Chapter 18

This time when I sleep, I don’t dream.

Not of the trees, not of our memories together, not of Tomas at

all. And somehow, that’s worse.

* * * *

It’s a little before noon the next day

when Alden’s cell phone rings. I’m driving, Al asleep beside me,

when the ring cuts through the still air. My knuckles clench the

steering wheel, whitening beneath my anxious grip. The phone rings

again. I shouldn’t answer it; it’s Alden’s phone and isn’t for

me…what if it’s one of his men? I should just let it

ring.

But what if it’s

Tomas?

I look at the phone where it rests by

the gear shift. What if it isTomas? He has Alden’s number.

Would he think to call it?

If he tried the house and

you weren’t there.

Damn that voice—I want it to be right.

I want it to be Tomas on the other end of the line when I pick up

and I want him to tell me he’s okay, he’s waiting for me and he’s

safe, he’s alive…

I snag the phone before it can ring a