Page 32 of Cruel Abandon (Fallen Royals 5)

I frown. “I read most of it.”

He hums and sits beside me, pulling my phone from his pocket. He never gave it back after I shoved it at him. In a matter of seconds, he’s past my lock screen and scrolling through the article.

I ignore the fact that he knows my passcode. After the first time he got into it, I changed it. He had been right: setting it as my birthday was dumb. But this one was more creative, and he still was able to guess correctly.

“Her parents filed the report yesterday morning,” he tells me. “She’s been gone since Saturday.”

Today is Tuesday. It took them forty-eight hours to realize their daughter was gone.

I chew on my lip. “Whitney and Natalie went out on Friday after Whitney’s shift. So…”

The door bangs open, hitting the wall, and I flinch.

My roommate sweeps in, freezing when she spots Liam and me.

“You’re here,” she says.

I nod once.

“Did you see…”

“Yeah. Are you okay?”

Her lower lip quivers, and that’s the only warning we get. She bursts into tears, hiding her face in her hands.

“I have to go to the police station,” she says, hiccupping on her breath. She dabs at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. “I was the last one to see her. Maybe you can come—”

Liam stands. “She can’t.”

Whitney’s jaw drops. “And who even are you? I mean, I know who you are. The better question is, why are you here? After all the shitty stuff you put us through?”

He appraises her, then glances down at me. “Stay inside.”

I frown.

He strides past Whitney, slamming the door shut behind him.

We’re both silent for a moment, then I pat the couch. “He walked me home. I was a bit shaken up.”

She drops down next to me, leaning her head back. Her eyes squeeze shut.

“I’m scared,” she admits. “She wouldn’t run away. That’s what people assumed about Amber, and maybe it’s unrelated, but… Natalie’s in trouble, and I’m fucking terrified.”

A lump forms in my throat that’s hard to swallow around. Whitney’s right: Natalie wouldn’t just leave without a trace.

Someone took her.

I take her hand. “Me, too.”

* * *

In the end, I do accompany Whitney to the police station. We order a car, because it’s dark by the time we manage to leave our apartment. Neither of us is in the mood to travel by foot, anyway.

The police station is half deserted by the time we arrive, a few cruisers in a side parking lot. The building is well-lit, and the front is mirrored glass. Inside, we go to the officer at the desk. Whitney gives her name, and soon enough, a plainclothes detective comes into the lobby.

“Ms. Travers?”

Whitney rises, casting a glance at me.