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So I have no clue why I ask, “He does that a lot?”
Riddick gives me a startled look. “He does.” He looks away. “He’s just turned eighteen and decided I’m fucking up his life.”
“But you think he’s in danger?”
Riddick nods and a vein ticks in his jaw.
“You think he’s outdoors?”
Another nod.
I glance in the direction of my car. The snow is falling faster now, fluffy white maelstroms of cold cloud, blurring the world.
Fuck it. “Let’s go.”
***
“Riddick.” It doesn’t take me long to realize he’s limping. “You hurt yourself when you slipped?”
Dammit. I thought I’d caught him in time.
“What?” He glances at me, brows arched. “Oh. No, I pulled something in my back last week.”
What is it about this guy that has all my protective instincts raring to go? He’s not a small guy. He’s my height, with shoulders as broad as mine. He looks strong. Hell, he felt strong. But there’s something in those gray eyes, in that determined set of his jaw and this mission he’s on tonight that’s not letting me walk away.
And I don’t like how he limps. “It looks bad. Have you seen a doctor?”
That dry laugh again. “Oh yeah, I booked a private suite in the best fucking clinic in town. If I pull together all the money I have, it might pay for the valet service, if nothing else.”
I frown. “This isn’t funny.”
“No? Shit. You wound me.”
“A bad back shouldn’t be taken lightly. You need to rest it and use compresses, alternating cold and warm, to alleviate the symptoms. And if after a few days of rest it doesn’t get better, then you—”
“I don’t have days off.” He looks straight ahead, a stubborn set to his jaw I’m starting to think is permanent. “I’m fine. I got one of those warming gels. It will do the trick.”
I shrug. “Suit yourself. Don’t be surprised if it gets worse.”
He gives a shudder. I don’t even think he realizes it, and it makes me wonder just how bad it hurts.
We check a small park, then a few alleys. The spark of hope in those gray eyes is dimming, and although I should get home and eat dinner, watch my usual programs and settle in to sleep as my schedule says, I stay. And look some more.
Finally he fishes out his cell phone and tries calling his brother a few times. Nothing happens.
“I’ll get back home,” he says, and the weariness in his voice is painful to hear.
“Maybe he’s staying with a friend,” I say, not sure why I’m trying to console him.
“Maybe.”
“Is there anyone else who might know where he’s gone? What about your parents?”
A snort.
Okay, got it.
“He’ll come back,” I tell him and stay by his side, walking him home.
