I waited for the return text, because in spite of Mason'smanyother annoying qualities, I had to admit, he was really diligent when it came to correspondence about his sister.
But no return text came.
Was he making me wait because I'd madehimwait?
Or –oh, God– what if he was on the way to pick her up? He was so protective sometimes that I could totally see him doing it, hopping into his car and coming out after her.
With a frown, I picked up my phone and texted again."Ok???"
No response.
Dang it.I should've texted him sooner.
While the SUV thawed, I figured I'd hop into the back seat and rearrange some of the things I'd tossed into it last night – clothes mostly, along with some extra blankets and Christmas presents – some of them already wrapped, and others in need of boxes or bows.
Normally, I'd be a lot more organized, but last night, I'd been so angry, I swear, I did more throwing than arranging.
And even though I obviously couldn't leave for my trip any time soon, there was at least a decent chance I'd be able to leave tomorrow morning – assuming iteverstopped snowing.
A quick glance out the side window wasn't encouraging. If anything, it was snowing harder.
Unwilling to brave the weather so soon – or risk getting locked out of the vehicle – I crawled over the center console and tumbled into the back seat.
Dignified? No.
But hey, dignity had been scarce on the ground, especially lately.
I was in the back seat for less than a minute when suddenly, the two front doors opened at exactly the same time. A split second later, two strangers in ski masks hopped into the vehicle. One claimed the driver's seat while the other claimed the passenger's side.
I swear, my heart leapt out of my chest. What the hell?
Chapter 51
Cami
From the back seat, I yelled, "What are you doing?"
In unison, they both turned to look. Their ski-masks were pitch black, just like their bulky black winter coats. The masks covered most of their faces, leaving only their eyes and mouths exposed.
The one in the driver's seat demanded in a voice that was all masculine, "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm the owner of the vehicle," I said. "Who the hell areyou?"
Before he could even think to answer, the person in the passenger's seat – a female, judging from her voice – yelled, "You aresucha liar!"
I shook my head. "What?"
Her tone grew snippy. "It's not 'your' car."
Legally speaking, she was correct. I mean, it's not like my name was on the title. But it was still my vehicle as far asthesetwo jokers were concerned. I shot back, "It is, too."
"Hah! It belongs to Mason Blastoviak, notyou."
I blinked. "Wait, how would you know?"
"It's a custom color," she said. "Any idiot knowsthat. What, you don't watch TV?"
Obviously, she was referring to the brothers' cable show. I told her, "I've watched it plenty."
