The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(127)

I go onto Facebook and scroll through. I go to Instagram and browse for a while, and then a video comes up from my brother’s story.

He’s dancing in a bar.

Huh?

I go back and watch it again. It must be old footage. He’s out in the boondocks camping with the boys . . . where is this bar?

I read the caption: dancing the night away.

Huh?

I flick through to Bob’s Facebook page and scroll down. Sure enough, he’s posted a pic of himself getting on a plane, with the caption Florida here I come.

What?

I immediately dial his number. It rings out, and I call again.

“Hello,” he answers groggily in a very hungover voice.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“Florida.”

“Where are the boys?” I snap.

“Huh?”

“Where are the boys?”

“What do you mean? They canceled and said they couldn’t go. I came here with my buddies.”

I sit up in bed. “Bob, they’re not here. I haven’t seen them since Friday morning.”

“What?”

“I thought they were with you?” I cry.

“I thought they were with you!” he cries back.

“Oh my God,” I whisper as my eyes widen.

“What?”

“They’ve run away, Bob.”

“Holy fuck, call the police.”





Chapter 25

Tristan

I sit out on the balcony of my hotel room in Paris. I just got back from the hotel gym and am going in to the office this afternoon. I’m still working on the due diligence for Anderson Media. I want the deal closed early this week if possible.

The sooner I move on to new things, the better. I need to drag myself off the floor here. I can’t go on like this.

I just want it over with.

My room phone rings, and I frown. Who would be calling me in the hotel? Nobody ever does. I walk inside and answer. “Bonjour.”

“Mr. Miles?”

“Oui.”

“Vous avez des visiteurs.” (Translation: You have some visitors.)

I frown. “Qui est-ce?” (Translation: Who is it?)

“Juste une minute.” (Translation: Just a minute.) He passes the phone to someone.

“Tris?”

I frown and screw up my face in confusion . . . what? “Harry?”

“Come and get us.”

My eyes nearly bulge from their sockets. “I’ll be right down.” I run to the door and hit the elevator button.

They’re here.

I watch the dial over the doors, and I tap my foot. Come on . . . come on.

The doors open, and I rush out and look around to see Harry and Patrick sitting on the lounge waiting for me. They look up and see me, and both come running at me at a million miles per minute. They nearly bowl me over as they grab a leg each to hug.

I put my arms around them and hold them tight. “Where’s Mom?” I whisper into their hair.

“We ran away.”

My mouth falls open in horror. “Your mother doesn’t know you’re here?” I gasp.

They both shake their heads. “Nope.”

“Oh my God.” I take out my phone. “She’s going to be fucking frantic.” I call Claire.

“Tristan,” she cries in a panic. “They’ve run away.”

“They just turned up here,” I stammer.

“What?” she gasps.

“Patrick and Harrison just turned up at my hotel in Paris.”

“What the hell?” she gasps. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“They’re okay, they’re okay,” I hear her tell someone.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“In the police station. Oh my God, Tristan,” she cries in relief. “Oh my God. It’s okay, Fletcher. They’re safe,” she says.

I flick the peak of Harry’s cap. “You’re in so much trouble,” I mouth.

“I don’t care,” he mouths back with attitude.

“I’m on my way,” she stammers. “Fletcher and I will catch the first flight out.”

“Okay.”

“Bye, Tris.” She hangs up.

I look down at the two boys as they stare up at me. “What are you two thinking?” I snap. “Your mother has been frantic,” I whisper as I gesture to the elevator. “You two are in so much trouble I can’t even believe it,” I whisper angrily.

They both smile up at me, and my heart constricts. I bend and take them both in my arms. “You little shits,” I murmur into their hair.

“We came to get you,” Patrick whispers into my shoulder. “We want you as our dad. We don’t care what Mom says. It’s up to us, anyway.”

I grip them tighter in my arms, and I could just burst into tears. We hold on to each other tightly for a long time, and I’m quite sure everyone around is watching.

I take their hands, and we get into the elevator. “Do you know how dangerous that was? How the hell did you get on a plane, anyway?” I ask.

“With your credit card.”

My mouth falls open. “You stole my credit card?” I gasp. “Oh my God. Harrison,” I scold him. “You are unbelievable.”