Inevitable Detour (9 page)

“While you were sleeping,” he says, nodding to the three-story brick building in front of us, “I ran in and checked us into two rooms next to each other. If you need anything, I’ll be close by.”

If I need anything?
I think of how good it would feel to have Farren’s strong arms around me. What would it be like if he held me, kissed me, touched me? Spending the day together, talking, listening to music, and traveling, those things have left me feeling especially close to him. Not to mention his thoughtful gesture. Giving me a gift, even if it was just a disposable camera, touched me.

Farren hands me a key card, breaking me out of my sleepy, emotion-laden reverie. “Anyway,” he says, “Haven’s credit card was used at this motel on Saturday night.”

I glance up at the building. There’s a bright yellow sign on the side; a black eight dominating the center. Haven was here, at this very location, and only forty-eight hours ago. Now, instead of racing, my heart aches. I miss my best friend. Spending the day on the road has kept my mind occupied, but everything now comes rushing back to me.

“Are Vincent and Eric using her card to make it look like she’s traveling on her own?” I ask.

“Most likely.”

Farren sighs. I notice he looks tired. His sister’s disappearance is taking a toll on him, even if he barely lets it show. But late at night like this, defenses down, I see it.

“Hopefully,” he continues, regaining his usual cool composure, “I’ll know more once I check things out.”

This is all so sad. I’m saddened for Farren, and I’m saddened for my own loss. I can pretend all I want, but this trip is deadly serious.

Farren catches me swiping at a tear trailing down my cheek, and he takes my hand.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, “we’re going to find her. Everything will be okay.”

I bite my lip and squeeze his hand. “Promise?”

“I promise,” Farren says in the most serious tone I’ve yet heard him use. “At any cost, Essa, we will get my sister back. I will lay my life down for her if it comes to that.”

“I know,” I whisper, my voice pained. “I hope it doesn’t, though.”

“Me too,” he says.

I wish I could wrap my arms around Farren. Everything inside me urges me to seek comfort from him. I wonder if he longs to seek the same from me. If he does, he’s not showing it.

Releasing my hand and pinching the bridge of his nose, he says, “We should get you settled in your room. I want you to stay inside while I take a look around the property.”

I nod. “Sure, okay, of course.”

He continues, “There’s also some surveillance-camera footage I need to check out.”

“How do you plan to access those?” I ask, curious.

With a much-needed air of levity, he glances my way and replies, “Oh, Essa, trust me. I have my ways.”

I don’t doubt for a minute that he does.

I
expect for us to spend only one night in Indianapolis. But when Farren comes up with a lead on more surveillance footage—Haven’s card was used at a gas station across town—we stay an extra night. Unfortunately, however, nothing substantial comes from the lead, and we decide to leave early the next day.

In the morning when I wake up, first thing I do is check the time.

8:10.

Shit
. Farren expects me to meet him at the car by eight thirty.

I jump up and race around the room, gathering clothes, folding, and packing. But before I head to the shower, I check to make sure everything I unpacked is definitely repacked. As I’m lifting and checking under the bedding, which I’m leaving a wreck—
sorry, housekeeping
—I catch a murmur through the thin wall separating my room from Farren’s.

I stop and listen. It sounds as if Farren is talking on his new burner phone. His voice is low, though, and, for me, incoherent.

“I hope he’s getting news about Haven,” I whisper to myself, eternally hopeful. And then, with a sigh, I climb off the bed, close up my suitcase, and head into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

After a quick shower, I stand in front of a small mirror hanging on a wall above the basin. I’m trying to decide if I should pin my hair up into a loose bun or try something different with the long locks. My hair is still damp from showering, so I opt to braid it. I always like the way my hair looks—all wavy and bouncy—when I take a braid out.

“Wonder if Farren likes my hair loose or bound,” I say to my reflection as I finish braiding. And then I roll my eyes at myself. “Ugh, Essa, you’re becoming one of
those
girls.”

However, when I walk out to the car, I don’t really care if I am becoming one of
those
girls. Farren Shaw is worth going the extra mile. I thought so before, but when I see him at the car, placing his suitcase in the trunk, I am definitely sure. I stop in my tracks just so I can check out how good he looks. Impeccable, that’s what he is, even when casually dressed. I’m practically tiptoeing as I again start walking his way. I’m hoping for extra time to enjoy the view. Unfortunately, Farren hears me, of course. He spins around. Even though he’s now facing me he doesn’t seem to notice my ogling of his defined pecs and bulging arm muscles, both showcased beautifully in a snug, dark-green T-shirt. He notices nothing, because, to my delight, his eyes are focused on me. Specifically, he’s checking out my bare legs, on full display in white Daisy Dukes.

I clear my throat.

Paying me no heed, his eyes rake up and over the tight yellow tee I’m wearing. When he finally meets my questioning gaze, there is absolutely no apology in his burning greens—not for blatantly staring at my legs and not for the hungry, lust-filled look he gives me right now.

It suddenly dawns on me that Farren may be as attracted to me as I am to him.
Thank you, Jesus
. But before I have a chance to think on it more thoroughly, or come up with something witty and flirtatious to say, Farren asks in an even tone, “Are you ready to get back on the road, Essalin?”

Quickly, I reply, “Yeah, sure.”

I hand my suitcase to him, and while he’s tossing it into the trunk, I venture, “Did you find anything useful at all on the surveillance cameras?”

He turns back to me. “No. If Haven was really here—or at the gas station—then she was kept out of sight. The kid who was working the front desk Saturday night was no help, either.”

“You showed him a picture of her?”

“Yes, Essa.” he replies dryly.

I feel silly for even asking such a stupid question. Of course Farren covered all the bases.

“So, where do we go next?” I tentatively inquire.

“St. Louis.”

“Is that where you think they took Haven?”

“No.” Farren starts walking around the car to the driver’s side door, and I proceed to the passenger side. He places his hand on the door handle and looks over at me across the roof. “I need to meet up with someone in St. Louis, someone who can help us. He’s been helping me track Haven’s movements thus far.”

“Who is this person?” I want to know. “Do you work with him?”
At your mysterious job
?
I silently add in my head.

“Yes,” Farren, to my surprise, responds. “His name is Rick Martinez. He’s a good guy. You’ll like him.”

“Will I be meeting him?” I ask, surprised.

“You will. We’re meeting him for dinner this evening.”

Once we’re in the car, I glance over at Farren. “Where is Haven?” I whisper. “Has her credit card been used anywhere new?”

He scrubs his hand down his face. “That’s the problem, Essa. I don’t know anymore. Activity on her card has ceased.”

My chest tightens. “Oh my God.”

I know things are bad when Farren has no words to comfort me.

I
soon discover that a funny thing sometimes happens when you find yourself in a dire situation. Well, I discover it’s the case for me when I start to realize the only way to stay sane is to think about something—anything—other than the seriousness of the situation I’m in.

So, much like our first day of traveling, I focus on the passing scenery as Farren and I log miles through the state of Indiana. I take a couple of pictures with the disposable camera he bought me. But most of what we’re traveling through is farmland, just like back in Pennsylvania and Ohio. With that being the case, finding interesting subjects, ones worthy of photographing, is limited.

That is, until we reach the St. Louis area. As we head into the city, I spot the Gateway Arch. It’s the first major US attraction I’ve ever seen, and within seconds, I am leaning out the car window and snapping photos like crazy.

“Wow, how cool is that?” I remark when I finally settle back in my seat.

“Very cool,” Farren replies. He gives me a small smile as he glances over at me. “It’s very cool, indeed.”

I don’t think Farren is as wowed by the arch as I am, but he seems quite pleased with my enthusiasm.

“Want to drive in a little closer?” he asks.

I nod enthusiastically, a grin bubbling at my lips.

Farren remains on the highway, but the route he takes offers several great angles. I get in a bunch of amazing shots, until the arch fades from view.

When I lower the camera to my lap, Farren says, “So, I think you’ll like where we’re staying. It’s in the heart of downtown St. Louis. And, I’m happy to report that this hotel is much nicer than the budget motel we stayed in the past two nights.”

I twist toward him, stretching the seat belt out with my hand to accommodate my movement. “Oh yeah?” I say, intrigued. “What’s the name of the place?”

“Union Station.”

“That’s a nice one?”

“Definitely,” he replies. “Union Station is a St. Louis landmark, much like the Gateway Arch. It was once a busy railroad station, but it’s long since been renovated. There’s a hotel there now—the one where we’ll be staying—and some restaurants and shops.”

“Sounds nice,” I say.

Farren nods to the camera I’m holding in my lap. “Bring that in with you when we check in. You can take some pictures of Grand Hall. You’ll love it, I’m sure.”

“Oh, getting to know me, huh?” I tease.

He slides his gaze my way. “I am getting to know you, Essa,” he says in a low, sexy voice.
Oh my.

I’m thankful for the darkness when we drive into a parking garage. It gives me time to compose myself, lose the redness from my cheeks. When we emerge from the garage, outside of a very cool-looking Union Station, I’m recovered. I snap a pic of a clock tower that looks like it belongs in a quaint European village. And when we step into what Farren told me was once one of the busiest railroad station in the world, I discover he was right about the place being amazing. I stare up at the ceiling, which is majestic, all curved and soaring.

“This is beautiful,” I whisper.

I snap a few pics, and then Farren and I walk toward a richly varnished check-in counter.

“I knew you’d like it in here,” he says. Then, with a smirk, he says, “A little nicer than the Super Eight, huh?”

“Ha-ha.” I laugh. “I’d say it’s
much
nicer.”

It’s amazing that under the circumstances, Farren has taken into consideration what I may or may not like. I think he kind of likes me. Then again, maybe Farren is just naturally attentive to women. Suddenly, the thought of all the many ways in which Farren could be attentive to a woman floods me with a slew of lusty feelings, feelings that warm my body and heat my cheeks.

I start to fan myself, just as Farren finishes checking us in. He turns to me and his brow creases. “Are you okay, Essa?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” I wave my hand, which inadvertently attracts a bellhop over to us.

“May I take your bags to your room?” the bellhop asks Farren.

I’ve been saved by the bellhop, which, for some reason, makes me giggle.

After Farren hands off our bags to the young man, we take an old-time elevator up to our floor. “Our rooms are down this way,” he says, pointing to the right when the elevator doors open. We turn and walk down a long corridor to the two rooms he has checked us in to.

When we stop at the second-to-the-last door near the end of the corridor, Farren hands me a key card. “This is your room,” he says. He then gestures to the next door down. “I’ll be right next door.”

“Great, thank you.”

I glance around, like our bags might suddenly appear, and Farren reminds me that it may take a few minutes before the bellhop gets the bags up to our floor.

“Oh yeah, that reminds me,” I say. “What time are we meeting your friend?” I glance down at my yellow tee and Daisy Dukes. “I think I should probably change.”

Farren chuckles as his eyes move over my body quickly.

“Yeah, that look is definitely cute,” he murmurs. “But changing into something different would probably be a good idea.”

“What should I wear?” I ask.

I’ve only been told that we’re meeting Farren’s friend—work partner, whatever—at a restaurant this evening. I have no idea if we’re going to a fancy place or a more casual venue. “I’d like to dress appropriately,” I add.

“To answer your first question,” Farren replies. “Can you be ready in about an hour and a half?”

I nod. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Perfect. As for clothing, wear something nice.”

“Uh…” I shift from one sandaled foot to the other. “We may have a problem there.”

He raises a questioning eyebrow, and I explain, “I didn’t pack any really dressy clothes. A couple of summer dresses, but nothing, like, sophisticated.”

“That’s not a problem,” Farren assures me, the side of his mouth curving up in amusement. “There’s a boutique nearby. I’ll have them send something up.”

“Shoes, too?” I blurt out when I remember I packed nothing but sneakers and casual sandals.

He chuckles. “Yes, Essa, shoes, too.”

Farren turns to head to his room, and I watch him walk away. Right when he’s about to enter his key card in the slot on the door, I suddenly remember something.

“Hey,” I call over to him, “don’t you need my sizes?”

Pausing, he says with confidence, “Don’t worry, Essa. Whatever I have the boutique send up to you, I guarantee it will fit.”

Farren then slips into his room, leaving me insanely curious as to how he can just look at a woman’s body—in this case, mine—and know her measurements. He sure seems confident. I guess we’ll see.