Denver tossed the license to me since I encountered questionable licenses on a regular basis. “Doesn’t look like it.”
Knox was still staring at her. “What’s her name?”
“Emma McColm. She’s twenty-four.”
Austin swore under his breath. “What the fuck is she doing so far from home?”
“Maybe she and her fiancé are visiting someone here in the great state of Tennessee,” Denver said with an exaggerated twang in his voice.
“That’s it, her fiancé.” Austin snapped his fingers. “The dude’s got to be in her phone. If we can get in it, I mean.”
Denver fished her phone out of her purse. “It’s not password protected.” He scrolled through her contacts with a slight frown on his face. “She’s not big on calls. There are only a few male names here. I’m not sure which one the fiancé is.”
“Emma.” I put my hand on her shoulder, shaking her slightly. Her silky hair, somewhere between blonde and red, fell over my fingers. “Emma, wake up.”
Her body stirred under my hand and she mumbled something.
I tried again. “Emma, we need to call your fiancé to come get you. What’s his name?”
She mumbled again, and I leaned over her, putting my ear close to her mouth. It felt wrong to notice the warmth radiating from her dewy skin, but I couldn’t help it. She murmured something again—this time I caught it. “Jack? That’s his name?”
She shook her head slightly, her eyes still closed. “Cass.”
“Like Cassie?” Denver still had her phone. “Neither of those names is in here.”
“If her fiancée is a woman, why would she come here for her bachelorette party?” Austin wondered out loud.
I tried again. “Come on, Emma, try to focus. Is your fiancé named Jack or Cass?”
“Jackass,” she said, clearly enough for us all to hear.
Austin laughed, and a moment later we all were. Well, all except Emma. She appeared to be out again and wouldn’t rouse when I shook her. This was getting us nowhere fast. “Look for the last person she texted.” My patience was a bit thin. I wanted to be outside, breathing in the fresh night air, not the alcohol fumes from this shithole.
“Good idea,” Denver said. “She—oh, crap.”
“What?” Austin and I said together as I straightened up. Emma’s hair fell over her face again.
“I found him.” Denver looked glum. “It looks like he’s the ex-fiancé.”
Austin grabbed the phone from his brother and I peered at the screen over his shoulder. Holy shit. “He dumped her?”
“At her bachelorette party?” Austin added.
“By text?” Knox was incredulous. “That’s a shit move.”
“It’s cold,” I agreed.
“And really fucked up,” Austin added.
At least we were all in agreement about that. I ran a hand through my hair. “So what do we do with her?”
“What else can we do?” Denver said. “We take her home with us.”
“Guess so,” Austin said.
We all looked at Knox. Any of us could have picked her up, but that was just how it worked with us. If you needed someone who understood women, you turned to Denver. If you needed someone to tell jokes and goof off with, you went to Austin. If you needed to spend time with an all-around charming, good-looking guy, you came to me. But if you needed someone carried, you went with Knox. He had a body made for lifting people. Hell, he had a body made for lifting boulders.
“Welcome to town, Emma McColm,” Austin said as we followed Knox out of the club. “So far, it seems like you’ve had one hell of a trip.”
4
Emma
“Mmm,” I moaned, throwing an arm over my face to block the light seeping through my eyelids. “Nnn.”
It felt much too early to get up. My head throbbed, and my stomach felt full of sawdust. I fought the light, trying to settle back into my dreams, but it didn’t happen. Turning over, I opened one eye just long enough to take a quick peek at the clock on the nightstand.
Except the clock wasn’t there.
Neither was the nightstand.
What the hell? I rolled over, which took my attention away from the missing furniture. The small movement made my stomach ache, big time. Was I sick?
The pounding in my head seemed to confirm that. “Clint?”
Maybe his mother had something I could take. I patted the bed beside me, but he wasn’t there. Neither was the ceiling fan above the bed in his parents’ guestroom.
“Clint?”
And then it hit with a stronger force than the roiling in my stomach. Clint’s text. His sister shaking her head at me. The other women’s looks of sympathy.
The bastard broke up with me. I’d moved across the country with him, and he broke up with me.
By text!
Pain and hurt lurked under the fuzziness in my mind, but the rage that made my blood boil won out and gave me enough energy to sit up. It took a while for the room to stop spinning, but once it did, I realized that I had no idea where I was. Not one clue.