Page 14 of Rogue Survivor
Unable to locate phone: Veronica’s Cell.
“Oh, God. Her phone is off too.” Swallowing hard, I try to clear the boulder lodged in my throat. “She promised…after her dad died…”
“Isabel, something’s wrong. I justknowit. What are we going to do? Where are they?”
“Goofing off somewhere.” I can’t muster even a shred of confidence. Not for a second. Veronica was only eight when her dad was killed, but she still remembers that night. How frantic I was when a twenty-minute trip to the convenience store turned into forty, fifty, sixty. How many times I called his phone while she huddled on the couch with a fever of a hundred and two. “Are…are you at work? At the hospital? Can you check the ER?”
“Oh, God. No. No, no, no…”
“Leah. Listen. You have to check. You’ll be able to find out if anyone was brought in without ID. I’ll go home…see if they ended up there instead of Brian’s. Maybe they started playing Xbox or listening to music and lost track of time.”
“Y-yes. Of course. They’re probably studying. Or something.”
I don’t believe that any more than Leah does, but every other explanation is much worse.
“I’ll call you as soon as I check admitting.” Leah’s voice cracks, and she stifles a sob. “We never should have given Mitzi a car. If she still needed me to drive her everywhere…”
“Stop. Take a deep breath. Do it with me, okay?” This is my superpower. Calm in a crisis. Every crisis. Every scraped knee, broken bone, every teenage breakup or mean girl prank. But my baby girl…
Tears burn my eyes as I suck in a long, slow breath, then release it. “This is not your fault, Leah. How many times have we let them run all over town? Check admitting and call me back.”
I leave everything. My laptop, my fancy dress heels under my desk, my travel mug. Nothing matters but Veronica. I don’t remember the five minute walk from my office to the parking garage. Only standing in front of my car unsure how I got here.
My hands shake, and I drop my keys twice trying to unlock the door. The moment the car rumbles to life, a wave of panic threatens to drown me, and I grip the steering wheel so hard, my knuckles turn white. I can’t fall apart. Not now. Not here. Not until I know my daughter is safe.
“Veronica?”Bursting through the front door of our single-story Craftsman, I know in less than five seconds…she’s not here. The house is empty. Not just physically. Whenever V’s home, her presence fills the space—every room, every hallway, every molecule of air. Now, the silence has a physicalweight. A void that can’t be satisfied with anything or anyone but her.
My phone rings, and I fumble getting it out of my purse. “Leah? Did you find anything?” My heart thumps so hard against my ribcage, I worry it’s going to beat right out of my chest.
“No.” Her voice is rough, and she swallows so hard I can hear it. “I called all the ERs in the city. None of them have admitted any teenage girls without ID tonight.”
Shit.
“They’re not at my house.” Heading down the hall, I poke my head into Veronica’s room. It’s untouched, her bed a mess of fuzzy blankets and pillows. “I don’t think they came here at all.”
“I’ll be home in ten minutes, but I called my neighbor, and she says all the lights are off. Brian is going to the library to see if anyone’s still there, but they closed twenty minutes ago.”
Swiping away the single tear that escapes the tight hold I have on my emotions, I sink down onto Veronica’s bed and grab her pillow. It smells like her. Strawberry shampoo and that godawful perfume she insisted I buy her for Christmas. I hate the scent, but it’s all that’s holding me together right now.
“I’m going to the police station,” I announce after swallowing the lump in my throat. “Report them missing.”
They won’t do anything. I’ll be lucky if they don’t laugh me out of the precinct.
She’s just testing her boundaries.
Seventeen years old? Probably out partying. Or with a boy.
How are things at home? That age, most of the time, they run away for a night before they realize life ain’t so easy on their own. She’ll come back by morning.
All the things I know they’ll say…so many of them variations of what they told me the night Tony died. Until someone finally connected the dots between the convenience store shooting, the victim without ID, and my repeated calls.
If Veronica were any other teenager, I might believe she was out partying. But her greatest act of rebellion involves cursing in front of me. She doesn’t smoke, doesn’t drink, has never touched an illegal drug in her life… My daughter loves school with an obsession that borders on unhealthy, but I don’t complain. She’s too driven. Too focused on college and her dreams of being a journalist to run away six months before graduation.
Leah’s talking, and I shake my head, digging my fingers into my thigh and using the pain to help me focus. “Sorry. What did you say?”
“I can meet you there.”
“No. You don’t have security cameras at home. I do. My video doorbell records everyone who comes up the front walk. I’ll know if they show up here. Start calling all of their friends. Let me know what Brian finds out when he goes to the library.”
