Page 24 of Tracked
Lara wanted to sound serious, but she wasn’t. The woman who couldn’t stop herself from helping the man who’d called her sister a cunt about a half dozen times in the same number of minutes wasn’t the type of person who could ever be serious about causing a person harm.
“The same way you would’ve regretted walking away without setting his nose. Sometimes what you want to do and the right thing to do aren’t the same,” I answered, and her eyes snapped to mine.
Suddenly, it felt like I was talking about a different kind of harm: the kind that came from wanting her and knowing I couldn’t do anything about it.
“If I can avoid the hassle of discharging a firearm in a national park, I will,” I continued roughly and drove us out of the lot, fighting against the tightness in my chest.
“You don’t think there’s any way he’s lying, do you?” Lara picked up her coffee, gulping down several mouthfuls like it went beyond a pick-me-up into a hold-me-together.
“He’s a lousy human being, but he wasn’t lying,” I said. “Why?”
“Just wondering.”
My gaze flicked to the passenger seat. “Wondering” wouldn’t have left a crease in her brow.
One of the more common hurdles in my line of work was when friends or loved ones refused to believe where the evidence led me. Normally, I (politely) ignored their emotional reactions because it had no bearing on my search. But in this case, it had a bearing on her, and that, I was having a hard time accepting, let alone ignoring.
“Is it the retreat? Do you think her wanting to go was out of character?”
“I’m not sure,” Lara said, her gaze dropping to where her hands were knitted around her coffee cup. “A few weeks ago, I would’ve said yes. I’d told her—begged her—so many times to talk to someone, totry any kind of therapy because every one of her relationships has been worse than the last. But she wouldn’t listen.”
Even though there was no malice in her voice, guilt still pricked at the lining of my chest. Her sister’s instability wasn’t Lara’s responsibility, but that wasn’t what she needed to hear right now, especially coming from me.
“And now?”
She sighed. “Now I’m worried I finally got through to her and she signed up for something that was at best a scam and at worst ...”
I couldn’t—and wouldn’t—speak to the possibilities because I didn’t have enough facts. Instead, I heard myself reply with something even worse: “Whatever it is, we’re going to find her.”
“Is that a promise?”
Never guarantee results.It was more than just a rule—in this business, it was a commandment.
But all I had to do was look at her, all green eyes and glimmering hope, to break it. “Yes.”
The drive back to the diner went much quicker, and we pulled into a lot that was very different from the one we’d left earlier. Almost all the spots were full, and by the time I’d parked and we walked to the entrance, there were people sitting outside the door, waiting for a table.
“Lara.” I stopped and turned.
“I know.” She winced. “Let you do the talking.”
My fist flexed and released at my side. When she’d spoken up earlier—when Brandon had started toward her—it had been a long time since I’d felt anything akin to panic.Control your heart rate, control your fear.In that split second, my heart rate had gone wild.Because she wasn’t supposed to be there.Because if something happened to her—
I grabbed the door and swung it wide, flooding my mind with the task at hand.
Unfortunately, the lunch rush was just ramping up. Ron was behind the counter, volleying back and forth from one end to the other. He waved when he saw me but couldn’t afford much else. I spotted Marlene as she pushed out of the kitchen, her hair just as big as yesterday, her lips a little redder, and her arms filled to the brim with plates. Muttering excuses to those standing, waiting for a seat, I headed in her direction, Lara like a warm shadow at my back.
“Marlene.”
“Oh, hey there, darlin’,” she greeted and then handed out four plates of burgers to the booth in front of her like she was dealing cards rather than delivering food. “What can I do you for? Did you find your friend?” She tried to sidestep me, intent on heading to her next table, but I blocked her path.
“Did you give the woman we asked you about a brochure when she was here?” I didn’t waste either of our time. “For some kind of relationship wilderness retreat?”
Her brows furrowed and then exploded wide with her exclamation. “Oh!” It was a good thing there were no longer any plates in her hands, the way they plunged to her chest. “Yes—no. I mean, you see, I was in the kitchen, and when I came out, she was standing over there by the register, looking at the pinboard. I went to see if she was okay, given the commotion outside, and that was when she apologized to me for her boyfriend. She was waitin’ for me to come back into the dining area.”
“And the brochure ...” I led her along.
“Yes, well, I didn’t give it to her. She was looking at one on the board when I went over to check on her; she was reading it, engrossed, and I told her she was welcome to take it if she was interested. Then she started apologizing to me and wanting to give me a tip—”
