Page 16 of Caring for Cailin

Dillon takes a quick step back. “I could get fired,” he explains. “If my boss finds out I’m giving out our customers’ addresses…”

I only just stop myself from leaping over the bar and searching for the orders myself. “Then get your boss out here,” I growl.“Now.”

Almost as if I summoned him, a portly man wearing a button-down shirt and khakis comes hurrying through the double doors I presume lead to the kitchen. He spots me leaning half-over the bar, scowling at Dillon, and a look of alarm flashes across his face.

“You need to step back,” he says as he approaches. “Or I’ll have to call for security.”

But I’m already turning to face him. “I need to know where you sent Cailin,” I snap. “The addresses. Now.”

He blinks. “The addresses?”

“Yes.” I move closer to him, pleased to find he’s at least six inches shorter than me. Not that I’d beat him up, but if mysize happens to intimidate him, all the better for getting the information I want. “Cailin’s been gone for over two hours.”

“Two and a half,” Dillon volunteers, looking relieved to be off the hot seat. “I checked. I printed the receipts at five after six, and that was right before she left.”

“Two and a half,” I repeat. “And you didn’t think to call her? Make sure she’s okay? You send a young woman out on her own?—”

“I told her she could say no,” the manager interjects. “She said it was fine.”

“Because she didn’t want to get in trouble!” My voice rises to a near-shout. “She was worried about keeping her job! And now she’s out there, fuck-knows-where, and I need you to give. Me. The. Damn. Addresses.Now.”

He swallows hard. “I could get sued. The owner?—”

“Won’t know. Just tell me.”

“Fine. But I’ll say I never gave them to you.” With a glance at Dillon, he adds, “Give him the addresses.”

“Hang on,” Dillon says. “I have to look them up in the notebook.”

“Hurry,” I snap.

While Dillon rummages beneath the bar, I unlock my phone, this time to dial a different number.

As soon as the call connects, I say, “I need your help.”

There’s a silent pause. Then Tyler replies, “Memphis? What’s going on?”

“It’s Cailin. She’s been out on a delivery run for two and a half hours. For her work. She shouldn’t have been gone this long. I think—” My throat closes for a second. “I think she’s in trouble. I’m going to look for her. But I thought you might be able to help.”

Just as I expected, Tyler doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Where are you right now?”

“Bakersfield. At a restaurant called Four Seasons Bistro. I’ve called and texted Cailin, but she hasn’t answered. As soon as I get the addresses for the deliveries, I’m heading out there.”

“Here!” Dillon announces, holding up sheet of looseleaf paper. “I’ve got them.”

As I snatch the paper from Dillon’s hand, Tyler says, “Okay. I’ll start by running a trace on Cailin’s phone. And I can track the GPS in her car. Just text me her number and I’ll do the rest.”

“Okay,” I say. “Hang on.”

I put Tyler on speakerphone as I text him Cailin’s last name, her phone number, the kind of car she drives, her address, and anything else I can think of. Then I turn heel and make a beeline for the exit. As I pass the hostess stand, Regina calls after me, “I’m sorry I didn’t think to check on her. Really. I was so busy, and I just assumed she was okay.”

I can’t bring myself to respond. I’m too worried. Too angry.

As I jog towards my car, I listen to the sound of keys clicking on the other end of the line. “I’m going to go to the first address in town,” I tell him. “Then there’s one in Rivergrove. Maybe her car broke down somewhere in between.”

And she didn’t call for help?a doubting voice asks silently.Didn’t call for a tow? Didn’t call you?

Maybe her phone died,I reason. Maybe she forgot to charge it. Or maybe she left it at home. Maybe?—