Meg Cabot - Missing You

Instead of hopping in, I walked right past her car, then climbed into the passenger seat beside Rob.

“Hey,” he said to me. Then glanced out his window. “Isn’t that that girl from last night? The one who stopped you on the street?”

“Just drive,” I said.

Rob obliged, pulling out and heading towards downtown. As we cruised by her, I heard Karen Sue, looking outraged, say, “Well, of all the—” Then I saw my mom rushing out to placate her, probably with an offer of scrambled egg whites.

“How’s Hannah?” I asked, buckling my seat belt.

“She hates me,” Rob said simply. “She’s also not too fond of Chick, whose babysitting her again until her mother gets here to pick her up.”

“She’ll get over it,” I said. “Did you tell her about the videos?”

“Oh, yeah,” Rob said. “She doesn’t believe me. Her precious Randy would never do anything like that. She thinks I’m making it up to make Randy look bad.”

“Of course you are,” I said with a laugh. “Don’t worry. She’ll come around.”

“Yeah,” Rob said. “Too bad by the time she does, she’ll be back home with her mom.” He glanced into his rearview mirror a few seconds later. “Who’s the tail?” he wanted to know. “FBI?”

“Mob,” I said casually. “Turns out Randy Senior’s connected.”

“Boy,” Rob said. “Things just keep getting better with this guy. My sister sure knows how to pick ’em. Should I lose them?”

“No, they’re our escort,” I said.

“Great,” he said even more sarcastically. “May I ask where this little procession is headed?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Courthouse square. The offices of Mr. Randall Whitehead Senior are in the Fountain Building.”

“And that’s where we’re going?” Rob asked. “To see Randy Senior?”

“That’s correct,” I said. “Although Randy Junior is going to be there as well, I believe.”

“Does this mean you’re going to let me beat him senseless after all?” Rob asked hopefully.

“It most certainly does not,” I said, keeping my gaze on the road and not allowing it to stray towards Rob’s hands, which looked tantalizingly strong and competent as they turned the wheel. I tried not to think about how those hands would feel—had felt—on me.

“Did you watch the tapes?” Rob wanted to know. I noticed he was keeping his own gaze on the road, as well.

“I did,” I said.

Rob waited for me to go on. When I didn’t, he said, “Were the ones with Hannah…I mean, was there more than one—”

“There was just one video of her,” I said.

“Good,” Rob said softly.

“Multiple copies of the same video,” I added, even though I didn’t want to. Still, I had to make sure he understood.

Rob swore under his breath. Then, giving a chuckle that was completely devoid of humor, he said, “And you really think I’m not going to kill him when I see him?”

“You’re not,” I said. “Because, for one thing, he’s not worth going to jail for. And for another, those guys back there? They’re armed.”

“Yeah,” Rob said. “Well, they’re not going to be around forever. Randy’s going to have to go somewhere alone sometime, and when he does—”

“Rob.” My voice was sharp enough to cause him to turn his head to look at me, finally.

“You’re not going to lay a finger on Randy Whitehead,” I said angrily. “You’re going to let me handle this. That’s what you brought me here from New York for, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Like hell,” Rob said. “This isnot what I brought you from New York for. I brought you from New York to find my sister, and you—”

“There’s a spot,” I said, pointing. Finding parking around the square was notoriously difficult, which was why so many people preferred to do their shopping at the mall, even though it wasn’t anywhere near as historically picturesque.

“—found my sister,” Rob went on, swinging the massive truck into the narrow spot as neatly as if he were driving a car half its size. “For which I thank you. But I can’t sit back and let this guy get away with what he did to her. I can’t do it, Jess. You can’t ask me to.”

“I’m not,” I said, unsnapping my seat belt. “Randy’s going to pay for what he did. Just not with his blood. And you’re not going to go to jail—or worse, the bottom of some lake.”

Rob glared at me. I wouldn’t back down, though. I just glared right back. After a few seconds, Rob turned and pounded the sides of his fists on the steering wheel—just once, apparently to get the urge to hit something out of his system.

“Feel better?” I asked.

“No,” he said sullenly.

“Good,” I said. “Let’s go.”

We climbed down from the pickup’s cab, then waited for the light in order to cross the street to the Fountain Building, which also housed the local bank and a yoga studio. On the way, we passed Underground Comix, the store where my brother Douglas works. The sign in the door readCLOSED . I knew they didn’t open until ten, and it was still only nine thirty.

I noticed that when we got to the building’s entrance, the men from the sedan were already waiting for us. They’d apparently found parking closer by.

“Mr. Whitehead in?” I asked them.

The driver, who clearly used Just For Men in order to color his gray, since no one had hair that black, nodded.

“Both Mr. Whiteheads will see you,” he said.

“Great,” I said chipperly, and led the way through the atrium lobby to the offices of Whitehead Construction.

The plump, middle-aged receptionist must have been given the heads-up that we were on the way, since she didn’t ask who we were. Instead she said, jumping up nervously, “Mr. Whitehead will see you right away. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water? Soda?”

“I’m fine,” I said graciously. Who said I didn’t learn any manners when I was overseas?

“I’m good,” Rob growled.

“Well, then,” the receptionist said. “Follow me.”

She led us into a large, sunny office, one corner of which was completely taken up by an enormous, modern-looking desk, where Randy Whitehead Senior sat. In front of the desk had been arranged four matching chairs, also modern, made of black leather and chrome. In one of the chairs sat Randy Whitehead Junior. In the other, looking very small but stylish in tight jeans and a black halter top, sat the girl I recognized from Apartment 1S, and later, from the videotapes markedKRISTIN .

“Well, well,” Randy Whitehead Senior said, climbing to his feet and putting on a gigantic grin when he saw me. “Are you telling me this little bitty thing here is the one who’s been causin’ all this ruckus?”

“Her friend’s not so little,” Randy Junior muttered with a hostile glance in Rob’s direction, which Rob ignored.

“Hello, Mr. Whitehead,” I said coolly, crossing the office and holding my right hand out towards the senior Randall Whitehead. “I’m Jessica Mastriani. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“And you, and you,” Randy Senior boomed. He pumped my hand up and down, then looked questioningly at Rob, who just stood there, glaring back at him. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Sure,” I said. “Mr. Whitehead, this is Rob Wilkins. Your son, Randy, is acquainted with Rob’s younger sister, Hannah.”

A glance at Randy Junior told me that the blow had hit home. He’d stood when I entered. Now the younger Mr. Whitehead sank back down into his chrome-and-leather chair, looking up uneasily at Rob, who, even when standing, towered over him by a good four or five inches.

“Oh God,” Randy Junior moaned under his breath.

Kristin, noticing her boyfriend’s pale demeanor, chimed in with, “Who’s Hannah? What’s going on, Randy? Who’s Hannah?”