The text message came at 2 o’clock in the morning, when the Netherfield house was dark and quiet except for the lamp in Alexa’s room and the summer rain was falling heavy against her window. To her, it had always been one of the loneliest parts of being what she was: staying awake for hours while the rest of the world, along with Papa and Jemma—the only two members of her family who she could relate to—slept in their rooms. At least Billy’s sisters had to sleep, too.
She was about to put her phone away and curl up on her mostly-unnecessary bed to watch the rain when it dinged, drawing her attention. The message was from Papa: ‘Come home. Don’t tell Jemma.’
Alexa had no idea what he could be talking about, but the message was foreboding enough to open a pit of dread in her middle.
She called Papa immediately.
He picked up on the first ring. “I shouldn’t have contacted you until tomorrow morning.”
The strain in his voice sent a bolt of panic through her body. She gripped the phone harder. “The time is nothing to me. You know that. What is it, Papa? What’s wrong?”
“It—It’s Libby.” His voice cracked. “It doesn’t look good, Alexa. We found the window in her room open, and Mrs. Forster down the road last saw her getting in a car with a stranger. But it wasn’t a stranger. I don’t want to ask you this, but what do you know about that Winston fellow you’ve been seeing?”
Alexa’s arm was suddenly not strong enough to hold the phone to her ear, and it dropped down to the bed. The dizzying image of Libby disappearing behind a car door swam unbidden into her mind. Poor, naïve, stupid Libby, who knew one joke and couldn’t help the deficiencies in her programming. Libby, who she hadn’t seen in almost a month and who she should have taken better care of. Who she had feared for that day at Billy’s party. But maybe she had been afraid of the wrong person.
“Alexa? Alexa?” It was Papa’s voice over the phone.
“I’m coming home,” Alexa said softly, and hung up.
She didn’t waste time. She grabbed her purse and rain jacked, stuffed her feet into her shoes, and contained herself just enough to not make too much noise down the hall and on the stairs. The moment her feet hit the lawn, though, she broke into a run.
Winston. What did she know about Winston? And here she was thinking she was smart, a scientist like Papa who tested hypotheses and not a silly bot like her sisters! Winston must have been laughing at her! Why had she never asked more questions, like how did he know what he claimed to know about Damian and his family? Why had he taken so much interest in her, knowing what she was? And what was he doing there at Papa’s auction in the first place?—an auction crawling with bad intentions and, yes, parts dealers.
Alexa’s tires screeched as she shot out of the Netherfields’ driveway. She was driving so fast that she just had time to slam on her brakes when a shadowy figure on a motorcycle appeared in her headlights further up the road.
Alexa should have paused to think. To feel suspicious or even surprised. Wasn’t that her mistake with Winston? But in that moment more than ever, she knew Damian Pemberley was no mistake. She jumped out of the car to run to him, not caring about the rain or the fact that she was in her pajamas, but then she realized she wasn’t the only one running.
They collided halfway and Damian caught her in his arms, burying his face in her wet hair like he hadn’t slept in days and she was the only place he could rest his head. Alexa clung to his solidness when everything else was slipping through her fingers.
“I was so afraid it was you!” he said.
Alexa pulled back enough to look him in the eye, searching and desperate and afraid. “Damian, you were right! Winston is dangerous. He’s gone, and he took Libby with him.”
Damian nodded. “I know. I saw him on the highway about an hour ago. I saw he wasn’t alone and I tried following him, but he managed to lose me. I’m so sorry!”
“No, I’m sorry. This is all my fault! I brought him to my family! I wouldn’t listen to you when you tried to warn me! I—”
Damian touched his fingers to her lips, silencing her frantic barrage of blame. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. It’s no wonder you didn’t listen to me. I was a jerk to you.”
Alexa couldn’t feel comforted.
“I don’t know what to do,” she confessed, and rainwater ran down her face like tears.
Damian smiled grimly. “I think I do. It’s along the way. Hop on.” He signaled to his motorcycle.
But Alexa couldn’t let it go that easily. She held onto his jacket, forcing him to look at her. “Damian, where did he take her?”
She was braced for the worst, but a chill still found its way down her spine when he looked back at her with eyes like two dark pools and said, “His chop shop.”
