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“You have no record of any known family,” she finally says, as if this will be news to me.
“I know.” I keep the smile on my face, even though I can already feel a sinking feeling spreading in my gut. This is how these conversations always go. “I think there’s been a glitch in the system, or a misplaced file somewhere or something. My brother and I were separated when we were young, and I’m trying to dig up any information about him I can possibly find.”
Her gaze flicks up to me, annoyance flashing in her eyes—as if I’ve accused her of personally taking the file out back and burning it in a dumpster. “We don’t lose entire people here, miss.”
“I know.” It’s getting harder to hang on to my pleasant expression. “I just know that a lot of kids come through here, and I was hoping I could—”
“We can’t give out personal information on any children to non-family members,” she says abruptly.
“Right. But I am his family member.”
“You don’t even know his name.”
“I know, but…”
The conversation only devolves from there. My hand unconsciously curls into a fist as I go around and around with the woman. I’m not sure who’s being less helpful, me or her—but I’m suddenly viscerally reminded why I gave up this search in the first place.
I don’t have enough. Fuck, I barely have anything.
I’m on the verge of slamming my head on the counter in frustration when a familiar prickle raises the small hairs on the back of my neck. Breaking off mid-word, I turn away from the front desk woman and glance behind me.
Marcus leans against the wall near the door, a soft sweater hugging his broad shoulders. He lifts his eyebrows when I catch his gaze, and I wonder how long he’s been standing there.
How much did he hear?
Can he see how close I am to losing my shit?
I don’t want to do that—even less so now that he’s here watching—so I mutter a cursory thanks to the woman behind the desk and then turn and head for the entrance door. I push outside into the bright, mild air, not even bothering to wait for Marcus.
He’s right behind me anyway, stepping through the door after I do and letting it swing shut with a thud behind him.
“I didn’t realize where you were going at first when you left your place this morning,” he says quietly, coming to stand beside me as I gaze out at the parking lot. “You’ve only been here once before that I remember. And I never knew why.”
I make a noise in my throat. His open admission of how closely he’s tracked my movements over the past two and a half years doesn’t even faze me anymore. Nor does the fact that he was watching my apartment this morning.
“Any luck?” he asks.
“No.”
His hand comes to rest on the back of my damaged arm, just above the socket where the prosthesis is attached. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”
It’s not a request, but it’s not quite a command either.
It’s more like… an offer.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His brown and blue eyes are as penetrating and intense as ever, and I won’t admit to myself that something unwinds in my stomach a little as I meet his gaze.
That I missed it somehow.
“Yeah. Okay.”
He leads me to his car and holds the door open for me again like he did the other night, helping me sit before closing it gently. The engine purrs to life as he starts the ignition, and he pulls out of the parking lot smoothly.
Music fills the car as we drive, and I find my head nodding along to the beat. I don’t recognize all the songs, but I like them. They all seem like surprising choices for Marcus Constantine, although I’m learning slowly not to let myself make assumptions about this man. They’re almost always wrong.
Still, the music is a sharp contrast to the aura he usually projects, which is harsh, dominating, and overwhelming. These songs are haunting. Beautiful. Melancholy.
When we’re about halfway back to my place, he glances over at me. “Sorry you didn’t get what you were after. But I’m glad you’re looking for him.”
