Wherever It Leads(93)

“Mr. Abbott? FBI.” The words come from one of three men in suits, their faces somber, streaming through the door. They make a beeline for Fenton.

As they draw closer, I attempt to round the table to stand next to him. To hold his hand. Maybe to protect myself and maybe to protect him. I’m not sure. I just need to be close, but he waves me off, casting me a sad, resigned smile. I halt, a lump in my throat.

The burly man flashes a badge towards Fenton, eyeing me quickly, and then faces him dead on. “Mr. Abbott, you’re going to need to come with us.”

Fenton nods like he knew it was coming before placing his arms at the base of his spine. Handcuffs are swatted onto his wrists immediately, the chains rattling as they cuff him.

“What’s happening?” I shriek, panic ripping through me. I take a step towards him. I’m stopped by one of the men from getting any closer.

“Stand back, Miss.”

Fenton looks straight ahead—not at me. Not at the man. Not at anything but the painting in front of him.

“Fent!” I say, too scared to cry, too scared to ask questions. But he won’t look at me. He just stares straight ahead.

My head spins, my jaw hanging open, my tears coming so fast I can’t see through them. I hear murmurs through the buzzing in my ears as I watch Fenton being led out of the room. He gives me one final glance, a look filled with such sorrow it breaks me in absolute pieces, as they pause in the doorway.

“I love you,” I say, my voice shaking so hard the words are hard to make out.

“I love you.” A sad smile on his face is the last thing I see before they disappear from sight.

My hand trembles uncontrollably as I search for my bag, unable to take my eyes off the doorway. I grasp frantically to find my purse, through the puddles of spilled wine, until I find it on an extra chair. I swipe it up and rummage through it to find my phone as I head to the door.

I don’t know what to do, where to go. I have no idea what just happened. Fear and uncertainty tear me into shreds, making it hard to breathe, let alone to focus.

A valet meets me at the threshold and gives me a tepid smile. “Ms. Calloway?”

“Where did he go?” I cry, wiping the tears from my face.

“He said you may need a ride home. Can I drive you?”

“I . . . I . . .” I fall onto a settee, my sobs wracking my body.

“I can take you anywhere you want.”

“No,” I sputter, not wanting to be anywhere with some strange man. “I’ll call my friend to come and pick me up. What just happened? Who were those men?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

I bury my head in my hands and feel the hot liquid pour through my fingers.

“I’ll be on the other side of the door if you need anything. Please, take your time.”

The door shuts softly and I find my phone, but don’t want to leave. I don’t want to call Presley. I want Fenton and right here is the closest I feel to him.

Rolling my phone over in my hand, I scroll through my contacts until I find my mother’s name. I’ve tried to keep this from her, but I need a friend and I need my mom. I press the call button and attempt to reel myself in before she answers and I completely freak her out.

The line picks up and there are so many voices on the other side I can’t keep them straight. “Hello?” I ask, trying to make sense of the chaos.

“Brynne! Is that you, little sister?”

I drop the phone. It smashes against the floor, the sound echoing off the walls of the room.

Surely I’m hearing things. I’m so overwhelmed I’m hallucinating.

Scooping it up, I put the phone to my ear again. I can hear my harsh breathing through the speaker. “Who is this?” I ask.

“Brynne! I’m home!”

“Brady?!”

The room spins like a top and I spring to my feet anyway. I wobble on my heels, the room starting to twirl. The spinning gets faster and faster, and as Brady begins to speak, I hit the floor and darkness settles over me.





The trees zip by, the outside nothing but a blur as Presley drives like a bat out of hell. I know we’re flying faster than we should be. But still, it feels like we’re creeping along, puttering down the dark highway. I lean over and check the speedometer. “Can we go any quicker?”

“Not if you want to get there in one piece and without getting pulled over,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m going as fast as I can, Brynne. How do you feel, by the way? You freaked out the guy at the restaurant with your little fainting spell.”

“I’m fine. I think. I don’t know.”

I rest my head against the window and glance at my phone again. My head is a disaster, swimming from Brady to Fenton to the feeling of complete and utter helplessness that I can’t alleviate. Trying to talk to my brother on the phone was useless; my mother’s back-and-forth of wailing and cheering makes it impossible to hear. All I know is that he’s okay, he’s home, and I’ll be seeing him in approximately eleven minutes.

Presley gives me a sympathetic glance and presses forward, working our way through the night. I look again at my phone, silently praying to see a message from Fenton, but there’s nothing. No call. No text. I even check my email, although he doesn’t have my address, but it’s empty too.