Chapter 61

As we pulled into the driveway, I stared, dumbstruck, at the place I used to call home.

Squashed was definitely the right word. The roof was caved in, and the exterior walls were slanted inward, like the house had been stomped on by a mythical giant.

Encircling the entire mess was bright yellow tape, like something yanked from a crime scene.

The limo had barely stopped when I lunged for the door handle, intending to jump out for a closer look. But something made me stop. It was a hand on my elbow – Zane's hand.

He said, "Don't."

I whirled in my seat to face him. "Don't what?"

"Don't go out there."

I was nearly frantic. "Why not?"

"Because I'm gonna look first."

"Why?" I demanded.

His mouth was grim. "Because, you don't know what you'll find."

"I don't care. I'm going." I made a move toward the door. Again, he pulled me back. Again, I whirled to face him. "Will you stop that?"

He rapped on the glass that separated us from the driver. When the glass slid aside, Zane told the guy, "When I get out, secure the back."

And then, almost before I knew what was happening, Zane slipped out on the opposite side and slammed the limo door shut behind him. A split second later, something clicked. Damn it. The door locks? It had to be.

I lunged for my door and yanked on the handle. And then, I pushed. Nothing happened. The glass separating me from the driver had already slid shut.

I reached up and rapped on the glass.

When it slid aside, I said, "Hey, unlock the doors."

"Sorry. Can't."

"I mean it," I told him.

"Sorry," he repeated. "Just following orders."

I made a sound of frustration. "Not my orders."

"I'm terribly sorry."

I spent the next five minutes practically begging for him to let me out. He spent the next five minutes apologizing, but refusing to open up.

The whole time, I kept glancing at the house, watching as Zane circled the front and then disappeared around the side, heading into the back yard.

He emerged sooner than I expected, and strode back to the limo. He rapped on the driver's side window, and exchanged a few words with the guy before I heard the telltale click of the locks opening.

Immediately, I bolted out of the limo and ran up to the house, not bothering to close the car door behind me. I stopped short at my front door – or rather, what was left of it.

Behind me, Zane said, "That's close enough."

Obviously.

I mean, even I could tell that it wasn't remotely safe. I heard myself say, "What happened?"

"It was a tree."

"What?"

"A tree," he repeated. "It fell on the house."

I shook my head. "I don't think so. I mean, wouldn’t there be branches or something?"

"Yeah, but they're gone now."

"Then how do you know it was a tree?"

"Because part of it's still in the back yard."

Almost in a daze, I walked around the side of the house, barely noticing as Zane kept close to my side. Sure enough, the giant oak tree that had previously taken up most of the yard was gone, replaced by a jagged stump and not much else.

I turned away from the stump and looked toward the house, only to feel the color drain from my face. If anything, the back was more squashed than the front.

This was where the bedrooms were. If I'd been asleep in my own bed, I would've been squashed, too.

I bit my lip. "Do you think anyone was hurt?"

I held my breath and waited. If anyone had been home, the answer to that question was obvious.

Yes.

But next to me, Zane replied, "No."

Relief coursed through me. Still, I had to ask, "But how can you be sure?"

"I'm not," he said. "But the way it looks, it happened a few days ago. Seems to me, you would've heard if anyone was injured."

All I could do was scoff. "Yeah. You'd think." I made a useless gesture toward the house. "But no one called to tell me this."

I cringed. Oh, no. Unless the person who would've told me was dead or in the hospital.

Already, I was pulling out my cell phone. I found Paisley's number and hit the call button.

No answer.

Shit.

With an effort, I reminded myself that it was still early in the morning. Probably, she was fine. She was a late sleeper. Even under the best of circumstances, she wouldn’t be up for hours yet.

I mean, just because she didn't answer, that didn't mean she was dead or in a coma or anything.

I kept telling myself this, even as I called my sister. Unfortunately, that call went straight to voicemail. With increasing desperation, I tried Paisley a second time, and then a third, and a fourth after that.

On my fifth attempt, she finally answered with a cranky, "What?"

I breathed a sigh of relief. Never had I been so happy to hear her voice. Breathlessly, I said, "I'm here at the house. What happened?"

"Gee," she said, "thanks for your concern."

I stiffened. "I am concerned. That's why I'm calling. Are you okay?"

"No," she said, "I’m not."

"Oh, my God. So you were hurt?"

"I wasn't hurt," she said. "I was asleep. Why'd you keep calling?"

I glanced at the destruction. "Gee, I wonder why."

"I'm just saying, if someone doesn't answer the first time, you don't need to keep calling."

Oh, for God' sake.

"I'm ever so sorry," I said through gritted teeth. "I'll keep that in mind the next time our house is squashed while I'm out of town."

"I hope so," she said, "because you know I’m not a morning person."

"Right," I gritted out. "And like I said, I'm sorry. But seriously, what the hell happened?"

It took ten full minutes to get the story out of her, but apparently, the tree had fallen during a storm four nights ago while she'd been out at some art show with the professor.

Her ten-minute explanation included nine full minutes of gushing at how incredible Fergus had been in cleaning up the debris.

She concluded by saying, "He even bought a chainsaw. You should've seen him." Her voice became almost husky. "He was magnificent."

The professor? Magnificent? I couldn’t even imagine. "Uh, yeah. Well, that's good."

She gave a little giggle. "I know, right?"

Funny, I'd never heard her sound so happy. Maybe the lumberjack life was for her. Still, I had to say, "I don't want to be critical here, but there's something I've gotta ask."

"What?"

"Why didn't you call and let me know?"

"Because Charlotte said she'd tell you."

"She did? When?"

"The day after it happened, when she stopped by to check on the place – which I didn't appreciate, by the way." Paisley gave a snort of disbelief. "What is it? You don't trust me?"

Considering that I'd spent the final few minutes before my trip stuffing all of my valuables into a suitcase, this was a question better left unanswered.

I cleared my throat. "Well, she was probably in the neighborhood."

"Yeah, right," Paisley said, sounding decidedly disgruntled again. "But anyway, she saw the damage and said she'd let you know."

"She did? Are you sure?"

"Of course, I’m sure. In fact, she told me not to worry about it."

Paisley? Worry?

About anyone but herself?

I couldn’t even imagine.

Even now, I knew she was lying. After all, I'd talked to Charlotte just yesterday, and she hadn't mentioned a thing.

Still, there was no point in arguing, so I ended the call with as much grace as I could muster. And then, I shoved the phone back into my pocket and tried to think.

What now?

Zane's voice interrupted my thoughts. "You want me to get anything?"

Funny, I'd almost forgotten he was there. It was the strangest sensation, because every other time we'd been together, I'd been obnoxiously aware of his every move.

I gave a mental eye-roll. Finally, I knew just the thing to push Zane Bennington out of my mind.

A squashed house.

Now, if only I had a million more.

Almost in a daze, I turned toward the sound of his voice. He was standing next to me, frowning as he eyed the damage.

I said, "Sorry, what was the question again?"

He gestured toward the house. "You want me to grab anything?"

I looked toward the mess and tried to think. Oh sure, I had a few dishes and clothes, but the place had come already furnished, and I couldn't see the point of sifting through the rubble now.

After all, not much of it was mine. And, in a weird twist of fate, everything I truly cared about was already packed, thanks to my distrust of Paisley.

I shook my head. "No. But thanks." I glanced toward the front of the house. "I guess I should grab my suitcases, huh?"

He gave me a look. "What?"

"From the trunk of the limo."

"I know where they are," he said. "But you're not unloading them here."

I was only half-listening. In the back of my mind, I was still trying to come up with a plan.

Stupidly, I'd sold my old beater of a car. And the other car, the nicer one, wasn't even my own. Rather, it was a company car for a job that I no longer had. This meant, of course, that I had no vehicle at all.

But surely, someone would be willing to pick me up – if not my parents, then definitely Charlotte, assuming she ever answered her phone.

I mumbled, "It'll be fine. I'll just wait here with my suitcases."

"Wrong," Zane said. "What you're going to do is stay with me."