Page 114 of Creed

I hang up and move back to my bed. I set my phone on it and double-check that the ringer is on.

“I’m becoming OCD,” I mutter, going to my dresser and grabbing a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater. I dress, then grab a hair tie from my bowl of them on my desk and pull my unruly curly hair back into a tight ponytail.

My phone rings out a notification, and I frown. It’s the sound for when I get a voicemail. Picking up my phone, I see Idohave a voicemail. But my phone hasn’t rung, so how could I get a voicemail?

I check my call log; the last call is from Zac and there are no missed calls.

I open my voicemail app, type in my passcode, and press play.

“Hey, Oll, hope the start of your spring break is great!”

“Sophie.” My legs give way, and I sink onto my bed. She sounds so chipper. And alive.

“I’m just checking in using a friend’s phone because I forgot mine in my desk drawer. I know, so not like me, right? Anyway, I’m not sure if you stuck around for the full weekend, but I just wanted to let you know I’ll be gone for a few more days. I didn’t want you to worry, and I’m sorry I missed you. I’ll talk to you in a few days. Bye, Pep-Rally. Like you a little.”

“Bye, Killjoy. Love you a lot,” I reply with our usual send-off without thinking.

Relieffloodsme.

Sophie is okay. She just forgot her phone. I overreacted for nothing.

I laugh out loud but then sober as the flash flood of relief dries up instantly.

Sophie would’veneverforgotten her phone, and never in her drawer. She always had it with her. Even when she goes to sleep at night, she never ever puts her phone in her desk drawer. She’s always on-call for her family.

And how did I get a voicemail when my phone didn’t ring or register a call—missed or otherwise?

I double-check my call log; Zac is still the last caller. The one prior to that was from Antonio last night.

Even if Sophie had called while I was talking to Zac, it would’ve registered in the log.

Panic and dread replace the short-lived relief. I call Antonio, and as soon as he answers, I blurt, “I got a voicemail from Sophie. I think it’s fake.”

“What? Slow down, Olivianne.” Antonio calls me by my full name, which I hate, but ignore that and explain what happened.

“Can you come here ASAP?” he asks. “We’ll get our team to listen and look into it. Okay?”

“Yes.” Unease blooms in me, though, remembering Zac’s caution. If the voicemail is fake, then that means someone really does have Sophie and doesn’t want me to worry and go to the police. They could be watching me. My paranoia spikes, coupled with a good dose of anxiety. “Do… do you think you or Miguel could pick me up?”

I hate how scared and weak I sound.

“Oh,cariño, of course.”

His calling me sweetheart almost does me in, and I swallow a sob.

“Miguel is leaving right now.”

“Thank you,” I force out.

“Hang tight,cariño. We’ll see you soon.”

My hands shake as I sit on my bed. I need to call Zac and let him know this, but I need a minute.

The voicemail—possibly fake—from Sophie is too much, and I feel like I’m about to shatter.

Miguel picks me up, and the drive to the hotel is fast. He drives the Audi 5 like a professional racecar driver. His thick-veined hands clutch the wheel and work the stick shift. If he wasn’t my friend’s uncle’s partner, and I wasn’t so worried about my friend that I felt like I was going to hurl, I’d more fully appreciate his rugged hotness. Not that I’m into the guy, and I know he doesn’t swing for my team, but a girl can appreciate a specimen when in his presence.

He looks at me with concern as he parks the car. “You okay?”

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