Page 61 of The Gift
I wait while he locks the door. We always do a double check of each other, standard operating procedure, nothing more. The both of us going for a third check at the same time. It’s reassuring he’s as paranoid about her safety as I am.
“Of course, that’s not enough. They called Colton to request assistance, and he hasn’t picked up. And his phone pinged back to his place.”
“So, we’re going there?”
“Yeah after the mess from today, I need to make sure he’s okay. I’ve sent Pack Lloyd to see if they can assist in the search for Vanessa. Larry is their cyber guy and is all over it. And they have Garth too, who’s ex-cop and knows how to run an investigation. We’ll keep in contact with them.”
“What else? I can see something pissing you off,” I say as he goes to jump in his SUV.
“Donnie’s not being an entirely honest person, boss, fuckhead, whatever you want to call him.”
“What does that mean?” I walk around to his car instead of mine to get a better run down.
“It means he’s been keeping secrets. Bailey’s stalker has been communicating with Donnie, and unsurprisingly, Donnie’s engaging.”
“Are you serious?”
“Unfortunately.”
We both end up driving just in case something else comes up. I spend most of the drive to Colton’s getting a run down from Lloyd on what’s happening in Second Valley. Vanessa, a middle-aged, stay-at-home mum. Her case is unusual, single mum, omega, but from the intel we’ve got, her disappearing is out of character, but one good thing is her daughter isn’t in the house alone.
Arriving at Colton’s, the lights are off, his car is in the front, and his door is open.
“Ah, shit.” I point out the obvious, the both of us on high alert as we move quicker, leaping over the small planter box near the door.
Even in the dark, it’s easy to see the trail of destruction right down the hallway. Furniture has been upturned, bookshelves emptied, rubbish litters the floor. Colton is a proud man, he lives on the good side of town.
A soft groan sounds from deeper in his home, and we move towards the source. A few more steps and we’re stopped by a wall of stench, so strong it’s like a hit to the face. Alcohol, mixed with a liberal dose of regret, so putrid it makes your eyes water.
Reno looks over his shoulder at me, when we both find our employee, who is usually one of the most dependable, leaning against a wall in the corner of a dark room. I leave our resident doctor to double check on our patient while I do a sweep of his house in case of lurking danger, but Colton’s alone.
“Sorry, man,” he slurs. And if he says it once, he must say it a hundred times in the space of a few minutes. Reno maintains his patience, which is more than I do.
“What the fuck, Colton? You’re meant to be working, what happened?”
“Sorry, man,” he slurs again. His eyes are screwed shut and he keeps hitting his head on the wall behind him. He’s got a good beat going: apology—thud—apology—thud.
I last a couple of rounds before squatting in front of him half thinking of wringing his fucking neck. “Spill.”
“You know that’s what she made me do, in a fucking jar. What sort of man does that?”
“The same that bruised her today.” The words are out my mouth before I can stop them.
“Trust me, I know.” He groans, squeezing his eyes shut, maybe hoping it never happened, but it did. He’ll have to face the consequences a few times over before any of us let what he did slide.
Colton goes back to thudding his head. And Reno and I both know we’ve got more important things to do, better things waiting to put up with than this. He needs to man up.
“Come on, you need something to eat, drink a gallon of water and a shower before bed.” I help him to his feet. He weighs a goddamn tonne, and Reno has to take one side of him. Propping him up in the shower, Reno watches him so he doesn’t drown, and I make quick work of fixing the worst of the mess.
We meet back up in Colton’s room, me bringing him a pile of sandwiches I made from leftovers in his fridge along with a bucket of coffee. He looks shagged and avoids making small talk or eye contact while he eats.
“She’s gonna hate me. First that shit at the cottage, now this.” He takes a loud gulp of the coffee before putting it down on his bedside table. He misjudges in his distorted state, but not by much.
“What happened at the cottage?” I prompt him once he leans back. Hoping to get his version of events, hoping even more that they match what we think happened.
He throws his hands up, exasperated, before blowing out a noisy long exhale.
“She smelt good enough to eat, you know what I mean?”
