Then, after he had sated his body, he wanted to hold her against him, to fall asleep to the rhythm of her heart. He wanted to breathe her fragrance and float in the sheer gift of her presence.
He picked up his cell phone and called the police station. When the voice answered at the end of the line, he said, “This is DDA Jericho St. James. I need the addresses of Sienna Parker and Lana Dempsey.”
* * *
Two hours later he was even more frustrated than before. Sienna had been no help, saying that she hadn’t even talked to Kate that day. Lana had been ruder. She’d said that if he’d screwed up and hurt Kate, she’d kick his ass.
Now both women were up and worried about Kate, just as he was.
He picked up the phone again and dialed. This time he got Eric Banner’s address.
When he banged on Banner’s door, the light came on after a few minutes and Eric opened the door, squinting against the harsh outside light.
“What the hell, Jericho?”
“Is Kate here?”
Eric looked utterly confused. “Kate?”
“Banner, just tell me if she’s here.”
“She’s not,” he assured, his hands coming up in front of him as if to ward Jericho off. “What the hell happened?”
“It’s a long and very private story.”
Eric ran his hands through his hair. “Come in. Maybe I can help.”
Jericho went into Eric’s neat house and sat on his comfortable sofa.
Eric brought out a whiskey bottle and two glasses.
“What is that for?”
“I’m helping. If Kate doesn’t want to be found, the only thing you can do is drown your sorrows in a bottle.”
Jericho picked up the bottle, pulled off the top and took a long swig.
“Damn, man. You don’t fool around.”
Jericho closed his eyes as the alcohol burned a long, hot trail to his stomach. The look of panic on Kate’s face twisted like a knife in his gut. He couldn’t stand the fact that he would frighten her. He took another hefty slug, and Eric grabbed the bottle.
“Whoa, Jericho.”
Jericho ran his hands over his face and closed his eyes to gather his composure.
“What happened?”
“Kate and I had…an argument. She left and I’m sorry. I want to tell her so, but I can’t find her.”
“Do you want my advice?”
“Not particularly.”
“I’m going to give it to you anyway. Kate does things in her own time. She can’t be goaded or pushed into anything she doesn’t want to do. And when she gets mad. Hoo boy, watch out.”
“How come you know so much about her?”
“I don’t have any designs on her, St. James, but if you break her heart, I’ll have to punch your lights out.”