Page 98 of Beguiled

She couldn’t be long. Maybe I should be grateful I’d gotten a couple of hours’ sleep. The girl could talk. I grabbed the pizzabox and my wine, taking everything into the kitchen, busying myself to try to wake up.

When I was done, I leaned back against the island, checking the time on the microwave. Why did I have a very bad feeling pooling in my stomach?

Maybe I’d see if she answered her phone. She could be on her way here. After grabbing mine, I moved to the window where I’d been standing before, frowning as soon as I noticed an empty parking spot. He’d gone home.

The phone rang and after the third chirp, I expected her voicemail to pick up.

It didn’t, the phone continuing to ring and ring.

And ring.

Now I was nervous. For whatever the reason, I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring at the screen while the ring continued. I willed her to answer, unable to think clearly enough to be terrified, yet my flipflopping stomach was doing that for me.

It was entirely possible she was in a dead zone in the subway where calls didn’t connect even enough to go to voicemail. I’d experienced something like that before myself.

There was no reason to become alarmed.

Even though I paced the floor in front of the window, my thoughts remained rational. Until they weren’t because another fifteen minutes had passed. By now, the blackout zone would have passed. The monotonous ring blipped softly in my ear, reminding me of some horror movie I’d seen only months before and didn’t want to remember.

The shadows created by dozens of lights of various colors and sizes appeared more ominous than usual, a reminder that even in a world so large and full of so many people, we were all very much alone. The morbid thinking had to go.

I checked my phone again to ensure I hadn’t missed a text or phone call.

That’s when I remembered she’d sent a voicemail before I’d talked to her hours ago. I hadn’t paid any attention to it. Maybe I’d glean a little more information.

When I hit play, I pulled the phone away. Wherever she’d called from, there was significant noise behind her. I could swear it almost sounded like a construction site. That wasn’t possible yet I couldn’t figure out the sound at all.

Nor could I understand all her words.

“It’s just that… and my dad thinks… He won’t… I don’t know what to do. Marrying… And I won’t live…”

Marrying. What in God’s name was she talking about? The rest of the conversation was mostly gibberish except for the last sentence, which was strangely clear.

“He’s decided. I have no choice. I’m… nothing but property… meant to sell to the highest bidder.”Starts and stops continued.“…to show you. It’s… and my father…”

What in the hell was going on? What did she want to show me?

After that, I could swear she said a name. But it was mostly garbled.

Still I did hear one thing very clearly.

“He’s not what he seems.”

Now I was about at the point of freaking out. By the end, she was crying, fighting to breathe. After another stare at the screen, I called her again.

No answer.

And again.

Still no answer.

With fury in my soul, I moved toward the kitchen, flicking on the light and scanning the room. The keys were on the keyboard where I’d left them the last time I’d driven. One last try to reach her and I wasn’t going to wait any longer.

I had a car that had been with me for years, one I rarely drove because I was lucky enough not to need to. Being a girl from Iowa, I had no intention of being stuck in any situation. If I needed to leave town, I didn’t want to be forced to wait on train or plane schedules.

While I dialed her number again, I snatched the keys, shoving them into my pocket and moved toward my bedroom to grab shoes and my purse.

This time, the ringing stopped and my heart lurched.