Page 79 of Tangled Up In You
Ren’s heart sank. He hadn’t admitted to anything, but only because she hadn’t asked the right questions. He knew Ren wanted to see the best in him, and he let her.
“It’s him, Ren.” Gloria put her arm around Ren’s shoulders. “Baby, it’s him. Men like him are good at fooling women like us. Of taking advantage.”
Ren felt like she might throw up. The father she came here to find had been an abusive husband, and the boy she’d fallen for was a criminal.
She turned Ren to face her, expression soft as she read Ren’s silent spiral. “Now, you listen to me. You can’t blame yourself for this. This is just what I did—met a boy, fell in love in a matter of days. You’re human. But this boy is bad news. He’s a criminal and knows how to tell you what you want to hear, how to get you to trust him. Look at that rap sheet. Robbery? Possession of a stolen firearm? This boy didn’t just steal a pack of gum. Who knows what he would have done to you. Or us.”
Ren didn’t know what to think. She’d assumed Edward had been a foolish kid and his troubles were over something trivial, not something dangerous. Certainly not something involving a firearm. How did she not see this coming? Ren hadn’t learned an ounce of judgment in her time away from the homestead. She was just as naive and ignorant as ever.
Reeling, she remembered the Polaroid. He’d been cheating. She’d caught him cheating, and somehow, over the past few days, she allowed herself to forget all about it. Miriam had warned Ren that very first day, hadn’t she? She was right; everyone was right. Edward was Fitz, and Fitz was a liar.
“You didn’t tell him anything about us, now, did you?” Gloria asked gently. “Nothing about where we live? We don’t want him to find us.”
Ren thought back. “Maybe I mentioned the five-and-dime,” she admitted. “I think I told him about Corey Cove.”
Gloria took a long, deep breath. “All right. Thank you for your honesty.”
Ren leaned into her mother’s arms. “I feel so stupid.”
“None of that.” Gloria helped her up and turned them toward a small blue rental car parked down the street. “Let’s go pick up your dad and get you home.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
EDWARD
Edward wasn’t generally a guy who panicked. He’d learned early in life that there were two human emotions that served no purpose whatsoever: worry and regret. But when six o’clock rolled around and he hadn’t heard anything from Ren, he felt the cold tendrils of unease take root at the base of his spine. They’d hit the road early; he’d dropped her off just after ten in the morning. That was nearly eight hours of silence, and even if she’d forgotten that he wanted her to keep him updated, and even for someone who wasn’t used to calling and checking in, it didn’t feel right. Unfortunately, he couldn’t track his phone without his iPad or laptop, and he didn’t have either of those things right now. So he kept calling. He would call and the phone would ring and eventually go to voicemail, and he’d leave yet another message.
But the first time it went directly to voicemail—indicating that it’d been turned off or the battery had finally died—was the moment unease morphed into true panic. He had no way to reach her, no way to know whether she was safe.
At seven, blood heavy with anxiety and dread, he headed to the lobby, deciding to wait for her there. With every car that pulled into valet, he’d think, Maybe that’s her in a cab. Maybe that’s her father dropping her off.
An hour went by, and still no sign of her.
He approached the check-in desk. “Have you seen a woman, early twenties, about this tall?” He held his hand about chest high. “Very, very long blond hair?”
It was at that description that the woman’s face relaxed. “Can I get your name, sir?”
“It’s Edward. Edward Fitzsimmons.”
“Thank you. Yes, she left several hours ago with an older couple.” The woman bent, opening a drawer, and then set his phone on the counter. “And she left this for you.”
Edward took the phone, numb, and walked in a daze to the elevator. Back in their room—nope, his room, he thought bleakly—he lost track of time, staring at the floor, trying to sort through every possible scenario.
Older couple could have meant Gloria and Steve, but he didn’t know how they’d find Ren here. It could mean Christopher Koning and his wife, in which case Ren might have opted to stay at their house for the night. But then why not call?
No matter which way he broke it down, something wasn’t right.
And the only place he knew to start was at 1079 Birchwood Terrace.
The street was so different at night. Or maybe that was just his mood, reading everything with suspicion. To an anxious mind, what looked like utopia during the day looked like a neighborhood that could easily mask darkness, could effortlessly let an innocent twenty-something vanish.
There were lights on inside; they were warm and soft, and from the porch he could hear music. Closing his eyes, he took a slow, deep breath.
Calm down, Edward. There’s an explanation. You’ll find her.
He lifted his fist and knocked. The sound of small footsteps pounded on hardwood, and the door swung open, revealing—holy crap—a tiny Ren in pajamas and slippers.
Golden hair spilled down over her shoulders. Wide green eyes gazed up at him. What felt like a spear passed through his chest. “Hi,” he said, offering a friendly smile.