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Rudy stood in front of me. “Thank you, son. For being so good to her.”
He patted my shoulder and left, and I wanted to fucking scream.
This is my fault. Mine.
Rage flooded me, burning through my veins like fire. I grabbed a broom from the back and gripped it as if it were Frankie Dowd’s fucking throat. I concentrated on the work, cleaning up the shattered glass and smashed displays as best I could, extracting jewelry from the mess.
I couldn’t do anything about the spray paint, but I wanted to. I wanted to paint over everything so that when Shiloh saw her shop again, she wouldn’t feel so undone.
It was nearly two in the morning and I’d done all I could for the night. I loaded all of Shiloh’s inventory into the Buick’s trunk and back seat, then jerry-rigged a way to lock the door with a chain and padlock.
I drove to her and Bibi’s house. Rudy had taken Shiloh’s mom and Letitia back to their hotel. Bertie and Bibi were still awake, sitting on the couch, drinking tea and talking in hushed voices.
“Oh, honey,” Bibi said, tears coming. “Rudy told us everything. Is it as bad as that?”
“Yeah, it’s bad. Shiloh’s asleep?”
Bertie nodded. “The poor child. First Marie, bless it all, and now this?”
“I’m going to check on Shiloh,” I said.
“Thank you,” said Bibi. “Thank you, sweet boy, for all that you’ve done…”
All that I’ve done…
I strode down the hallway to Shiloh’s room. The rainbow lights were on—dim—but enough to see immediately that her bed was empty.
Okay. She’s in the bathroom. Or outside in the shed, working to try to make up for tonight, somehow.
The bathroom was empty.
“Ronan…?” Bertie called as I went through the patio door to the backyard. The shed was empty. I checked the garage. Empty.
I came back inside, forcing myself to sound calm so as not to freak the women out.
“Did she lie down in your room, Bibi?” I asked carefully.
She frowned. “I don’t think so. Bertie?”
Bertie hurried to Bibi’s room and peeked her head in. “She’s not there,” she said, her hands twisting now.
I whipped out my phone and called Shiloh’s number. Her cellphone came to life on the dining room table, right next to her purse.
Shit.
“Oh no,” Bibi breathed. “Oh, no. Where…? Where could she have gone? When?”
“I’m calling the police,” Bertie said. “I know they’ll say it has to be twenty-four hours, but after all that’s happened tonight…special circumstances…”
Bertie got up to rummage for her phone in her bag. Bibi looked small and helpless on the couch.
“I’ll find her,” I said, striding out the front door.
“Ronan…”
“I’ll find her, Bibi,” I said. “I’ll bring her back.”
If it’s the last fucking thing I ever do in this world.
