Page 6 of Heart Strings & Hotlines
It’s beenthree days since I returned home from the nanny event, and by all accounts, it was a success.
The only outlier is Thane Wilder, who refused every match Rowan and I attempted to make for him.
Stretching my arms over my head, I yawn. It’s after ten, and I should be sleeping, but my mind keeps going over Thane’s hotline test.
No matter how many times I run it, I get the same results, but it’s a match I can never make for him.
My phone rings, and my heart jumps in my chest. It’s an unknown caller from New York, which means it’s my father. I hit decline, and it immediately rings again. It rings two more times, and I frown.
Rupert Sinclair doesn’t chase anyone.
Fear sits heavy in my belly when it rings once again. What if something’s wrong with my brother? I spoke to Elijah last week, but…
“Hello?”
“She’s gone, Charlotte. Kara is fucking gone.”
I stare at the phone in my hand, then bring it back to my ear.
“Thane?”
He grunts, and I guess that’s my answer.
“What do you mean, Kara’s gone?”
“She ran away.”
I’ve never heard so much emotion in his voice before. Even Rowan said he’s mostly monotone with her.
Rowan has been his hotline contact for a couple of months. Did she give him my private number?
“I know she told you I’m…different.” He actually sounds tortured as he admits that. “But I’m fucking trying here, Charlotte. I am trying. She deserves better than my father, but now she’s run away from me. What the hell is the court going to say to that? She can’t go back to my father. She can’t.”
He clears his throat and the emotion that was clogging his words with it. “He was three times over the legal limit when he forced her into that car with him this time, Charlotte. He could have killed her, and he’ll hardly do any time at all—even though it’s his fifth DUI—because of who he is. What the hell was she thinking, running away like this?”
I have a feeling that telling him to calm down would have the opposite effect, so I go straight to problem-solving. “Where are you now?”
“I’m walking through Gramercy Park. She couldn’t have gotten far, right?”
“Put some clothes on,” someone in the background shouts.
“My sister is missing, you fucking prick! Leave me alone.”
“Ah, Thane. Do you not have clothes on?”
“I’m wearing sleep pants, but I’m barefoot.”
“Why?”
“The alarm went off in my penthouse, and I ran out of bed after her.”
And he didn’t put on clothes or shoes. Okay.
“Do you know any of her friends? Any favorite places? That’s where you should start.”
“Friends?” That one word is sharp enough to decapitate.
“Yes, Thane. Friends. Did you call the police?”
