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A tasty one, too.
“My favorite.” I sigh happily, sitting down to a plate of pasta with vodka sauce from a terrific little bistro in the city. I may or may not be addicted to it. And just like he usually does, Christian paid enough attention to know exactly what I would want most. There’s a bowl of garlic bread on the table, salad, the works.
“I ordered some of their chocolate cheesecake, as well,” he tells me, and my eyes just about roll back in my head.
Nothing could ruin this.
Nothing but a phone call halfway through the meal, when I’m only on my second piece of garlic bread, and there’s still half a plate of pasta in front of me. Normally, I would ignore the call at least until dinner is over, but it’s from the police department.
And right away, my blood turns to ice. Whose wouldn’t? There are certain phone calls nobody wants to get. I highly doubt they’re calling to ask for a donation.
“It’s the police,” I whisper, reaching for the phone with a trembling hand and imagining Kyla lying dead somewhere with a note addressed to me pinned to her blood-soaked clothes.
Christian watches silently while I answer. “Hello?”
“Is this Siân Danforth?”
“It is.”
“Siân, my name is Officer Davis. I’m calling to inform you of a missing person’s case we’ve opened. A friend of Cynthia’s was scheduled to have dinner with her last night, and when she didn’t show, they went to her house to see if there was a problem.” His voice is professional, his words clipped. “The house was empty, and the number of newspapers on the front stoop tells us she’s been away for a few days, but there were no signs of foul play inside. Has she contacted you at all?”
He might as well be speaking another language. All I hear are words, none of which make sense. Cynthia. Not Cynthia. Is this what he’s been up to? Hurting her instead of me? Getting to me through the person who means more than just about anyone else?
I realize the cop is waiting for an answer, so I gasp out a single word. “No.”
“You’re unaware of anywhere she would run off to? Vacation home, a rental?”
“No, she’s never had anything like that.” I look across the table and meet Christian’s gaze. He’s staring at me with a look of concern. “She’s never done anything like this before.”
“That’s what we’ve heard from everyone else we’ve spoken to. She’s quiet, keeps to herself for the most part, but isn’t the type to run off without telling anyone—especially if she made plans.”
“Exactly. She’s always conscientious.” I’m only rambling out words now, hardly hearing myself over the pounding in my head.
“Please let us know as soon as you hear anything, and we’ll keep you updated, too.”
I appreciate his professionalism, even if it comes off a little brusque. At least it gives me a reason to get off the phone, which is good, considering I can hardly keep my hand from shaking long enough to maintain my grip on it.
“What is it?” Christian asks once I end the call.
I barely have the words to explain. “Cynthia’s missing.” It’s all I can get out before my throat closes. I cover my face with my hands while Christian comes to me, taking me by the shoulders and pulling me to my feet. I’m in his arms before I know it, and that’s exactly where I need to be, because I’m not sure I can keep it together.
“I’m sure she’s fine.”
“You don’t know that,” I remind him in a weak whisper. “You don’t.”
“We can’t assume the worst. She’s a grown woman. I’m sure she has a life of her own you don’t know about.”
“That doesn’t sound like her.”
“You told me yourself you visit her twice a month, right?” He strokes my hair, his voice low and soothing. “Who’s to say what she does the rest of the time? Everyone is entitled to a life of their own. She doesn’t need to keep you updated on every little aspect, does she?”
“You’re right.” I wish I felt better, but I don’t. My gut tells me something is terribly wrong. She would never run off anywhere without telling me where she was going and when she’d be back. Not after everything we’ve been through together. I couldn’t possibly make Christian understand that since he wasn’t there. He doesn’t have that experience.
I can only tremble in his arms as fat, hot tears run slowly down my cheeks. “I feel so helpless. Like there’s nothing I can do.”
“The police know what they’re doing. The best thing for you to do is wait to hear from them and be as hopeful as you can in the meantime. She wouldn’t want you to collapse under the weight of your worry over her, would she?”
