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I hear the front door close, followed by Seth’s boots on the hardwood floor, and suddenly my heart picks up its speed like it does when they issue severe storm warnings. Except nobody said anything about tornadoes, and Seth Johnson is not dangerous.
Well, technically speaking, he’s not dangerous. He’s the opposite of that, when it comes down to the actual meaning of the word. But to my heart?
Let me put it this way: If not for the fact that Seth is closed off to the very idea of love and I’m scared of allowing a man back into my life likethat, I would be dangerously close to falling in love with the man.
Chapter Two
Seth
Something isn’t right.
I’m not sure if it’s my cop instincts or the fact that I’m extra wary of walking through any door after the little “surprise” I was met with in my office this morning, but something’s off. I can feel it as I walk through the front door of my house, as I go into the kitchen and set my keys on the counter. I wasn’t greeted by a pinata and what seriously had to be hundreds of streamers like earlier—let me tell you, I can now say I’ve been kissed by a donkey shaped pinata and, well, you can just bet your sweetdonkeyit’ll never happen again if I have any say in it.
Since my sister is the one who managed to get it into my office, I probably don’t. But Iamthe older brother. That’s got to count for something.
Now, that said, I won’t be surprised if a mariachi band suddenly springs out of my hall closet—or worse, my bedroom—and starts serenading me while I sit down to my delicious cold-cut sandwich I’m going to eat for supper. Yeah, I know your mouth is watering at my fine cuisine. It’s okay, you can admit it. I promise I won’t call the cops.
I love Mexican food, yes. But I don’t need pinatas or streamers, something my little sister knows. Of course, Jess also knows how to get back on my good side, because she took me met me downtown for my lunch break, bought me lunch fromLos Taqueria,and we enjoyed it at one of the tables outside at The Gardens. Summer is almost here, and you can feel the anticipation in the air of our lake town just walking the streets. Tourists are already swarming, and while it means we rarely have downtime at the department, it also means werarely have downtimeat the department. Job Security 101 in effect as of now, June seventh, until a week or two after Labor Day.
The thing is, I don’t even like celebrating my birthday. I haven’t wanted anyone to fuss over me since the day I turned eleven, and that was a long time ago. Jess knows I don’t celebrate. It’s why I told her I’d rather not have a special meal or anything tonight. After a twelve-hour shift, all I want to do is eat something, take a hot shower, put on something that is not my uniform, and go to bed early.
I know, I know. I’m really living it up for my thirty-third birthday. I need to be careful not to over-indulge myself in roast beef slices. There is a recommended serving size for a reason, and I don’t want to wake up for work bright and early tomorrow feeling hungover from deli meat.
Here’s the truth: I very rarely drink. After seeing firsthand what drugs and alcohol did to my father, I don’t want anything other than my own mind controlling me. Sometimes that’s probably scarier than a secondary substance, but I don’t need to take the chance. That’s not to say I’ll never have a drink, but I just don’t need it. I’ll take ice water and a clear head over a temporary buzz any day.
Trying to shake off my feelings of unease, I pull out the ingredients for my sandwich and assemble it. Two pieces of grain bread slathered with mayo and loaded with six slices of roast beef. It’s not homemade street tacos—just because my sister is the one with culinary school experience under her belt doesn’t mean I don’t know my way around a kitchen—but I’m not picky. I add a serving of Cheetos and some baby carrots to my plate, even though I’m aware this probably makes me look three instead of three decades older than that, but I can’t bring myself to care. I set it at a spot at my island and then pour myself a glass of water.
I’m just sliding onto the barstool when my phone rings. My sandwich frowns at me like I’m a traitor as I pull the device from my chest pocket, and my stomach growls as if it’s in correspondence with my food against me.
“What’s up?” I ask as I force myself to stare at the picture of Jess and I hanging on my fridge instead of my plate of food.
“Have you talked to your sister lately?” Marshall, my brother-in-law, asks. The concern in his voice has me straightening. “I can’t get ahold of her, and my mom said she’s not at the inn or her kitchen.”
My brows lower. “The last time I saw her was when we had lunch today. She’s not home yet?”
“Uh, do you think I would be calling you if she was?”
Fair point, but my brain isn’t operating at full capacity after today’s shift. I love my job, I really do. But there are some days I would rather not relive ever again. Especially when they involve drugs. I can hardly stomach aTylenolbecause of what my father’s drug addiction did to our family, so don’t even get me started on meth and cocaine and the like.
“Do you know where she was last seen?” These are my professional instincts kicking in, but if my little sister…I can’t even finish that thought. “Marsh?”
“I dropped by her kitchen this afternoon when I had a few minutes, but we’re working some overtime on this house because several crew members are out sick. I thought she was going to head to your house when she was done for the day.”
Uh, this is news to me and maybe I would feel better if she actually was here, but that statement makes my blood freeze. My mind went two steps ahead of it and pictured the worst-case scenario. One that involves the fact that my sister is five months pregnant and she only got her driver’s license in January. I know it’s been nearly six months since she started driving, but who’s to say something couldn’t have happened? What if she’s laying somewhere unconscious?
I must’ve said those last sentences out loud, because Marshall breaks into my thoughts. “Seth, calm down. I’m sure there’s an explanation as to why she’s not home. Like I said, I just wasn’t expecting to be home this early, so she might still be on her way to your place or at the market or something. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
Normally I’m the calm one in situations because my job kind of depends on my levelheaded personality, but this has nothing to do with my job. This has to do with my baby sister, and I vowed to myself a long time ago that I will always protect her. So pardon me if I’m a little concerned about what I’ve just been told.
“Okay, here’s what I want you to do,” I say as I slide off my barstool, holding the phone between my ear as I put my meal in a Ziploc bag, then fumble to fill a water jug. Not for me. In case I find Jess, I want to have nourishment and hydration at my fingertips. She’s pregnant, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep her and the baby safe. “Stay at your house in case she comes back. I’m going to let my men on duty know to keep an eye out. If we don’t find her within the next hour, I’m going to put out an official search party.”
“That’s really not necessary.”
I freeze halfway to my front door, sure it’s my lack of food talking and not my sister’s husband. BecauseWHYwould Marshall say it’s not necessary when it’s hiswifewe’re unable to locate?
“Yes, it is absolutely necessary.” I look for my keys on the hook by the door. Why aren’t they there? Am I actually losing it?
Please don’t answer that question.
