Page 3 of Darlin'

Momma's brows furrow. "Don't dilly dally, Savannah. I expect you home in ten minutes. No later, understand?"

"Yes, yes," I say, quickening my pace as I press the phone against my ear. I've been waiting three years for this call—three. "Hello? Mr. Moore? You there?"

"I'm here," he says.

"So you found him?" I ask, hopeful. "Is he okay? Where is he? What's he doing?"

"Well, he's here, in California?—"

"California?!" I ask, voice rising. Beau never talked about the west coast. He was a southern boy through andthrough. "What on earth is Beau doing in California?" I frown, chewing on my bottom lip. This better not be like last time when theythoughtthey found him. I can't handle another letdown. "Now, Mr. Moore, my brother has been MIA for nearly three years, and Mr. Calvin said it was highly unlikely that you'd ever find him, so I need to know...are yousureit's him? Like absolutely positive? Because I really don't want to get my hopes up again.”

"Well, the mug shot matches his ID photos," he states. "Fingerprints too."

"I beg your pardon?" I freeze, my heart dropping out of my chest. "Did you just say...mug shot?"

"I did." Dylan clears his throat. "It seems as though your brother got into a bar fight a few weeks ago."

"A bar fight?!" I gasp. "My brother? My brother, who was homecoming king and varsity captain? That brother?" I release a string of giggles. "Now, I know you must be sorely mistaken. My brother would never be in a bar fight. Ever!"

"Sorry to shatter the illusion, Miss Kingsley, but itisyour brother," he says, unfazed. "He was arrested alongside a couple of other members of the Sons of Sorrow."

I blink, head spinning. "The who now?"

"Sons of Sorrow," Dylan says again. "They're a biker gang out of Hawkridge?—"

"Biker gang?" I place my hand over my chest, knees weak. "Did you just say...biker gang?"

"Yes, a biker gang."

"I think I might throw up a little," I whisper softly, bile rising in my esophagus. "Tell me this is a joke. You're joking, right? This is a prank?"

Dylan sighs. "Listen, Miss Kingsley, I know this is hard to hear, but we've done our job. We found him. You should be happy, okay? Could be worse. At least he's not dead."

"Right, at least he's not dead..." I swallow, unable to process that my baby brother—my sweet, innocent little brother—is somehow mixed up with...a gang?! Oh, my word. "Mr. Moore...what do you uh—what do you recommend as the next course of action?"

"Next course of action?" he asks. "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean 'what do I mean?'" I frown, turning onto my street, our craftsman-style house coming into view. "We can't let him stay there, can we? We need...an extraction. Isn't that what it's called?"

Dylan lets out a roaring laugh. "Miss Kingsley, we're PIs, not Navy Seals. There will be noextraction."

I blink. "Then what am I to do with this information,MisterMoore?"

"That's up to you," he says nonchalantly. "I'll email over everything we've uncovered, as well as the final invoice for our services."

"But—"

"Take care, Miss Kingsley," Dylan says, "and thank you for choosing Calvin Investigations."

The call disconnects, and I'm left in shock, staring at a black screen. I paid these bastards thousands of dollars, and they will not assist me any further?! That's it?We found him. He's joined a gang. Okay, bye.Seriously? That's all? What in the world am I supposed to do now? Tell my daddy, ask for his help, tell momma?! Hah.Laughable. Truly comical. Beau might as well alreadybedead to my parents, and now that he's a criminal?—

"Savannah?" Momma calls out my name from down the street. Dang, she walks fast. "Who were you just talking to?"

I blink as she catches up to me. "Oh, umm...that was uh?—"

Lying's a sin. Lying's a sin. Lying's a sin.

"Well?"

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