Page 68 of The Revenge

No...? Which means he put a tracker on her to know where she is at all times? After what happened with Salaway, and how we’d nearly found her too late, I replayed things a million times and flippantly wished we’d had a tracking device on her. So, I’m far from mad that Syn went ahead and did just that.

But I am surprised.

“She’s heading north,” Gemini says, breaking the silence. “Judging by the speed, she’s in a vehicle, but it doesn’t look like she has much of a head start.”

“My car is out front,” I say, already running towards the entrance.

My parents had the driver bring them, but I’d driven myself. The way I figured it, once tonight was over, Tori would want to go back to her own home, so I brought my own car so I could offer to drive her...

And to try to convince her to be with me.

Instead of using the valet service, I parked across the street. There’s a ticket on the windshield, but I pull it off and toss it on the floor before I get in. As I pull away, tires squealing, Syn kills the music that started blasting out.

“Get on the West Side Highway, and head north.”

There’s not a great deal of traffic as I speed down the street, ignoring the speed limits. “North means she’s not going home.”

Even though I know Syn is right, and there’s no way Tori would have just given up, I’ve been hoping we were wrong, and that she’s in a cab back to her place in Jersey.

“Where is she?” Gemini leans forward from the back seat and looks over Syn’s shoulder.

“Coming up on the George Washington Bridge,” Syn tells us.

“Does Bergmann live that way?” I glance over my shoulder at Gemini. If anyone is going to know that it’s him.

“Astoria. If that’s where she’s heading, the cab is taking the scenic route.”

“She’s not in a cab,” Syn mutters.

I finally merge onto the highway and put my foot down, hoping there are no bored cops lurking. The G-Class isn’t the kind of high-performance car that a cop knows he has no chance of catching. I don’t care about a ticket, but we don’t have time to be stopped.

Much as I want to hope that this is all her doing, the gas pedal is on the floor, because I know something isn’t right.

“You think this is Preston? He found out she was going to be there tonight, and he took her?” I glance over at Syn.

Syn doesn’t take his eyes off the phone screen.

“What did your father say to you?” I ask him.

“He told me I couldn’t marry her,” Syn responds, shortly.

“Papa Keyingham is in on this?” Gemini asks.

Instead of denying it, Syn frowns. “I spoke to him last night. He wasn’t happy I came home with a fiancée, but he didn’t give the slightest indication he knew who she was.”

I swerve to undertake a car, then spare another glance at Syn. In all the years I’ve known him, he’s never really relaxed when he sits.

When we were seven, he let slip that his mother made his nanny hit him with a cane if she ever caught him slouching. That must have happened enough times to have good posture at all times—even when he’s alone with us.

Tonight, he seemed to be walking with his back straighter than normal, and I’d assumed it was because we were out in public, in the same room as his parents. Since getting in the car, he’s been leaning forward, leaving a gap between the seat and his back. I’ve thought nothing of it, because if I was in his place, I’d probably do the same.

But even though Syn rarely speaks of it anymore, I know his parents.

“You okay?” I ask him.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says, shortly.

Gemini drops a hand on his shoulder but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

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