She waited—come on, Brodie. Answer me. She didn’t know how to reach his brothers. And she’d never hired a new assistant, so she’d have to get on her laptop and book a flight.

Give him a few minutes. He can’t be far.

In the closet, she wheeled out one of her suitcases, kicked it over, and unzipped it. She’d only take one. Leave the rest of her stuff behind. Who cares?

She loved her father so much. He can’t die. He just can’t.

In the distance, a sound registered. Tires crunching over gravel. “Brodie.” She raced out of the closet.

“Rosalina?”

No. Not him. She met Marcel in the hallway. “What’re you doing here?”

He walked right past her. “I’ve hired a jet. It’s on its way to the local airstrip.” He pointed towards her room. This one?

She nodded, following him in. As she stuffed her suitcase with shoes and everything that hung on the racks, he pulled more luggage out of the closet.

Glancing over, she saw him emptying her dresser drawers. “Forget that stuff. I don’t need it.”

“You’re not coming back, so we might as well take everything.”

Not coming back. It hit her like a fist to the throat.

I’m leaving, and I’m not coming back.

It’s over.

Zipping her suitcase, she came out of the closet.

Marcel scanned her room. “Charger?”

“Nightstand.”

He bent over and pulled it from the wall. “Got it. Passport?”

“Oh, right.” She’d have left without it. Digging under the mattress, her fingers touched the cool folder. “Okay.”

“Ready?” Marcel heaved her suitcase off the bed.

She nodded, and they hurried out of the room. Grabbing her purse off the kitchen table, she took a quick look around the living area. Her black flip flops sat by the French doors, where she’d left them after a trip to the lake the night before. Jars and labels and pumps littered the table and kitchen counters.

“Let’s go.” Marcel led the way outside.

The driver waited at the trunk of his black sedan, taking the luggage from them.

Rosalina slid into the back seat, the cold air instantly drying her damp skin. Marcel got in beside her, reaching for her. “He’s going to be okay.”

Her hand jerked away as if a cockroach had crawled across it. “Don’t touch me.”

The driver got into his seat and shut the door. Within moments, they were heading down the driveway.

Marcel leaned forward and closed the partition, but he didn’t try to touch her again. “We’ll be home in just over ten hours.”

Her heart raced, and her stomach knotted. She couldn’t stand it. “Have you gotten an update? My mother didn’t say much.”

“There’s no information at this point.”

“Where was he? How did it happen?”