Page 22 of The Golden Hour

Hugo waves away her words. “She’ll see the family doctor, of course, and we’ll disclose all necessary information.”

I don’t miss the subtext—they’ll disclose what they deem necessary—and neither does Wilson, who flushes an angry red.

“Mr. Barnes, I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation. Obviously the case of Callisto’s disappearance has been reopened. If I could speak with Vivian Avellino—”

“Mrs. Avellino has no comment at this time.” Hugo’s reptilian eyes fix on me. “All she wants is to welcome her stepdaughter home.”

I’m sure she does.

I turn to Detective Wilson. “Thank you for being so kind and listening to me. I’m sorry I wasn’t more help.”

She extends her card. “If you remember anything else, and I mean anything, please give me a call.” After I’ve taken it, she steps back, a professional mask sliding into place as she looks at Hugo. “My partner and I will be in touch. I’m sure Mrs. Avellino wants the person who abducted her stepdaughter behind bars as much as we do.”

Hugo nods, ignoring the implied barb, and gestures me toward the door. A small, oily smile tilts his thin lips.

“After you.”

13

A black town car idles outside the department. Hugo ushers me into the backseat, then slides in beside me.

“My car—”

“Is not our priority at the moment.”

The door closes and the sounds of traffic outside fade to a hum. Hugo fastens his seatbelt, waits to me to fasten mine, then nods at the driver.

As we pull away from the building, Hugo tugs at his tie, loosening it around his neck. His cologne is overpowering, his annoyance clear in the set of his narrow shoulders.

“What on earth were you thinking, walking into the damn police department?” he hisses. “Why didn’t you just come to the house? And where the fuck have you been for six years? We don’t like surprises, Calli.”

We, but we both know he means Vivian.

“I had amnesia,” I tell him indignantly. “Probably from the trauma of someone abducting me, keeping me drugged in a basement for weeks, then bashing me on the head and dumping me in a field to die.”

Hugo stares at me appraisingly, one thin eyebrow raised. “My, my, someone’s grown a backbone.”

I snort. “Yeah, well, I spent years not knowing who I was or where I came from. I guess you could say I learned everything no one ever taught me about survival in the real world.”

After a pregnant silence, Hugo coughs. “I have to ask, were you forced to… or rather, did you, you know, to earn money—”

“No,” I snap, eyeing him with disgust. “I didn’t prostitute myself. This conversation is over. I don’t want to talk about it, and when I do, it definitely won’t be with you. I’d like to see my family, take a long bath, drink a bottle of champagne, and forget the last six years.”

Hugo’s phone rings and he answers. “Yes, I have her—Twenty-five minutes or less—Uh-huh—Don’t worry about that, Vivian—Of course, we’ll spin it however we want to.” He glances at me. “No—You’ll see for yourself—That’s fine.”

He hangs up and fiddles with his cuff links. “Your stepmother is beyond excited to see you, my dear. But your timing is shit. A word of advice? Behave as you were raised to, or your homecoming won’t be everything you hope it to be.”

I settle back in my seat, oddly calm in the face of the veiled threat. Be the doormat you were before. Stay in line. Behave.

In the reflection of the window, I see my small smile.

Not gonna happen.

* * *

In the hills of affluent Calabasas, the town car approaches iron gates and they slide open on a cobblestone driveway lined with trimmed hedges. At the end, seated like a fat monarch with his hands out, is the house my father bought Vivian in their first year of marriage.

The palatial, Spanish reconstruction glows from within. Outside, hundreds of tasteful landscape lights bathe the exterior. Above the red-tile roof, the evening sky is starless and expansive, punctuated only by the shadowed, spiked heads of palms.

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