Page 30 of Hale Damage
CHAPTER NINE
Flying car seats and pink horse asses
Remington
“Nothing?”Dejection is evident in that single word as I stare across my desk at Antonio.
“Nothing,” he confirms. “We’ve found no trace of your Minnie, Mr. Hale.”
“And you’ve checked to make sure there aren’t any missing persons reports for anyone matching her description?”
“Aye. Checked with local law enforcement as well as the FBI. It doesn’t seem there was any foul play.” What he was saying without using the actual words was that Minnie ghosted me. It sucks, but it’s better than thinking something nefarious happened to her.
I drag my hand over the top of my head, messing up what is usually perfectly styled black hair. It’s been a month, and I haven’t heard a peep from Minnie. Not even a single text.
I checked with the hotel, and they informed me she never returned to receive either of the notes I left for her. Each time I check my phone, I have to remind myself she left before I could tell her I put my number in her contacts list. And even if she does happen to find it, she’s not going to know who the fuck Remi is.
“But… the internet,” I offer lamely to Antonio. “I thought you could find pretty much anything or anyone online.”
His eyes are heavy with sympathy, whether at my desperation or my stupidity, I’m not sure.
“Aye, but you have to have something to put into a search engine, Mr. Hale. And we don’t have much to go on.” He checks his notes. “First name only, age estimated to be early to mid-twenties, unknown city of residence, red hair, hazel eyes, skin tone that hints at possibly some Italian or Hispanic in her background, might work at a bakery, great-grandfather might have been an artist, grandmother’s initials were J.E., father is deceased, mother is alive.”
Antonio looks up at me as if waiting to see if I have anything to add. I don’t. Damn it all to hell. It all sounds vague as shit when laid out so bluntly.Estimatedthis andmight bethat.
Why didn’t I ask more questions? Probably because I thought we’d have time to learn all about each other the next morning at breakfast. But we didn’t because she left.
Why though? Surely I didn’t mistake the feelings between us that night. They were so… real. The realest thing I’ve ever experienced. Was it only one sided?
Antonio interrupts the litany of questions running through my mind with one of his own. “Have you considered that maybe her hair has been colored?”
I think of the pretty red curls between her legs, and I shift in my seat. “Red is her natural color. Trust me,” I reply gruffly, and Antonio’s eyes widen slightly before he jerks his gaze downward. And is he blushing? The thought amuses me.
“Ahh, understood.” He opens the folder in his lap and pulls out two photos. “I did a search on bakeries in the Houston area, but I don’t think either of these are your girl. The first one is a baker at a coffee shop over on Westheimer. Name’s Minerva, which could possibly spawn the nickname Minnie. Her age doesn’t match though.”
He passes over a picture of a woman who is at least forty. The hair color is similar, but it’s streaked with gray. “Definitely not her,” I affirm, holding out my hand for the other picture.
“This one is actually called Minnie, and the age is about right. She works in her father’s bakery though, and your Minnie said her father is deceased.”
My heart soars with hope for a second. Maybe I misunderstood what she said about her father. But that hope is dashed when I look down at the photo. Brown eyes—not hazel—stare back at me. The woman has strawberry blonde hair, and her skin is so pale it’s almost transparent. The nose and chin are all wrong as well.
I hand the photos back to him. “Not my Minnie. She obviously left through one of the other doors of the hotel since you didn’t see her.” Then, just to fuck with him, I add, “Unless you fell asleep and missed her.”
His deep scowl tells me what he thinks about that theory, which he doesn’t even address. “She could have left before I arrived at two.”
I’m already shaking my head. “No, she was still with me then. The last time we… uh, the last time I looked at the clock, it was after four in the morning.” Antonio smirks, and I pick up my sleek black pen, twirling it between my fingers. “Have you had any luck getting the video footage from the hotel?”
He gives me an apologetic look. “No, they refused to turn it over even when I offered the manager a… let’s call it amonetary incentive.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, leaning back in my chair and tapping my lips with my pen. “You have any other ideas?”
Antonio’s gaze shifts around the room like someone might be hiding behind the potted plant in the corner with a recording device. “I could get the footage by other means,” he says in a low voice. “I know a guy.”
I narrow my eyes. “And would thisguybe using violence to get this information?” Though at this point, I’m not sure I’d be completely opposed. I just want to find her.
My guard chuckles. “Just his fingers on a computer keyboard, Mr. Hale. He’s not cheap though.”
Tossing my pen on the desktop in resignation, I say, “I don’t care how much it costs. Do it, and let me know how he wants to be paid.” I check the time on my phone. “Why don’t you take the night off? I’ll just be over at my mother’s house. We’re having a little celebration for Phoenix.”
