Page 88 of Tangled Trust

“I don’t understand. If it wasn’t you who texted me, then who was it?” he barks at me, slowly coming to the same conclusion as me.

“I don’t know,” I lie in desperation because it’s too complicated to explain it to him now.

And, I’m afraid that if I do share my suspicions with him, I’ll have to tell my already fuming ex about Carter, and that is a spectacularly bad idea.

Oh, Carter!

I have to make a run for it. I have no other choice. The sliding door to the beach is open. If I run outside and along the sand, I can call out for help. There must be someone nearby who can help me. There has to be.

Oh, God. Please, help me!

I make a break for the door but Sebastian is right there. My foot catches on the edge of a scatter carpet and I go down before I can stop myself from falling. I feel a sharp pain against my head before my world turns to darkness.

25

CARTER

Ihave an uneasy feeling in my gut. There’s no particular reason—or none that I can think of, anyway—but, even so, I arrive home from my business trip with a definite sense that something is very wrong.

The house is quiet when I drop my keys on the table.

"Hello! Honey, I’m home," I call out in a mocking tone.

Silence.

"Ella! Your hero is home from his daily toil! Hello?"

Dash comes rushing at me from the direction of the kitchen. He loves hanging around Chef so he can maximize his snacking opportunities.

"Hey, boy," I say, and I bend down to give him a good scratch behind the ear.

"Good evening, Sir."

"Oh, hello, George. Have you seen Ella?"

"No, Sir. She left this morning before noon. I haven’t seen her since."

I check the time. It’s 7 p.m. Where could she have gone off to?

"Okay, thank you, George."

"Do you need anything else, Sir?"

"Uhm, no thanks. You may go."

"Thank you. Have a good evening, Mr. Moore."

I check my cell phone for messages. None from Ella. This is very odd. I try calling Ella on her cell phone after I drop my briefcase off in the office. It goes straight to voicemail.

"Hi, babe. It’s me. Where are you? Call me when you get this, please. Love you."

There's no need to worry, I’m sure. Ella’s phone battery must have died. I’ll have a drink and answer a few emails while I wait. I pour myself a whiskey and open my emails.

* * *

It’s been an hour since I arrived home. This doesn’t feel right. I’ve answered the most urgent emails, but now I can’t focus anymore. I’m worried about Ella. She’s pregnant, after all. I worry that something may have happened and she’s at a hospital somewhere. Surely, she’d ask someone to call me if that were the case.

I try her number again. This time, I don’t bother leaving a message. I remember suddenly having trackers fitted to all my vehicles. I open the app and search for her car’s location. It’s not that I’m spying on Ella. I’m worried about her.

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