The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(107)

“This is the song you sang while at school?” I giggle. Sex maniacs, the lot of them.

“Yep.” Tristan smiles down at me.

“Your favorite song was about licking women up and down?” I ask in horror.

“One hundred percent.” He pushes me out and spins me hard, and I laugh out loud. He rocks us side to side as he holds my hand in his. “Still is.” He leans down and kisses me softly, and his eyes twinkle with a certain something. “Speaking of which, let’s go home, Anderson.”

I smile up at the beautiful man in front of me. “I thought you’d never ask.”

I hear a vibration on the side table, and I frown.

Bzzz . . . bzzz . . . bzzz.

Tristan lets out a deep sigh. “Who the fuck’s that?” he mumbles.

It stops, and we both relax.

It starts again.

Bzzz . . . bzzz . . . bzzz.

Tristan sits up onto his elbow and leans over to get my phone. He fumbles and drops it, and it slips between the bed and the side table. “Fuck off,” he whispers.

My head begins to thump. “Oh God,” I whimper. “What the fuck happened last night?”

The phone continues to ring, and Tristan puts the back of his forearm over his eyes. “Fuck off . . . whoever you are,” he moans.

I wake properly and sit up. Shit. “Tris,” I say. “The kids.”

“Jesus.” He stands and feels around for the missing phone. He’s naked, and his hair is standing on end. I smile as I watch him. What a sight for sore eyes.

We can still hear my phone vibrating from its unknown location. He reaches in and pulls it out and holds it in the air. “Found the fucker.” He frowns at the screen as he reads it, and then his face drops. “It’s Barb.” He passes it over.

“Hello,” I answer. “What’s wrong?”

“Hi, Claire.”

“What is it?” My heart begins to beat faster.

“Harry’s missing.”

“What?”

“I got up to go to the bathroom just after three a.m. and stuck my head in to check on him, and he wasn’t in bed.”

I sit up in a rush. “What do you mean?”

“He snuck out, Claire, and he hasn’t come back.”

I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears. “Why didn’t you call me?” I stammer.

“I did, but you haven’t been answering.”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

“We’ve looked everywhere and contacted all of his friends. We thought he would come back before we were supposed to wake up so he wouldn’t get caught, but nobody has seen him.”

My heart drops.

“What?” Tristan whispers.

“Harry’s missing.”

He screws up his face. “Huh?”

“I’m on my way.” I hang up and jump out of bed.





Chapter 21

The hour-long car trip to Long Island has been a living hell. Tristan is quiet and has his hand protectively on my leg, and I’m staring out the window, trying to hold back tears. I’ve called Harrison no fewer than a hundred times, and I know his phone is probably about to go dead. Fletcher and his friends are all out looking for him. No sign.

“He’ll be fine,” Tris whispers.

“Where could he be?” I whisper. My eyes fill with tears as I lose the ability to hold it in any longer.

“Baby.” Tristan puts his arm around me and pulls me close. “I’ll find him. I promise you,” he whispers into my hair. “I am going to kill him when I find him . . . but I will find him, regardless.”

We pull onto my street, and I see my friends’ and parents’ cars all at my house. My heart drops in my chest. I shouldn’t have gone last night. The car stops. “Thank you,” I cry. I get out and run inside, and my mother’s scared eyes meet mine.

“Mom,” I whisper. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know, love. We’ve looked everywhere.”

I screw up my face in tears. “Oh my God.” She pulls me into a hug, and the door bangs behind us. I turn to see Tristan awkwardly standing in the foyer, unsure what to do.

“Oh, Mom and Dad, this is Tristan.”

Tristan smiles and shakes their hands. “Hello, nice to meet you.”

“I’m going to kill that kid when I find him,” my dad murmurs.

Tristan raises his eyebrows, and I know he’s thinking get in line. “I’m going to call Fletch and see where he is,” Tristan says.

“Okay.”

He disappears out the front door.

“I’m going to call the police,” I stammer.

“Good idea,” Mom says.

“He’ll be somewhere asleep, Claire,” my dad reassures me. “Just give it another hour.”

“He’s here,” Tristan calls.

“What?” I stammer as I run out onto the porch.

Tristan points, and we see Harrison pushing his bike up the street. It looks like it has a flat tire or something. He’s dirty and wet and has a backpack on his back. He looks like he’s been through a war.

I drop my head in relief, and then a sudden surge of anger rages through me like a rapid. I march down the front yard until I get to him. “Where have you been?” I cry.