Page 86 of Come Take Me Now

I could see the headlines—Heir to Long-Time Winery Arrested for Stalking. If this had gone awry, it could have damaged not only my reputation but my family’s as well. So, what the actual fuck am I doing?

Fortunately, this guy was chill as fuck and bought my charm and lies…

Fuck, just like Tilly has all summer.

I glance at my phone when the cop pulls away.

Tilly: There’s police lights outside my dad’s house.

I send a quick response.

Probably a speeder.

I send another reply to maybe instigate a little guilt on her part. I know she lied about feeling sick. Why waste a night? There’s so little time left with August around the corner.

I hope you’re feeling better.

I set my phone in the cupholder and exhale a breath I’ve been holding.

Well, that fucker is probably far enough away that I can leave. I shift into drive and make a U-turn. I want to pick up my truck and head home. There’s no reason to keep the SUV overnight, and Tilly likes to surprise me and show up at all hours. She thinks she surprises me. I wouldn’t want to explain Mom’s car in the driveway instead of my truck. I just had to pull excuses out of my ass with a damn cop.

Ugh, I’m sloppy now that the drugs are out of my system, and I could blow everything at any moment. I tense, thinking about the errand slip-up last night, but I think she believed me enough. Honestly, I miss the edge—the superhuman blunt precision only a chemical could bring. The razor-sharp focus on Tilly and her body language. If I were still on it, I might have noticed any clues about what’s going on with her tonight. I drag my hand down my face. It made me make mistakes, too.

It could never have been sustainable long-term.

And I have to get that fucking tracker back.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Tilly

“Where the fuck are you?” I scream out in frustration.

The weather mats from my car lie on my dad’s driveway. The contents of my center console and glove compartment clutter the front seats. I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror—my cheeks bright red from heat and bottled-up rage.

For nearly two days, it’s bothered me that Enzo didn’t know about my run, but he knew about the errands. I’m not crazy. I didn’t mention that. I already checked my key ring and wallet—nothing unusual there.

What the fuck did you do to my car, Enzo?

I walk around to the back of the car and lift the lid of the trunk.

“What are you doing?” Dad calls from the front door.

“Just cleaning my car,” I lie.

He shuts the door, and I look back at the trunk. It’s empty, and I lift the lining to see if anything is under it. Just old leaves from years under a tree and other light debris. My eyes scan over the inside of the trunk lid, and I run my fingers over the weather stripping. I check the strip along the trunk as well, but I come up empty-handed and slam it closed.

I realize that I didn’t have my phone during my run, but he wouldn’t be crafty enough for anything technical.

But, holy shit, Robby is.

My breath catches in my throat. Would Enzo ask his cousin to modify my phone without my knowledge?

“Damn, Enzo and Robby are cut from the same cloth,” Appa had said.

What did she say that night we got ready at her house? Robby broke into her house, but how did she describe it? I wiggle my fingers in my loose high ponytail and grip the top of my head. Why are details so hard?

I grab my phone from the front seat and tap Appa’s contact to call her. This is an awkward thing to ask her, but I have no choice. The line rings a few times before she answers and switches to video.