Enticing Interlude (Tempest #2) (33 page)

If I had been smarter, wiser, more cautious, and slowed all this down maybe I would’ve discovered that sooner, but either way, it didn’t matter. It didn’t change what I had to do now.

I waited five extra minutes just to be sure he’d actually left. When I finally stuck my head out the door, the apartment was eerily silent.

“Carter!” I yelled suddenly feeing panicky.

“I’m here.” He came out of the bedroom, saw me, and the book he had been reading fell out of his hand. “What’s wrong, Mommy.” He flew to me and threw his arms around my waist. I returned the hug, squeezing him tightly, desperate to grasp onto the only real love I had left, the only real love I’d ever had.

“Everything’s gonna be ok,” I said quietly as much for his benefit as my own. “We just have to hurry to catch a plane.”

“Ok. Mommy.” He peered up at me while biting his lip. “Where are we going? Is Justin going with us?”

My eyes hardened. “Not this time.”

I knew something was wrong as soon as I let myself back in the apartment. The quietness was palpable. A quick walk through confirmed the dread that encircled my heart.

Bridget and Carter were gone.

There was no trace of them. Housekeeping had already been through. The bed was freshly made. No books on the side tables. No juice boxes on the counter. No Lego models on the shelves.

It was as if they’d never been there at all.

I threw open their closet door. It contained only the new clothes I had purchased for her. Most were still on the hangers their tags still intact. A few lay in a neat pile on the floor. The ones she’d worn. They were freshly laundered and folded, and there was a note on top addressed to Lace along with a check made out to me.

I carefully set the note on the dresser. Then I took the check and ripped it to shreds. Just like her leaving me like this without saying a word had done to my heart.

I stood in the center of their bedroom for a while, worry mingling with anger that had me teetering on the ledge. Eventually I dropped onto the bed and glanced at my expression in the mirror. After a couple of deep breaths, I coaxed myself back from the brink. My brain came back on line. I pulled out my cell and tried her number. Even though I got the recording, the sound of her voice made me feel better.

I left a message: Babe, come back. I realize Antonia must’ve said something really terrible to you to make you leave. Whatever it was, it’s not true. I love you. You know I do. Talk to me. We’ll work it out. I’m worried about you.”

After that I left a flurry of messages with everyone I could think of: Lace, Bryan, Bridget’s boss at the coffeehouse, Maurice Trigg, even the principal at Carter’s school. And then a threatening one on Antonia’s voicemail that probably wasn’t a good idea considering her uncle’s connections to the Italian mafia. But fuck it. I was beyond furious with her.

The next step involved some detective work. I stormed down to the lobby and stirred everybody up. The manager called the staff that had been on duty earlier. The doorman remembered putting Bridget and Carter in a cab to the airport. So I made phone calls to Vancouver International and to every one of the airlines. Total dead ends all of them. I went ahead and booked a flight to Orlando.

I was going the hell after her.

There was a loud banging on my door just as I was cramming the last of my things into an overnight bag. I swiped my wallet and passport off the dresser and opened it. Lace and Bryan were standing out in the hall.

“What the hell is this?” Lace asked, shaking the note in my face. Bryan put restraining hands on her shoulders while watching me carefully.

“How could you?” Lace whispered.

“I didn’t.” I pushed past them, hefting the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder.

“Come again?” Lace put a hand on my shoulder.

“Antonia’s a liar.” I sighed. “But I don’t have time to stop and explain. If you want to talk right now, you’ll have to ride with me to the airport. My flight leaves in an hour. I’m going to Florida and I’m bringing them back.”

Three thousand miles and three fruitless days of searching later, I was back at Orlando International, staring out at the tarmac despair washing over me as I watched the baggage handlers putting luggage on conveyer belts. I couldn’t stomach the view inside. Too many happy families, the way it’d been for us just days ago. A growing sense of helplessness was pressing on me, pushing me closer and closer to the tipping point.

I realized now why I’d never put my heart out there before. Because of shit like this. From the pinnacle to the pit. It hurt like hell, and was so much like the way I’d felt after my mom died that it was giving me nightmares and flashbacks.

All the days I’d been down here had been a waste. I had nothing to show for it, except for a threat of a restraining order from Maurice. He’d found my strong arm tactics and bullying attempts to extract information from him and his staff a tad over the line.

Her cell number had been cancelled. Her checking account closed out. She’d quit her job and pulled Carter out of school. They’d vanished into thin air.

I was exhausted, my eyes burning. What if I never saw them again? I couldn’t allow myself to think that way. It was hard enough already. The worry was so crushingly oppressive at times that it took all my strength just to keep moving forward.

I heard the final boarding call for my flight back to Vancouver. I shuffled down the sky bridge and found my seat. My fingers white knuckled the armrests the entire five hour flight. Not because I was afraid of flying, but because I was so close to shattering into a million sharp edged pieces.

“You look like shit, JJ,” Lace judged after only a moment’s study out in the hallway the next morning. It was probably true, given that I hadn’t slept in days.

I was running on empty.

I was flying on fumes.

Bryan came out from the studio. I’d been in there earlier warming up with them, but had taken a break, trying to scrape my shit together. “Mary’s ready, dude.”

Yeah, I knew. She’d been sitting in the back of the room, tapping her nails on the screen of her iPad for the past ten minutes. Like I needed any more pressure.

“Give us one more minute, Bry.” I could feel Lace’s eyes on my face.

“Ok.” He kissed her and clapped me on the shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Justin.” She threw her arms around me. Lace wasn’t free with her affection, so I hadn’t been prepared for the uncharacteristic display. My throat clogged up, emotions swimming close to surface threatening to drown me. “I thought for sure you’d have found her by now.”

“So did I.” I drew back from her embrace. “I’ve got to get in there.”

Shit.

“You can do this,” she encouraged, but the look in her eyes said she wasn’t so sure. Neither was I for that matter.

I followed her into the studio straight to the mic stand. No use messing around. I went right into the set and gave what I had, which wasn’t very much. The words seemed devoid of any meaning, my voice as hollow as I felt inside.

Mary gave Beth a narrow eyed look. I tried to plow on ahead, making a fucking travesty of “Girl behind the Glass.” I choked out the lyrics before Bryan picked them up and finished the song.

I unclipped my guitar from the strap, putting up my gear with sharp precise movements and avoiding eye contact. No one spoke, but I could feel the tension crackling in the air. I was halfway down the hall when I heard her call my name. I squeezed my eyes shut, muscles tensing, and turned around to face the music.

“That was awful.” Hands on her suited hips, the Black Cat CEO unsurprisingly did not appear to be pleased.

I nodded. “It was.” I totally agreed.

Mary Timmons was a good half foot shorter than me, but there was no doubt in my mind that she had the upper hand at the moment. Her light colored eyes flashed with annoyance. “Tell me I wasn’t wrong to take a gamble on you.”

“No,” I said without much conviction. I ran a hand through my hair, knowing I was on the verge of irreparably damaging my career. “I’ll do better on Friday.”

“That’s only a few days away, Justin.” She crossed her arms, fingers tapping on a forearm. “Has no one heard anything from her then?”

I stared at her dumbfounded.

“Don’t look so surprised. Of course I know about Bridget and Carter. I run a record label, not an insurance company. Drama is part of my business.” She cocked her head to the side. “Beth’s already made a few phone calls. I’ve got a private investigator working on it as well. We’ll find them. In the meantime, I want you to do whatever you need to do to get your head together. This is Tempest’s first gig with you at the helm. Don’t mess it up.”