Beautiful.
Not just beautiful, but ridiculously gorgeous.
She has the same intense green eyes as her son. Same nearly black hair. Same high cheekbones and height. With her heels, she’s every bit as tall as Dragon. Even her mouth is the same, though her smile is friendly and I’ve never seen Dragon’s lips behave in a friendly way.
“May I help you?” she asks in greeting, her smile strained.
“We came to see Mitch,” Nees says, lifting his chin. “Is he here?”
Her lips press into a firm line and her gaze hardens. “I’m sorry, but he’s not.”
“Where can we find him?” Nees persists.
“I apologize, but I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Lindsay Thomas. How do you know Mitch?”
“Friends from school,” I chime in. “He’s not answering his phone. I’m Cove Gale and this is Blake Koynakov.”
Her eyes dart between us, scrutinizing our every detail. “Funny. I know everyone at his school and yet I’ve never heard of you.”
“Trust me,” I say, leveling her with a hard stare. “We know your son and care about him.”
Dragon is still her son and that statement is the truth, much to my surprise.
Her body loses some of its rigidness. “Come on in, then.”
We follow her into the nicest home I’ve ever been in. Everything is decorated to perfection. Though Koyn’s and the clubhouse are pretty sweet, I’ve never actually lived anyplace nice. When I was a baby, we were poor and then when we lived with Grandma, we were still poor. I can’t imagine growing up like this.
Lindsay’s heels clack across the hardwood floors as she guides us through the foyer to a formal sitting room. No television or family pictures. Just expensive looking artwork and even more expensive looking furniture. At least with the way Dragon dressed us, we fit in here and I don’t have to worry about dirtying up her pristine white sofa.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Yes, please,” I say politely.
“Coffee okay?”
Me and Nees nod. She walks over to a discreet speaker on the wall and pushes a button.
“Martha, can you bring my guests some coffee and refreshments, please? We’re in the parlor.”
Nees widens his eyes at me and mocks silently, “We’re in the parlor.”
Ignoring him, I dart my eyes over the room, looking for any clues that this woman’s world has been turned upside down by having another missing child. Nothing. Everything is in its place. Interesting. Or fucking weird. Definitely not normal.
“So,” Lindsay chirps, coming to sit down in an armchair opposite of where we’ve sat down on the sofa. “Tell me when you last saw him.”
Me and Nees exchange a quick look before I clear my throat and straighten my spine.
“It’s been a while,” I lie. “You?”
“Two days ago.” Her nostrils flare. “He went on a hiking trip with his friend.”
“Friend?”
“Yes,” she says coolly. “He apparently has many of them.”
“Did he mention which friend?”
“Taylor. They’re good friends. Play ball together. Which you already know…” She trails off, hiking up a sculpted brow. “Right?”
“Right,” Nees rushes out. “Do you know why he wouldn’t be answering his phone?”
“I’m sure it’s because he’s somewhere that’s out of cell range.” She swallows hard, eyes narrowing. “Is that all?”
We’re interrupted by a young woman who rolls in a cart. There’s a coffee carafe, a few mugs, and a plate of baked goods. She brings it close to us and then sets to pouring everyone a cup. The air is filled with awkward silence, none of us willing to talk about anything in front of the woman who must be Martha. Eventually, she leaves us alone and Lindsay is quick to strike, reminding me of her oldest son.
“Cut to the chase, boys. Who are you and why are you really here?” She sips her coffee. “Answer carefully because my husband will be here any minute with my sons.”
Nees makes himself at home, grabbing a handful of cookies, leaving me to answer this woman with fire blazing in her eyes.
“We have reason to believe he’s been kidnapped,” I say softly.
Her face pales and her hand trembles. She sets the mug down on the coffee table before searing me with a furious glare. “What kind of games are you playing?”
“No games,” I rush out. “I just…we…” I rub at my temple, trying to ease the headache that’s forming. “You know he’s missing. Question is, why aren’t you reporting it?”
She sucks in a sharp breath before pinning me with a look that could melt glaciers. Dragon isn’t a psycho because of his time with the Royal Bastards. He’s a psycho because it’s genetic.
“I’ve lost one child. I can’t lose another.” She swallows and smooths out her long dark hair with a shaking hand. “Mitch is just angry. Avoiding us.”
“Angry?”
“It’s the only explanation. He knows how I feel about him checking in with me. I’m adamant about knowing who his friends are and who he hangs out with at all times because…”