If I could get that phone, I could call Derek.
I creep closer and lift it off him. I hold it to his face for facial recognition, and it opens. He sniffles and swallows, then starts snoring again.
I tiptoe out of the room and into the bedroom, closing and locking the door. Then I call Derek.
When he doesn’t pick up, I text him and tell him it’s me.
I call back again, and this time he picks up.
I can hear racing motorcycles and know he’s at the track, qualifying.
“Derek?”
“What is it, Maggie?”
“The Royal Bastards know it was you. They know you and Remy shot their guy. They’re coming for you both, Derek, and they know where you are. You and Remy need to get out of town. Forget the race and just haul ass out of there.”
“What are you talking about? We never shot anybody.”
“Don’t fucking play games with me, Derek. They know. It doesn’t matter how. They’re going to kill you, do you fucking understand?” I hiss the words, trying to keep quiet.
Suddenly, it's Remy’s voice on the other end. “Don’t worry about us, Maggie. I’m taking care of Sully. That motherfucker is dead.”
“What do you mean?” I clutch the phone tightly to my ear.
“One of these days, Maggie.Boom.” Then he starts laughing.
Derek comes back on the line. “There’s no talking to him, Maggie.”
“He’s going to get you both killed. Get out of there, Derek. They know where you guys went. If Remy is too stupid to run, save yourself.”
“I’ll see ya, Maggie.”
He disconnects, and the line goes dead.
“Goddamn it,” I hiss, dialing my bar.
Baja picks up. “Gaslight.”
“It’s me, Maggie. Give me Lola’s number, will you?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be up at the cabinwithout a phone?”
“I just need Lola. I need feminine hygiene products. You want to go get ‘em for me?” I lie.
“Uh, no.” He rattles off her number, and I hang up on him.
I text Lola.
ME: It’s Maggie. I stole Woody’s phone to text you. Please come to the cabin.
LOLA: You okay?
ME: I’m being held prisoner. Come save me.
LOLA: Jesus. Men are stupid. I’m on my way.
Forty-five minutes later, she pulls up the drive.