But until then, I have no plans to sit around with my thumb stuck up my ass. No, I’ve got to do something, compile whatever information I can. Between the little that Blake has shared with Jae and me about her past, there’s a dark, sinister story there, and I’m afraid it’s caught up with her. I just can’t figure out how Emerson is tied to any of it.
Rapidly, I shake my head back and forth, forcing myself out of the incessant thoughts swarming through my mind, and propel my body into motion. Staring at myself in the mirror all day isn’t going to bring me any more answers than I have now, so I push off the marble sink and stalk over to the cargo shorts and t-shirt I brought into the bathroom, quickly slipping them on before heading downstairs.
Still in yesterday’s wrinkled clothes, Easton and Jae are already seated at the table, with plates of eggs and bacon in front of them and piping hot mugs of coffee in their hands. Neither of them appear to be very interested in the food, as they both sit quietly, pushing it around with their forks. Clucking around the kitchen in an almost frantic pace, Sarah looks up when she hears me enter the room, and immediately, I know by her somber expression that they’ve told her.
“Oh, Señor Madden. Why didn’t you call me last night?” my longtime housekeeper asks with smeared mascara below her worried eyes, fresh tears clinging to the red lower rims. “I would’ve come to help. You know how I feel about that dear child.”
I nod, striding over to give her a comforting hug. Shortly after Blake and I began seeing each other, Sarah witnessed one of Blake’s flashback episodes, and ever since then, she’s taken a special interest in my girlfriend, very much like a protective mother.
“There’s nothing you could’ve done, Sarah,” I murmur, holding the gray-haired Hispanic lady in my arms. “While we’re waiting to speak with Emerson, Jae, Easton, and I are going to go search her apartment this morning to see what we can find out.”
Releasing her grip, she steps back and wipes the tears from her cheeks. “Haven’t you notified the police? Can’t they be looking for her? Can’t someone be doing something?”
“We have,” I assure her, “but because Blake is an adult, they can’t do anything for twenty-four hours without proof of foul play. I did manage to talk to one of the detectives late last night, and he’s going to see what he can find out, but we were leery to tell them what we know about Emerson, the texts, and any possible involvement until we talk to her.”
“Ay Dios Mio!” she screeches with an incredulous glare. “Why would you do that? I don’t understand. There was obviously foul play involved. Why would you cover for that—” she curls her nose up like she has a bad taste in her mouth before spitting the last words out, “—that pinche bruja.”
“Until we know who we’re dealing with, Sarah, we need to be cautious about what we share,” I explain as I walk over to the coffee machine and grab a travel mug from the cabinet above, though I’m doubtful caffeine is going to put a dent in my exhaustion level. “You know she came from somewhere bad, Sarah. We don’t know what these people are capable of.”
She mutters something else in Spanish under her breath as she walks away, clearly not agreeing with how I’ve handled all of this so far. I understand her anger and frustration. God, do I understand it. But I’ve got a bad feeling about getting the authorities involved until we talk to Emerson. Odds are, whomever Blake was involved with before she moved here and started her life over probably aren’t big fans of the law, and I’d hate to jeopardize her safety by getting them involved if this is something we can handle ourselves.
If it’s money these people want, I’ll pay them whatever they ask. Everything I have. All I want is my sweet girl back. Safe and sound. I just want to hold her in my arms, look into her eyes, and tell her I love her—what I’ve been avoiding saying to her for weeks now. But unfortunately, I think if it was someone just after my money, we would’ve received a ransom note or phone call by this point.
Once the coffee is poured, I glance over at my brother and Jae and pop my chin slightly, giving them the silent ‘Let’s go’. They stand immediately, thanking Sarah for the breakfast they didn’t eat, and move to retrieve their things from the counter. We’ve talked the situation to death; now, we’re all simply hoping we’ll find out something more today.
“I’m not sure when I’ll be home, and I’ll eat out later,” I tell Sarah as I grab my keys and phone, “so you’re free to go whenever you finish things here. If I learn anything, I’ll call you.”
“I’ll be praying,” she replies solemnly as the three of us walk out the back door.
Well, that makes two of us.
Getting into Blake’s apartment is easy, as I still have her spare key and the entry codes from when I came to get her clothes while she was in the hospital a couple of months ago. That was the same day I’d found the envelope full of pictures in her dresser. The same day I stole the old photo of her as a teenager to keep in my desk. Back then, I was curious why she had the pictures hidden away, but today, I’m hopeful she’s got more things stashed in random spots around her home . . . things that could lead us in the direction of finding her.
“All right, I’ll take the bedroom and closet,” I announce once all three of us are inside and the alarm is disarmed. “Jae, you got the kitchen and bathroom, and Easton, start in the living room. Look behind pictures, in drawers, under cushions . . . everywhere. Keep whatever looks like it could help us link her to anyone else or any other place. Mail, notes, anything.”
The two of them nod their agreement and take off on their missions as I stride down the short hallway into her bedroom. Pausing momentarily in the doorway, I inhale a deep breath as I scan the area for anything that catches my eye. The room is damn near spotless. The bed is perfectly-made, not a single wrinkle or lump in the comforter or shams. Zero clutter or personal items are on top of the dresser or small desk, and the laminate wood floors look as if they’ve been freshly swept and polished.
Remembering my comparison of her place to a model apartment the first time I came here, I wonder if she’s always lived like this—in a place that feels so faceless and soulless—and my instincts tell me that’s not the case. Whenever she moved here, it’s almost as if she made a point to not settle in . . . but why? The only sensible answer is in case she needed to leave abruptly, which only creates a shitload more questions I don’t have answers to.
I blow out an exasperated sigh and run my fingers through my hair, deciding to start in her closet. That’s where I keep most of my valuables and personal documents, and I’m hoping she may do the same.
Removing all of the clothes from the metal rod, I dump them on her bed to give myself better access to the small rectangular space, but unfortunately, all that leaves is an empty nook with a few pairs of shoes neatly lined up against the baseboard. No file cabinet. No hidden safe. Nothing at all.
My next spot is under the bed, but it’s clear and free of any objects as well. Cursing under my breath, I begin to rummage through her well-organized nightstand, when I hear Jae call out with alarm, “Madden! Come here, quick! Take a look at this.”
Dropping the tube of ChapStick and package of tissues, I slam the drawer shut and sprint out into the living room, where she and Easton are hovering over a stack of papers spread out on the kitchen table.
“What?” I demand, pushing my way in between them to have a better look. “What’d you find?”
“It’s her lease for this apartment, but look here,” the petite Asian woman urges, pointing about midway down on the typeset page. “There is no job listed, nor any previous rental history. It seems odd that they would’ve approved her without all of this information completed.”