If Dad trusted the plan, where is he? Looking for Clay?
A sickness knots my stomach. I know that’s where he’s gone.
Sighing, I sit down, plant my elbows on my knees, and bury my face in my hands.
What’s he even thinking?
If there’s anyone who’s horribly conscious of what Clay can do, it’s Dad.
He has absolutely nothing to gain by chasing down that man.
And if he’s thinking about surrender, throwing himself on a madman’s altar, trying to save me...then he doesn’t get it. There’s one prize he wants, and one prize only that’ll ever satisfy him.
Me.
The cell phone in my back pocket buzzes then, just as it has since morning.
Amy and Alicia are excited about the shindig, all the famous people who’ll be there.
I’d foolishly gotten caught up in that, too. The party planning. And in their friendship...
Maybe this is what I get for accepting a little normalcy in my life.
Dreading what’s on the screen, I force myself to wake the phone and tap the text messenger icon.
It’s an attachment from a number I don’t recognize.
I consider not opening it, but bite my lip and do it anyway.
My heart stops.
My only instinct is to scream.
“Ridge!”
He’s at my side a second later, grabbing the phone from my numb hands, staring at the picture.
Our old Ford, half-sunken in the ditch, rolled over, its window shattered like busted teeth.
I’m too mortified to even shudder.
The Ford probably didn’t even have functioning airbags. No updated safety features whatsoever.
Nothing like the new truck Tobin was in when they ran him off the road.
Ridge makes a dash for his phone, rips it off the table, and starts thumb-punching at the screen.
I don’t know why he bothers. It’s too late. There’s no one to help Dad now.
“Here, look at this,” he says, holding his phone in front of my face.
A short video starts up, two pickup trucks, one red and one green, both waiting just off to the side at the end of the driveway as Dad sped by. Of course they pursued.
Ridge clicks on another button.
Bile rises in my throat.
It’s another short clip, Dad being pulled out of our Ford—alive, thank God—and shoved in the back of the red truck. Then another video plays with the green truck ramming the side of the Ford, spinning it across the highway and into the ditch, where it bows up on one side.
I look at him, nostrils flaring, unsure why he thinks these nightmare clips will bring any comfort.
“Those kids who helped Tobin weren’t farm boys. They’re undercover agents Faulk brought in, shaved clean and dressed like townies.” Ridge sits down beside me. “They’re still out there, Grace. They’ll be keeping an eye out for Nelson and those damn trucks.” He puts an arm around me.
I shake my head, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. “The FBI? I thought you said Faulk was working independently?”
“He also owns his own PI company and still works closely with the Feds.”
My throat burns.
“Awesome. So even if Dad survives, he’ll be arrested on the spot.” I shake my head, thoroughly disgusted. “If Clay doesn’t kill him first.”
“No. Faulk told me they can set him up with a plea deal. No jail time. Full exoneration for cooperating in the case. No ill-gotten assets left to seize in his case, either. They’ve had flashes of the Old Town Boys on their radar for years, but nothing definitive like we’ve dredged up. Grendal, his uncle, and his cousin have been working designer drugs for years, but they could never get anyone to talk. Faulk wouldn’t let us down. Trust me.”
My skin crawls as I shake my head, blinking back tears.
I’m so flipping done with crying.
Tears won’t do anything to end this.
Still, I let Ridge wrap his arms around me, folding me up in the shelter of his body. I bury my face in solid muscle, howling inwardly to get my crap together, to regain the self-control to slog through this.
To help him help me.
Jackie’s right.
Trust in Ridge—isn’t it all that’s left?
And when I’m deep in his arms with his chin tucked against the top of my head so sweetly, so tight...that’s where I find my answer.
The same strength I found in our farmhouse that night, after shooting at Clay. I had to clean up the house, including Mom’s ashes, because Dad was a teary-eyed mess after he saw the carnage.