You can’t go see Alicia—”
“What?” Hugo shouted.
Lancelot didn’t stop yelling into the phone, didn’t bother to shield his words. “She’s not who you think. She’s a murderer. She’s dangerous. Turn around and come back to your house. We’ll meet you there, we’ll explain it all. You’ve got to come home. Now!”
She didn’t reply.
“Sylvie? Sylvia? Hello?!!!”
The line was dead.
“What the fuck is going on?” Hugo asked.
“I think her phone died.” Lancelot slammed his fist against the dashboard. “Goddammit!” He tossed his phone to Hugo. “Click on the tracking app, open it up. We can see if she heard me. If she’s turning her car around.”
Lancelot plugged in the words Palm Coast on the car’s GPS system. Four hours. It was a four-hour drive. Lancelot tried to figure out exactly how long they’d been away from her. Returning to the safe house, searching it, studying the photographs.
Shit. They’d wasted too much time.
Hugo studied the app. “I’ve found her. She’s on US-17. Passing some wildlife management area.”
“Has she stopped? Has she turned around?”
Hugo shook his head. “No.”
She hadn’t heard anything he’d said. None of it. He’d issued the warning, but he’d waited too long, done it too late. And now Sylvia was headed toward a killer.
“How far ahead of us is she?”
Hugo tapped a few buttons on the phone, then cursed. “Two hours.”
Lancelot stomped on the gas, pushing the car up to ninety.
“Lancelot, get a grip on yourself. We don’t know why Alicia called her. She’s clearly fond of Sylvia, cares about her.”
Lancelot shook his head. In his line of work, he’d learned the hard way—too many times—there was no such thing as a coincidence. Somehow, someway, Alicia had found out they were talking to her. There was simply no other explanation. Eric had called him paranoid, and maybe it was true, but Lancelot’s gut told him they’d just done exactly what Hugo had feared from the start.
They’d thrust her into their war.
And they were too far away to protect her from the fallout.
