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One thing I’ve become an expert at over the years is reading people. It isn’t just about looking at their body language, sometimes it’s about listening to their tone of voice and detecting the slightest changes. Hex is trying to be supportive of Bones, to follow his lead and be his rock. But he’s starting to see that this is a hopeless situation, and he doesn’t want to be the one to deliver the bad news. I hang back with him and wait for him to finish his call. It may sound better coming from me.
“How are they doing on their end?” I ask, indicating toward his phone.
Seer and Pocus went to check out the apartment of another man. From what I understood of this mission, they were both leads in the disappearance of Bones’s girl. Poor Bones is absolutely beside himself, doing anything he can to ease his own pain. The worst part is, he’s so blind to why he’s feeling the way he is. It’s clear to me, and probably to everyone else who knows him.
Bones is in love with this girl. I noticed it weeks ago when he came to the bar. There was a heaviness about him, a worry that only comes to those whose loved ones are in trouble. I’ve seen it a million times over the years, but I never thought I’d see it on him.
Everything about Bones is closed off, even to an expert like me. He’s a marble slab, hard, shiny, and impenetrable. Even with Hex, his closest friend in the group, he’s always got a wall up, sky high. I don’t know what’s happened in his life and it isn’t my place to ask. All I do know is that he doesn’t let anyone into his fortress.
After he met this girl, though, there was a tiny crack. It would’ve been unnoticeable to anyone else, but I’ve been watching Bones for years. It was a split second, in the way he talked about her, in the way his eyes lit up before immediately glazing over to show no emotion. The worst part is, Bones doesn’t even seem to realize that so many people are helping because they care about him and they’re rooting for his happiness.
“It was the same for them,” Hex says, staring at the phone still in his hand. “They got to the apartment and nobody was there. They said it looked like maybe he’d packed a bag or something. There were clothes scattered everywhere, and in his case, it didn’t look like they permanently lived on the floor.”
“That’s interesting,” I murmur. “Both men are gone, both doors left unlocked. It’s like they were tipped off. Like they knew we were coming.”
Hex nods heavily and the tension resting on him is evident. He stares out the dirty hallway window to where Bones sits outside. He’s furious, pacing around and pulling at his hair. The sooner we get back down there, the better.
“Let me tell him,” I offer to Hex. “He won’t take the news well either way, but it may sound a little better coming from me.”
Hex stares in surprise, but nods his agreement. “Do what you gotta do,” he says. “Thank you.”
We descend the stairs a little more slowly, both of us feeling the weight of the conversation that has to be had. Bones isn’t going to be happy when he hears it. His anxiety is surely going to go up, and he’s very likely going to express it in unhealthy ways. But there’s nothing we can do to fix the situation right now. All we can do is pivot our plan and figure out the next step.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” Bones says as he watches us approach. “This asshole is a coward. He’ll be lucky if one of you gets to him before I do.”
“You’re right,” I tell him. “But don’t think we’ll go easy on him either. He has to pay for what he did.”
“Damn right!” Bones bellows, scaring the druggie on the stoop. “So, what did Seer say? Did they at least get the other guy?”
I sigh heavily and brace myself. Telling Bones this news won’t be dissimilar to telling a child that Santa Claus doesn’t exist. I’m stealing away the last shred of hope he has, unable to promise him that there might be hope on the other side. It has to be done.
“He wasn’t there,” I tell him calmly. “When Seer and Pocus arrived, it seemed that he’d just left, like maybe he was tipped off that they were on their way. I know it seems bad, but—”
“Bad?” He laughs humorlessly. “It doesn’t seem bad, Buffy, it seems like a goddamn nightmare. She’s missing and I…”
His voice cracks, and I see it again. There’s that imperceptible shift. It breaks through his exterior for just a second before he clams back up and hides it away.
“I know it seems bad,” I repeat. “But we’re here for you, and we aren’t going to rest until she’s safe. You’re not doing this alone.”
He nods quickly and looks away, the emotion overwhelming him. I glance back to Hex, who’s looking down at the ground, wanting to give Bones his privacy. I put my hand on Bones’s shoulder for just a split second to let him know that we’re behind him all the way. I squeeze tight and release, knowing that’s the closest thing to a hug he’ll ever allow.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
The ceiling fan in my room squeaks when it’s set too high. It’s the most irritating sound in the world, but sometimes it’s necessary to keep my room cool in the Louisiana heat. A little bit of irritation is worth the payoff in the end. Now, though, it gives me a migraine. I haven’t slept in this room in nearly two weeks, barely even stepped in it long enough to grab essentials.
There’s no point in going back to Melissa’s now. I’d drive myself crazy sitting on the couch and hoping that, by some miracle, she’d just burst through the door and tell me the whole thing was a misunderstanding. I wouldn’t even be angry, I’d be too relieved. I’d pull her into my arms and . . .
And nothing. Because she hates me, and I wasn’t overly fond of her the last time we saw each other. None of that matters now, of course. The only thing that matters is that we find her and bring her home safely. And if there’s a single hair out of place, I’ll kill whoever moved it. I’m not messing around, I’ve been itching to make someone pay for this.
The others are all downstairs, regrouping and re-strategizing. They still have hope that we’re going to find her. They’re fools, of course. All Mayor Prudent has to do is announce he’s dropping out of the race. That’s all he has to do. It’s been . . . I look at my phone and see that it’s only been 18 hours. She hasn’t even been gone a full day, but it’s felt like weeks. I haven’t slept in 36 hours, and I doubt there will be any in my future. I’m too wired, too twitchy.
I’m also out of patience for kind words and platitudes. I know my friends are just trying to help, but the more they say, “She’ll be fine,” the less it sounds true. It’s become an unofficial mantra, something they’re all saying just to placate me. Which is just stupid, because I’m not in a relationship with her. My interest in her safety begins and ends with . . .
Fuck.
It’s so goddamn obvious, isn’t it? Everyone sees it except for me. They’ve all given me shit about it and I’ve chosen to ignore them, but it’s so stupidly obvious and simple. Even I’m not dense enough to ignore what’s happening here. I love her. I’m fucking in love with her. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but somewhere between completely ignoring her existence and becoming her full-time bodyguard, I’ve crossed a line I never thought I’d cross.
Those assholes downstairs are never going to let me live it down. I won’t tell them, even with my dying breath. They can speculate and make jokes at my expense all they want, but at the end of the day, this feeling is only reserved for her. Melissa. She’s the only one I’ll ever share it with, and I will have a chance to share it with her. There’s no question I’m going to save her and then I’m going to tell her I love her.
