Page 79 of Second Chance

Gianna presses the call button.

She shakes her head. “Straight to voicemail.” Tapping out something quick, she adds, “And texts aren’t going through.”

“Same as Daniel.” Tony looks over to Colette. Same as when they tried yesterday and this morning. If it was Lily—if she took Daniel—

“What if Lily got kidnapped too?” Gianna asks.

Tony swallows around nothing. He didn’t consider that possibility. It’s certainly kinder than what he currently thinks about Lily.

“It’s possible,” Colette says. Her face gives nothing away. She must have been a poker player in a previous life. “Has Lily been acting abnormally recently?”

Gianna tilts her head to the side, considering. Lia grumbles at the sudden movement. “She’s been pretty anxious. Coming back was harder than she thought, and she feels like everyone is judging her. She’s been kind of flaky. Keeps forgetting to answer texts, and then she talks about how stressed out she is about it all. Sometimes, she seems really good, though, like, incredibly good, given everything. Then she phases back into not answering messages. I don’t know if she was this way before…everything though.”

“How long have you guys been hanging out?” Tony should probably feel guilty for acting as if it’s an idle question and not mining Gianna for information. He comforts himself with the knowledge that if he’s wrong, she’ll never know.

“Just over the summer.” Gianna looks down at the top of Lia’s head, jiggling her a little. “We texted some in the spring when she was gone. She was here doing makeup classes in summer school, and we hung out toward the start. Then she met Sean in one of her classes and started spending more time with him.”

“So, she bailed on you for a guy.”

Gianna eyes him warily. “I mean, I guess? Or she wanted the normal college experience instead hanging out with a baby all the time.”

Guilt clenches in Tony’s stomach. He’s been so focused on how hard everything is for him when he should have spent more time worrying about how hard it is for her.

“Hm.” Colette folds her hands together, the first tell that she’s trying to play Gianna. “Do you know where her dorm room is? We could see if she’s there and why she isn’t answering her phone. Maybe she forgot to charge it, or it broke.”

Gianna considers. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”

Chapter Twelve

Blake crashes on the couch, the night shifts getting to him, about an hour after Colette and Gianna head out to investigate Lily’s room. Tony’s a little upset they left him behind, but it makes sense because his family decided to camp out in Daniel’s apartment. Anyway, someone needs to watch Lia while Gianna is gone. Plus, no one wants Emilio waking up to an empty apartment.

Ma spends the late afternoon in the kitchen, cooking up something much too complicated for dinner, and Tony dragged extra chairs up from Colette’s apartment when it became clear the apartment would be stuffed to the limit tonight. Now, he sits in the kitchen, one eye on the baby monitor, one eye on his phone. Lisa’s made it in as well and sits on the corner of the couch not occupied by Blake’s sprawled-out form, trying to convince Worf to be friends with her. So far, she’s gotten him to sniff her fingers and rub up against them, after which he promptly turns around and smacks her hand with his claws, even though he’s the one who asked to be petted.

Pa and Meredith should get in any minute. Her flight got in on time, and Pa texted before they hit the road.

There’s still nothing from Daniel.

Tony’s phone battery is almost drained again. He’s been checking it so much, reading and rereading Daniel’s last message, looking for a code or a hint or anything that could be a fucking lifeline. The police haven’t gotten in touch either.

“No news is good news,” Ma says, bending over the oven.

“Yeah, they haven’t found a body yet.” Tony’s aware his voice sounds detached, caustic. No one here deserves that. They’ve all shown up for him, for Daniel, but he can’t help himself. The longer they hear nothing, the more it itches under his skin. He wishes he could translate his irritation into something more tangible, into tears or rage oranything. Where’s all the emotion that was sitting under his skin for days at a time beforehand? Why can’t he work it up for Daniel, when Daniel’s—when he feels—when Daniel means…

“Tony.” It takes a moment for him to remember what Ma is chiding him for.

“Sorry.”

“Where are Daniel’s spices?” Ma asks, already busy over the stove again.

Tony points. “Cupboard right above you.” Calling them “Daniel’s spices” is a bit of a reach. When Tony started cooking here, all Daniel had was salt, paprika, and dried sage. Tony’s been fixing that, one shopping trip at a time, and by the look Ma gives him over her shoulder, she can tell it’s his doing. It would be a big coincidence if Daniel stocked the same brand of spices she always buys.

While her back is turned, Tony checks his phone again.

Colette has sent him seven pictures of a narrow dorm room cluttered with things. Tony zooms in to see beyond the general detritus. Laundry sits heaped in one corner. A silver laptop balances precariously on top a stack of textbooks covering thedesk. The bed is unmade. All of the dresser drawers hang open. A prescription pill box sits on the windowsill by the bed, next to a plastic bottle of cheap vodka and an open can of soda.

Surely, a cold-blooded murderer’s lair would look less like a normal college student’s room. There’s also no sign of Daniel anywhere.

What are the pills?Tony texts Colette.

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