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“Yeah, is this George?” George was one of the bar’s owners, and the only time Brand recalled ever getting a call from the man was when Ramie got real sick on her shift and needed a ride home.
“It’s George. Listen, have you heard from Ramie in the last half hour?”
“No, why?” His skin prickled. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure. Davy said she asked for a fifteen-minute break to run home for personal reasons, and that was almost an hour ago. She’s never late coming back.”
“I haven’t talked to her since yesterday, but if you don’t have any spare help, I can drive over to her house and check on her.”
“I’d really appreciate it. It’s just me and Davy here right now, and we’re running a Wednesday-night drink special that’s got us hopping.”
“Not a problem. I’ll call if I find her.”
“Same.”
Brand ended the call and stared at his phone’s lock screen, anxious about this brief disappearing act. Ramie loved her job and wouldn’t just not go back to work after a break. Even though he knew it was fruitless, he still tried calling her. Straight to voice mail so her phone was off for some reason.
“Hey, H, we need to hold off on the movie,” Brand said as he strode back into the living space. “I need to run out for a few.”
Hugo frowned at him from the couch. “What’s wrong?”
“Maybe something, maybe nothing. Ramie didn’t go back to work after her break, and George is a little worried. I’m gonna go check her house, see if everything is okay.”
“You want me to come with you?”
He adored Hugo’s instant desire to help, but if something was wrong he didn’t want Hugo anywhere near it. Not after last summer’s drama with Buck. “No, it’s okay. It’s probably nothing. I’ll call you when I know something so don’t sit around and worry. Catch up on that show you like but keep putting off watching because you’re addicted to bingeing things.”
Hugo blew a raspberry at him. “Fine, go play hero. Hopefully it’s just a dead phone battery and a flat tire.”
From your mouth to God’s ears, my heart.
Brand kissed Hugo on the mouth, shrugged into his coat, checked he had his wallet and phone, and headed for the pickup. He always left the keys inside, since he didn’t lock the bunkhouse, and he’d recently switched the office door lock to a digital keypad. He knew the dirt road down to the state road by heart and sped up when it was safe, avoided the worst of the ruts they needed to fill when the weather warmed up, and made it out to the main road.
He blasted music to distract himself on the drive into town, probably too damned fast but no one pulled him over. His phone chimed once with an email alert but he ignored it. Work could definitely wait for a while longer, until he knew Ramie was safe. Halfway there, it occurred to him to try calling Wyatt, since the guy was her roommate.
Wyatt’s phone went straight to voice mail, too. Brand’s guts churned with unease. After so many people he knew being hurt by others in the past year or so, he wasn’t taking anything for granted in this situation. He wished he’d thought to grab the shotgun he kept in the bunkhouse but too late now.
Ramie’s truck was in the driveway when Brand pulled up to the curb. The house was dark, no lights on that he could see from the street, which wasn’t like Ramie. She always left a living room light on when she worked a late shift, and as far as he knew she hadn’t quit the habit just because she had a roommate.
He strode up the short path to the porch and didn’t even try the knob; he just used his key to open the door. The living room was dark and quiet. He switched on the floor lamp and looked around. No sign of a disturbance, nothing that immediately alarmed him. “Ramie! You home?”
An odd, muffled banging sound from the bedroom yanked him in that direction. He shoved open the door and flipped the light switch on. For a split second, he thought he’d lost his fucking mind, but no, there was Ramie duct-taped to the bed. The relief in her wide, red-rimmed eyes punched him in the chest, and he carefully peeled the tape off her mouth.
“Oh thank fuck you’re here,” she said. “We’re in trouble. He’s got Wyatt.”
“What? Who’s got Wyatt?”
“This guy. Get me loose, please, before I pee on my bed.”
“Okay, okay.” He pulled a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and cut through the layers of tape. As soon as she was free, Ramie bolted across the hall to the bathroom.
She didn’t shut the door, and they’d seen each other in more intimate positions before, so he followed her, angled away to give her some amount of privacy, and asked, “Who has Wyatt? What happened tonight?”
“I came home on a break and there was this guy here with a gun, and he told me to sit until Wyatt got here, so I did. Apparently, Wyatt’s friend who owns their car put something in the car that this guy wants back, but Wyatt just mailed the thing back to his friend at home, and now they’re at the post office trying to break in.”
Brand closed his eyes, willing any of that to make sense. “What was in the car?”
“No idea, but the friend stashed it in the emergency roadside kit. Wyatt was supposed to mail it back a while ago and didn’t do it until today.”
