Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
But I deserve a phone call at least.
I know I’m going to look like an idiot, but I can’t help it. I need to know, so I get in my car and drive to her apartment. And now, I’m here, knocking on Samantha’s door, trying not to look like a psychopath. “Samantha? Samantha, if you’re in there, we need to talk.”
No answer. Hunting around, I find the loose tile in the façade above her door, pulling it out to reveal her spare key. Skipping any internal thoughts about the fact that I’m technically breaking into her apartment, I unlock the door and slip inside.
Nobody’s home. There’s a light on by her old sofa and what looks like a pair of pajama pants kicked off in the middle of the floor, but that’s it.
There are no dirty dishes in the kitchen and nothing to tell me where she might be. Confused, I pull out my phone and dial her number again. “Hey, Samantha, I’m at your apartment, looking for you. Call me, please.”
I hang up and look around like she might jump out of hiding and say, “Get the fuck out of here!” But there’s nowhere to hide in her tiny place.
If I had her mother’s number, I’d call there—not to be creepy and stalker-y, but to make sure she’s okay. And while I don’t have Susan’s number, I do have Luna’s.
Too far gone to worry about how desperate it looks, I call Luna.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Luna . . . it’s Chance. Have you talked to Samantha today?” I ask as one run-on sentence.
“What? Uhhh, no?” she answers slowly. Luna’s not a very good liar despite the way she and my brother got together.
“I’m at her place, and she’s not here. She won’t answer my calls—”
“Did you break into her apartment?” Luna squawks.
Angrily, I spill my guts, “She’s running, I get it, but I need to know she’s okay. I love her. You know that. Don’t . . . don’t make me beg. I just need to know where she is.” I swallow thickly and shout, “Luna! Tell me!”
“What the fuck, man? Why’re you yelling at my wife?” Carter demands in the background.
Snarling at the delay, I tell him harshly, “No time to explain. I need to know if she’s talked to Samantha today.”
“Today? Luna’s been head-down in Alphena-land all day. She didn’t even talk to me, much less Samantha,” Carter says, coming into the foreground of the phone call. “Why?”
“Seriously? She hasn’t talked to her?” I repeat.
Concern is starting to niggle at the edges of my mind. If Samantha is panicking, she’d go to Luna first.
“No, she hasn’t. When did you talk to her last?” Carter asks.
“This morning,” I answer, my thoughts racing. “She was having lunch with her mom and sister and then going to the club for a few appointments. We were supposed to have dinner together hours ago.”
An idea strikes me.
“Hang on, let me check the alarm system. I can see what time Jim set it. Samantha would’ve left around then too.”
I click into the app for the alarm. In the background, I can hear Luna telling Carter, “What if she’s in a ditch somewhere along the way? We need to go check.”
I’m about to agree with Luna when I see something weird.
“Huh, that’s strange. Jim hasn’t set the alarm yet, and he never forgets. Let me call the club.”
“Okay, but call us right back either way,” Carter instructs. “Luna’s panicking now too.”
I dial the club mainline and get the automated messaging system we use. I press zero to get the front desk where Jim sits and wait.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.
Every unanswered ring makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand higher. Something’s wrong, I can feel it in my bones.
I call Carter and Luna back quickly. “Hey, there’s no answer. I’m going over there now.”
“We’ll meet you there,” Carter answers, not waiting to be asked.
I mean to say thanks, or maybe I do say it. All I know is that I’m in my car, driving as fast as I can to the club. Speed limits be damned. Rules, don’t give a shit. Laws, fuck off.
I need to get to Samantha.
I pull up to the club in minutes and am surprised to see two cars still in the lot. One is Jim’s, one is Samantha’s.
A horrifying thought pops into my mind unbidden.
Could Jim have done something to Samantha? She always talks about how guys are two-faced, acting friendly and non-threatening, and then turning. Jim has certainly befriended Samantha. It’s always seemed paternal, but maybe I missed something? Is he a wolf in sheep’s clothing?
There’s a cold pit in my stomach as I throw the car in park and run for the front door. It opens easily, which it shouldn’t do. It should be locked, just like the alarm should be armed, but neither have been done.