“Evan does actually have a debit card,” Ryder explains. “We’ve been looking through his bank statements all night.”
“Do I even want to know how you did that?”
I turn toward the soft, sweet voice behind me and find McKenna leaning a shoulder against the doorway to the kitchen, wearing only my O’Keefe’s T-shirt, which reaches mid-thigh on her. I move to her immediately, taking her hand and pulling her close, and she gives me an even warmer smile.
We may have intense things between us, including broken trust that will need time to heal, but the moment I look into that smile, I can’t help but think we’ll be all right. I made a promise last night even if she didn’t hear it: I will not let this break us. For her. I have to stay sharp and keep on point.
“No, McKenna, you don’t want to know,” Ryder says, breaking me away from my thoughts. “From what we’re seeing he’s been staying at the Bay Inn for a week now. Would you like my team to go there?”
I glance at McKenna for her reply. I’ve made enough decisions for us that haven’t ended well. “This is your show now. You tell us how you want to proceed.”
She gives me a quick kiss on the lips. “Thank you for that.” Then she looks at the phone. “How about we go there first. Hopefully Evan’s there and fine, and we can put this matter to rest.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Ryder says. “You’ll keep me updated?”
“Of course,” I reply. “Thank you for your help.”
“Like I told you a long time ago, this affects us all.”
The phone line goes dead. I hit the home button, keeping the phone in my hand, and McKenna smiles. “He’s a good friend to you.”
It’s a statement, not a question. I answer her anyway, “I’m incredibly lucky to have the friends that I do.” But I’m not thinking about Ryder or anyone else, I’m only thinking about her. “I called Joe not too long ago and told him you wouldn’t be in for the next week or so.”
She smiles. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”
I return the smile and ask, “Did you sleep all right?”
“Amazing, actually.” Her expression changes, becoming more intent. “But what about you?” She cups my face, eyes searching mine. “You look tired.”
“I slept fine, but I think you need to see this.” I open my Web browser again on my phone, pull up the tabloid’s article, and hand her the phone, even if it’s the last thing I want to do.
She stares down at the article for a few long seconds, and then shocking me, she begins to chuckle. “So, I’m your sex slave, huh?”
I frown, crossing my arms. “There is nothing remotely funny about this, McKenna.”
“Oh, come on,” she says placing the phone on the counter and then grabbing my crossed forearms, eyes twinkling. “I could be called worse things. Besides”—she glances down my bare chest, licks her lips, then glances into my eyes again, desire running rampant in hers—“being your sex slave wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”
I like the way she’s looking at me. It’s like she wants to give me everything, and goddammit, I want to take everything she’s got. I slide my hand across her back, pressing all her lovely curves against me. And just before I seal my mouth seductively across hers, I whisper, “Be careful what you ask for, sweetheart.”
McKenna
After a quick trip to my condo in North Beach, where I ran inside for clean clothes and freshening up while Gabe waited in the car, we arrive at the Bay Inn, not far from Evan’s apartment. The clock on the nightstand reads 11:04 a.m. when we enter the shithole of a hotel room. My nose crinkles at the scent that’s somewhere between roadkill and mold wafting from the room. I glance around the small space with a double bed, not finding anything of Evan’s here. The only sign anyone’s been here at all is the unmade bed, leaving one big question unanswered: Why was he here?
It’s a thought that obviously shows on my face. Gabe steps next to me and asks, “Has Evan ever stayed here before, or at any hotel for that matter?”
I shake my head. “I don’t have any idea why he came here.” I move toward the six-drawer dresser. “It honestly makes no sense at all. He’s got a gambling problem”—I open the first drawer—“so I can’t see him spending money on a room unless he felt like he had to. He’d much rather spend his money on gambling.”
“And he has his apartment to pay for, too,” Gabe says behind me.
I know the reaction I’m going to get even before I say, “I pay for his apartment.”
Still, the silence at my back feels stronger than even I anticipated. I glance over my shoulder, finding Gabe unnaturally still. “It doesn’t cost me very much,” I explain. “You saw his place, I pay his rent with a week’s worth of tip money.”
One brow arches. “Is that supposed to make him mooching off you okay?”
I’m not sure how to answer him but I figure with all we’ve been through we need to be truthful right now. “I know I’m breaking all the rules in the twelve-step program. Even though I’m enabling him, it’s because I don’t want him to hit rock bottom. Evan is my brother, and I do love him.” I turn back to the dresser with the flat screen TV on top, avoiding the tension I’ve created, and
open each drawer, finding them all empty. A shred of fear trickles in. “He must have come here to hide,” I say, admitting that hard truth. “It’s the only assumption, since he didn’t check out”—which the lady at the front desk told us—“and he didn’t bring any of his things with him.”