At 1:18 in the morning, my phone lit up on the nightstand.
DIANE CALLING.
For a second, I thought I was dreaming.
My mother-in-law never called me that late.
Actually, Diane rarely called me at all unless she couldn’t reach my husband.
Her son, Ethan, was usually her first call.
Always.
I slipped out of bed before the ringing woke him and hurried into the hallway.
“Diane?”
Nothing.
I pressed the phone harder against my ear.
Then I heard a whisper.
“Ava?”
Something in her voice made every bit of sleep leave my body.
“Yes. I’m here.”
There was a long pause.
Then she said:
“I need you to come get me.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where’s Malcolm?”
Another pause.
“Asleep.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“Threaten you?”
“No.”
“Does he have your phone? Your wallet?”
“No.”
I frowned.
“Then what happened?”
I heard what sounded like a bathroom faucet running in the background.
