Page 102 of What Doesn't Kill You…

He grimaced.

Violet signaled to her stalker. "Time to go."

They hurried off together. And Violet prayed Max would be there when she returned.

As Max watched Violet disappear into the night, a shiver of dread crept up his spine. She was heading into Damien's lair, with her crazed stalker for back up, and there was nothing he could do to help.

Or was there…

He looked down at the radio she'd given him. What had she said? Channel seven for her, but everyone else was on channel two. Which meant, if he broadcast on channel two, there was a good chance someone on the Benson Security team might hear him. And if they heard him, he could tell them Violet needed help.

Adrenaline coursed through him, making his thoughts clearer. All he needed to do was talk in a way that didn't make Damien's security team suspicious. Some sort of code, that's what he needed. Something the Benson Security team would recognize.

It came to him in a flash. All he had to do was mention Lake Benson and they would instantly pay attention.

Trembling, he pressed the button to talk and brought the radio to his mouth. He kept his voice low, even though sound wouldn't carry very far in the storm.

"Hello," he said into the radio. "Anybody out there? This is Lake's friend. I'm all alone in this storm and looking for someone to talk to. If you're one of Lake's friends too, maybe you could answer and let me know if you're okay. I was outside earlier and took a beating from the weather. It's wild tonight. You hear me?"

He let go of the button and listened. A voice came on the line, it wasn't friendly.

"Get off this channel. This is a private frequency," it snapped.

"A man has a right to be worried about his friends," Max said. "I just want to check to make sure everyone is okay, because not everybody is tucked up tight in bed right now. And it's dangerous out there if you're alone."

"I'm warning you," the same guy growled. "Get off this frequency."

"Or what?" Max said, irritated. "What will you do? I'm telling you, I'm Lake's friend and I'm looking for more of Lake's friends to see if they're okay."

"This is Lake's friend," came a Scottish voice.

Max felt like he might burst into tears. It had to be one of the triplets.

"You can call me Ginger," he said.

Relief almost stole Max's voice. It was Evan. Had to be. He was the only ginger triplet left, seeing as the other two had dyed their hair. He swallowed hard. "Ginger, good to hear from you. I'm glad you're safe."

"Get off this channel," Damien's guy shouted through the radio. "This is a private frequency."

Max cleared his throat. "Hey Ginger, this guy's no fun. How about I meet you on channel seven?"

"Roger that," Evan said.

With wet, fumbling fingers Max turned the dial on the radio. "Are you there, Ginger?"

"I'm here. How's the weather with you?"

Max let his head rest back against the palm. "Not good," he said. "Not good at all. It's really dangerous out there right now. It's not a good place to be alone."

"I hear you," Evan said. "A sensible person would have stayed inside."

Max winced. Guess the whole team knew he'd bolted by now.

"Roger that," he said. "I got pretty banged up by the storm, felt like I was trapped in it for a minute there, but a good friend got me to a place where I can ride it out in relative safety. For a second, I didn't think I'd make it. Now, I'm worried about them, they've gone back out into the storm and there's nobody to look out for them." Unless you counted an unstable stalker.

"Hey Ginger, and Lake's friend," another voice said. "I'm another one of Lake's friends. You can call me the Latin Lover."

Rodrigo. Max tightened his grip on the radio and sent up a prayer of thanks.