I probably should’ve called Mason anyway. But instead, I grabbed my sweater, locked the front door out of pure habit, and got into the police car. The backseat smelled like strong cleaner and old panic. The door slammed shut with a heavy click, making my stomach completely drop.
The cop hopped in the front and started driving.
“Where are we heading?” I asked.
“Not too far.”
“Not too far where?”
He peeked at me in the rearview mirror. “Somewhere safe.”
“Safe from what?” I started getting louder. “Did Dean get injured? Did he do something wrong?”
“Ma’am,” he said, keeping it cool but strict. “Please.”
“Don’t ‘please’ me. Just tell me if my boy is okay.”
He hesitated. “You’ll get all the answers in a bit. I swear.”
My phone vibrated. A message from Mason. “Mom please don’t freak out. Just trust us.” Trust us. After literally four hours of getting ghosted.
I quickly texted back. “WHERE ARE YOU GUYS?”
It said delivered, but he didn’t read it.
