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She nods a little, reluctant, turning away from me. ‘I can’t stand the thought of being lonely, Ryan. Alexandra is such a daddy’s girl. I know she’ll always choose you over me. What if she wants to live with you for ever? I’ll be all alone.’ She looks at me, and I see the true fear in her. I take no pleasure from it.
I sigh and do what instinct is telling me to do. ‘Come here, silly.’ I pull her into me and give her a hug, catching her fleeting look of surprise just before she’s tucked in my chest. Darcy Hampton doesn’t receive many hugs, if any. She needs one. She molds against me easily, and I sigh into her hair. ‘You’ll never be alone. Alex adores your neurotic bones.’
She chuckles and sniffles, wrapping her arms around me. ‘She’s a good kid. Messy but good.’
‘She is,’ I muse, looking across at the stage. Our messy but good kid is looking at us like we just stepped off an intergalactic flight from Mars. Her head tilts, her eyes widen, and her hands come up like, What the hell is going on? I wave off her concern and gesture for her to get on and win the pageant. ‘Do me a favour, yeah?’ I say to Darcy.
‘What?’
‘Go take a look at the painting she’s done.’
‘I already did.’
‘And?’ I prompt.
‘And she’s not just beautiful and intelligent, but creative, too.’
I smile. ‘Make sure she knows that.’
‘I will,’ she sighs.
‘You heard from Casper?’ I break away before she gets too comfortable, and she wipes at her nose.
‘No. I know it’s for the best. It’s been a long time since there was any love in our marriage.’
‘You’ll find your Mr Perfect,’ I assure her softly. ‘There’s real love out there waiting for all of us.’
‘Like you?’ she says a little suggestively, prompting me to scan the street for Hannah again. Where’d she go? ‘She’s nice,’ Darcy adds, and I know it took everything in her to admit it.
‘How much did that hurt?’ I ask seriously.
‘Stop it.’ She gives my arm a playful slap. ‘I don’t mind admitting when I’m wrong. I shouldn’t have stepped on her toes.’
‘You didn’t step, Darcy. You stamped.’ I’m back to searching for the woman in question as Darcy chuckles. ‘Have you seen her?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She motions back up the street. ‘She fell into the toffee apple stall.’
‘What?’
‘Wasn’t looking where she was going. Backed right into it.’ Darcy arranges her bag in the crook of her arm as the crowd erupts again. ‘She ran into her shop. Embarrassed, probably. She made a right mess, poor thing.’
I’m running toward Hannah’s shop before I’ve had a chance to let all the information Darcy just fed me sink in. I don’t like the sudden increase of my heart rate. I don’t like the whoosh of blood in my ears. And I fucking hate the prickles of apprehension stabbing me all over.
I reach the door and push, but it doesn’t budge an inch. I peek through, seeing her shop empty. ‘Hannah,’ I yell, banging on the glass with my fist. I’m aware of what happened the last time I broke in, namely, nearly having my head shot off, so I’m sure to make myself known, hoping she’ll answer before I kick the door in.
‘Hannah, it’s me. Open up!’ I cup my hands around my face and peer through the glass again, cursing under my breath. I pull my phone from my pocket and dial her, pacing up and down outside her door as it rings. It goes to voice mail. I growl and dial again, looking back through the door. ‘Answer your phone,’ I order. She doesn’t. ‘Fuck this.’ I wedge my shoulder up against the wood near the lock to get my aim just right, and then rear back, throwing my body into it. It flies open, hitting the plaster behind with a thwack. I still for a moment and listen.
‘Hannah!’ I yell, stalking through the shop, scanning high and low. ‘Hannah, where are you?’ I pass through the kitchen and fly up the stairs, barging into each room like a bulldozer, my heart sprinting faster with each room I find empty.
I push into her bedroom and my eyes fall straight to her bed. The sheets are strewn everywhere, clothes scattered here and there. A nasty, dull ache stirs in my gut, threatening to break out into agony. I cast my eyes across her room to the wardrobe. The doors are open, empty hangers scattered on the carpet before it. The drawers of her chest are all open, too, items of clothing hanging over the edges.
‘No,’ I breathe, shock and devastation immobilising me. I swallow, spotting her phone on the nightstand. I walk over and slide it off the edge, looking down at the two missed calls from me. I inhale. Take the handle of the drawer on her nightstand. Slowly drag it open. No gun.
