“Izzy knows how to reach me. I appreciate the call, but I wouldn’t worry about my daughter. She has quite the flair for drama, as I’m sure you know.”
“I’m not so sure this is drama,” Cassidy said, as a flutter of nerves tickled the inside of her rib cage. “Saxon Pike is—”
But Preston Ford cut her off. “Izzy has done this kind of thing before to get what she wants. Let me handle it, please. Meanwhile you have important research to complete!” he added with flourish. “I look forward to reading more about your work.”
Cassidy tried to formulate a reply, but her mouth wouldn’t comply.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot to deal with right now.”
“Like going to San Francisco,” Cassidy blurted, but Preston Ford had already hung up.
A call bleeped and without thinking, Cassidy answered it.
“Hello, Cassidy, Sebastian Ovenell, Huff Post, care to defend your actions regarding misuse of important grant money?”
“What?” Cassidy gasped.
“Surfing on the government’s dime, that’s a serious offense.”
Cassidy gritted her teeth. “What are you talking about? I would never do that!” she said.
“Not according to my sources,” he asked, sounding smug.
Cassidy realized the trap and hung up, flipping her phone facedown on the counter. After a series of deep breaths, she worked her way through Shane’s paperwork. Yes, she consented to him running diagnostics. Yes, she wanted a quote for both fixing the engine and disposing of her vehicle if it wasn’t fixable. No, she wasn’t in a hurry to get the car back because she would likely be miles away when it was fixed—possibly across the ocean in Hawaii. Once everything was finished, Cassidy shouldered her daypack, thanked Shane, and stepped back outside into the hot sun.
A nagging feeling tugged at her thoughts. Why wasn’t Preston Ford hurrying to San Francisco? She’s done this kind of thing before to get what she wants.
Cassidy slipped out her phone and dialed the number for the taxi she’d found earlier. Shane closed up the shop behind her, and she heard him and Dutch talking.
“Ace Taxi,” a female voice chirped.
“Hi, I need a ride from Shane’s Automotive to the airport,” she said, the hot air making her lungs feel tight. Izzy’s message had been a simple: I’m sorry. What did that mean? Sorry for abandoning the van? For leading Cassidy on this quest? Or was she apologizing to someone else? Or for something she hadn’t yet done? Either way, the idea of Izzy upset to the point of weeping put her on edge. But maybe her father was right: that this was some act. But for what gain?
“Hmmm,” the woman on the other end of the line answered. Cassidy heard the chomping of her gum. “I can get a car to you in sixty minutes?” the woman finally said.
“Don’t you have anything sooner?” Cassidy replied, her gut tightening. The earliest flight to Seattle via San Francisco left at noon, which would put her back home with a few hours to spare to pack and return to the airport.
She could also rent a car and drive to either San Francisco or Seattle, but flights were cheap, though with all the connecting and transfer to and from SeaTac, not much faster.
But what about Izzy? Cassidy couldn’t shake the conviction that Preston Ford had no intention of going after his daughter. If Cassidy continued to San Francisco, she would likely beat Preston Ford there, unless he had his own plane.
“So, it’s Beer Week?” the woman replied, popping her gum. “Like, we’re super busy?”
Cassidy sighed, feeling like the weight of the skies had sunk to her shoulders. She reserved the taxi, despite the extended wait, and hung up.
Meanwhile, Cassidy walked to what looked like a bus stop halfway down the block and peered at the sign. Stops on Sundays were rare: one at eight in the morning and another at six pm. Well, that option’s out. Then, she mapped the distance to the airport. Though it was only four miles, she would have to hike along a barren freeway for over half the route. She was better off waiting for the taxi.
Shane’s truck coasted to the exit. He turned onto the road, giving her a wave as he passed by. Cassidy wiped her sweaty hands on her shorts. She was about to call the taxi company back when she heard Dutch’s motorcycle rumble to life behind her. He cruised to the strip of empty parking lot behind the bus stop.
“You hear any more from your girl?” he asked, lowering his feet to the pavement.
“No,” Cassidy said. “But I talked to her father,” she added. “I’m not really sure he’s going to help her.”
Dutch raised his eyebrows but his face stayed slack.
Cassidy heard Izzy’s voice from her voicemail. I’m sorry.
“You goin’ to find her?” Dutch asked.
Cassidy inhaled a long breath, letting it fill all the way up to her shoulders. “It can’t hurt to at least ask around at the club,” she answered. The realization had already sifted up through her thoughts: she couldn’t leave Izzy.
“Sure you know what you’re doin’?” Dutch asked, the skin around his eyes pinching slightly.
Anger rose up inside her chest. “Of course,” she replied.
“You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” he asked.
The question caught her by surprise. She opened her mouth but no words came.
“C’mon,” he said, jerking his head to the space behind him.
“What?”
He gave her a look. “Get on,” he said. “I’ll take you to the airport if that’s where you want to go.”
Cassidy shook her head. “No, thanks.”
His face flashed hot with anger. “I know there’s not gonna be a bus. You wanna get to the airport or not? I’m not offering again.”
Cassidy felt a rush of sickly warmth erupt in her chest. The air around suddenly felt hotter, as if the pavement was a lava field burning her feet. “I appreciate your offer,” she said in a voice that sounded strangled. Images of Pete’s crash site floated to the surface of her mind. “But I can’t.”
“Aw, are you nervous?”
