Disquiet sat heavier in his gut than a five-pound kettle bell, weighty and solid. If she was not coming back to work, she was more hurt than he thought. “I’m sure Ben is fine. Can you think of any other places she could have gone?”
“Have you tried the house?”
“It’s my next stop,” he replied.
Except Malin wasn’t there, either. Driving slowly past the house, he looked for her car in its customary parking spot or lights on in the windows. Nothing. He parked in front of the house, got out, and ran up the front walk. Ringing the bell, he strained to hear footsteps or any other telltale noise that might lead him to believe she was inside, deliberately ignoring him. When he pounded his fist on the wood and shouted her name, he was met with dead silence. He even bent over to peer in the front windows, but the house appeared deserted. A heavy, exasperated sigh swirled out of his mouth into a white puff of air. When he looked at his phone’s display, he prayed she might have called. Might as well wish for a rocket ship to the moon. That wouldn’t happen either.
Gaby would be getting home from school soon. Maybe he should wait. The inactivity of waiting would kill him. Standing at the top of the steps, shivering in the cold February air, he planned the most methodical route for his search. He’d swing by the rehab clinic. It made sense for her to run to her dad. If that turned out to be a dead-end, he’d check the harbor on his way to Ben’s house. From there, if he still hadn’t found her, he’d drive to Boston and swing by the new store and Harriet Jansen’s house.
He’d find her and make her listen to reason. There was no other woman for him. He needed her to understand how involved his heart was, how out of character for him it was. He needed her to hear how much he loved her.
He jogged back down the walk to his truck. Starting the powerful motor had always been a thrill for him. Today, the engine seemed to growl “jackass” in response to turning the key.
* * * *
As soon as Mal had navigated her way to the bar at Red’s and climbed onto a stool, the bartender greeted her.
“Hey Malin. You looking for your dad?” Molly asked.
Mal shook her head. “He checked himself into rehab.” She looked up and down the bar. As soon as she registered that she’d perched on what was Dad’s preferred stool, shock rendered her speechless. Hysterical laughter bubbled up in her chest. She cleared her throat to force the giggles back.
“That’s great news. I hope it sticks this time.” Molly put one of those little disks of paper that served as a coaster on the bar and placed a glass of ice water on it. “You’re a little early for dinner but I’d be happy to fix you a bowl of tonight’s special. It’s chicken and dumplings.”
Comfort food. And she could use the comfort now. But she’d decided to drink, and by God, she’d stick to this resolution. “No, I don’t want any food. Can I have...um...a glass of chardonnay?”
Molly wasn’t fast enough to mask her surprise. “Really? You don’t want just an ice tea or something non-alcoholic?”
“No, Molly. I’d like a glass of wine. If you don’t mind.” Mal’s tone was sharper than necessary. She was instantly contrite. ‘I just...please?”
“Sure.”
The bartender reached over her head and pulled a wine stem from its slot. She put it on another paper coaster, then poured five ounces into it before pushing it closer to Mal’s hand. Her expression registered her confusion and concern. “Is there anything you’d want to talk about? I mean...” Molly let her words trail off.
Oh Jesus. The last thing she needed to do at the moment was have a heart-to-heart with the friendly, neighborhood barkeep. She shook her head. “No. Do you have any pretzels or nuts?”
Molly reached under the counter and pulled out a bowl of pretzels to place on the bar. Then, thank God, she left Mal in peace.
She spent the next ninety minutes staring at the same five-ounces of liquid forgetfulness in the glass in front of her. Molly had been back three times to refill her water glass and once for the pretzels. Each time Mal raised the wine glass to take a drink the scent of alcohol hit her like the recoil on a punching bag. Memories of having to pick Dad up from this same spot rose like phantoms in her mind. She couldn’t force the beverage past her lips.
Turning her attention to the television hanging in the corner, she stared blankly at a hockey game for quite a while. Each time the front door opened, her hair lifted in the accompanying breeze. Eventually, inevitably, someone slid onto the stool next to her, dropping a coat with a thud on the vacant seat on the other side. Seven other empty stools at the goddamn bar and some jerk took the one right next to her. Looking in the mirror across from her, she realized the newcomer was Noah Kerrigan.
She lowered her head and twisted it to the side, giving him a slight smile. “Hello, you.”
“I didn’t expect to see you here.” The trademark Kerrigan dimples popped out with his lopsided grin. He glanced around the mostly empty bar, then back at her. “Are you here alone?”
She nodded, then turned her attention back the glass in front of her.
Molly came over and greeted her companion. “Hi, Noah. What can I get you?”
“I’ll take a beer. Malin, you ready for another?”
“Ha, that’s rich.” Molly scoffed and pointed at the glass in front of Mal. “She’s been nursing that one for an hour and a half.”
Mal shot her a look meant to indicate she didn’t appreciate the stab in the back. Whatever happened to a bartender’s nonjudgmental ways?
Molly put her hands up, the gesture half apology and half surrender. She turned her back to draw Noah’s beer. She placed it in front of him and jutted her chin toward Mal. “Maybe you can figure out what’s wrong with her. She won’t talk to me.”
Heat flushed into Mal’s cheeks. “Molly! Leave off, will ya?”
Molly narrowed her eyes and jabbed a finger toward Mal. “Fine. But losing yourself in wine, even if it’s to just look at it, will not help. For what it’s worth, every time you lifted that glass I wanted to lunge toward you and knock it out of your hands. All I’m saying is don’t be stupid.”
Picking up a case of empty bottles, Molly walked away. Noah’s knee bumped Mal’s as he twisted on his stool. She concentrated on drawing circles around a water spot on the surface of the bar. Anything was preferable to meeting his eyes. Avoidance was a great strategy.
“Want to talk about flowers and shit, or would you prefer sports?”
She laughed, but to her ears, it sounded bitter. She pressed her lips together and remained silent.
“Maybe you’d rather tell me what’s bugging you.” He rushed on, “And remember, Molly made me ask.”
She laughed again and finally met his gaze. “Noah Kerrigan, I’m willing to bet no one ever made you do anything your entire life.”
“Not true. One time, Jack made me eat dirt. I was six and he was four, but already bigger than me. I think we were arguing about a Tonka truck.”
That earned him another laugh. “Who won?”
“Damned if I can remember. So, what’s it going to be? Sports? Or why you look like you’ve just lost a good friend?”
Her breath hitched. He’d hit the nail on the head. She’d lost a good friend. Maybe her best friend. And that hurt worse than losing her lover. Tears rushed behind her eyes, the sting almost unbearable. She ducked her head. “Oh, damn.”
Sliding his arm along the back of her barstool, he leaned in and pressed his brow to the side of her head. His breath was warm against her ear. “Hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Come on, hon. Tell me why you’re so sad.”
Noah’s phone flared to life, scooting a little on the solid surface of the bar as it vibrated. Mal peeked at the screen where it rested next to Noah’s half-empty beer. Sam’s picture was prominently displayed.
Noah glanced at her apologetically. “I’m sorry, I have to—”
Tossing up a hand as if to say go for it, Mal turned her attention back to the water spot and tri
ed very hard not to listen to Noah’s side of the conversation. He laughed, drawing her gaze, and smiled encouragingly at her. A cold blast of air hit her back when the entry door opened.
After he disconnected the call, he turned the phone facedown on the bar and swiveled toward her. “You were going to tell me why you are sad enough to think drinking will take care of your problem.”
* * * *
Gunnar shoved the truck into park in front of Rikki and Sam’s house. Even the prospect of holding Amelia failed to cheer his overcast mood. He’d gone everywhere he could imagine and still hadn’t found Mal. Worry for her safety had kicked in an hour ago when the sun had set. What if she was hurt? She’d been so mad when she’d left his office, could she concentrate on driving? Checking his phone every five minutes had been an exercise in futility, and calling Malin’s phone every ten was worse. His calls went straight to voice mail. Dropping his head to his hands where they rested on the steering wheel, he breathed deeply. He had to get these damn emotions in check or he’d catch grief from Sam.
By the time he’d made it to the front door, his mood had shifted to resigned. Short of parking in front of Malin’s house, he probably wasn’t going to find her tonight. Sleeping in his vehicle on the street in front of her bungalow seemed too creepy to contemplate.
The door swung open seconds after he rang the bell. Rikki’s expression seemed a huge, condemning question mark. Pressing his lips tightly together, Gunnar shook his head.
Rikki slid her arms around his waist, pulling him close and patting him on the back. “It will be okay. She’ll turn up.” She slipped away from him and grabbed his hand to lead him to the kitchen. “Have you tried to call her?”
She glanced over her shoulder in time to catch his what-the-hell-do-you-think look. “Only every ten minutes. She’s either shut off her phone or she’s blocking my calls.”
“I’d block you if you called every ten minutes, too. You’re an idiot,” she retorted as they entered the cozy kitchen.
“No, actually I’m a freaking idiot.
Sam looked up from where he was feeding his tiny daughter a bottle. “No luck?”
Giving a brief shake of his head, Gunnar ran the tip of his finger over the soft, delicate skin on Amelia’s cheek. It should have been comforting, but it fell so far short. He shoved his hand in his pocket and leaned against the counter, hanging his head like a stupid, lovesick fool. If the shoe fit...
“Do you want me to check with some of our other friends? See if she’s been in touch?” Rikki asked.
“I’m debating parking in front of her house until she gets home from wherever she’s been hiding.”
“That might not be a bad idea.” She handed him a bottle of water from the fridge.
He set it to the side and pulled his phone from his pocket to check it again. He swiped his finger across the screen to make sure it still worked. Rikki grabbed the phone from his hand and hid it behind her back when he tried to snatch it back.
“Eat first. We’ll think about how to find her more clearly on a full stomach.” She pointed to the cabinet behind his head. “Grab a bowl. I left the beef stew warming in the crock pot for you.”
“I’m not hungry.” In fact, the idea of eating caused bile to rise in his throat. He swallowed convulsively.
Sam wiped Amelia’s chin with a towel. The infant cooed softly as he tossed the burp cloth over his shoulder. He lifted her tiny body to his chest and tapped her back. “Maybe she called Jem. They’re pretty good friends.”
Rikki brightened at the idea. The glow faded. “Jem went to Vegas with Jack. I seriously doubt Malin would bother her.”
“I’ve already tried Jem.” Gunnar shrugged. He didn’t mind bothering Jem if it got him any closer to finding Mal. He joined Sam at the table, dropping down on one of the hard wooden chairs. “She hasn’t heard from Mal either.”
Heaving an exasperated sigh, Rikki reached for a bowl from the cupboard. “I can’t believe you—”
Her words were cut off when Gunnar’s phone finally rang. He leaped to his feet as Rikki grabbed the device from her back pocket. Whatever she saw on the screen caused her to frown. When she shook her head and offered the device to him, the hope he’d allowed to rise crashed like bricks onto his shoulders. He took the phone from Rikki and answered.
“Hello?”
“Gunnar? It’s Gaby. Gaby Jansen.”
“Have you heard from Mal? I’ve been looking all over for her.”
“No. I was calling to see if she was with you.”
“Damn. No, she isn’t. We had a...a misunderstanding earlier today. I’ve been trying to find her.”
Rikki crossed to Sam’s side and rested one hand on his shoulder, the other on Amelia’s head. Sam reached up and covered her hand. Heartsick, Gunnar twisted away from the reminder of their trust and bond.
“I’m worried about her. I don’t want her to disappear, too.” Gaby’s voice sounded impossibly young and fretful over the phone.
God, it would be devastating for Gaby to lose another family member so soon. He slammed the brakes on the idea of something bad happening to Mal. He couldn’t think like that. Wouldn’t think like that. “I haven’t stopped looking for her yet. I’ll find her. Are you okay alone?”
“Not really. I don’t...” Her words trailed away, but the concern and fright in them was undeniable.
“Hang on a sec, Gaby.” Gunnar looked between Rikki and Sam. “I’m going to keep looking for Mal. Is it okay if I pick Gaby up and bring her here to wait? She shouldn’t be alone.”
“Of course,” Sam asserted. He handed the baby to Rikki, then stood. “In fact, I can go get her.”
Gunnar nodded. “Gaby, Sam Kerrigan is going to come over and pick you up, okay? Just bring whatever you need. I hope you haven’t eaten, yet. Rikki made beef stew. She’s a somewhat decent cook.”
His words failed to bring a grin to Rik’s face.
“Okay, but I’m not very hungry.” Gaby paused. “Gunnar? You don’t think she’s hurt...or worse?”
The only way it could be worse was if Malin were dead or had moved on with another man. Oh, God! “No! No, Gaby. Don’t think that way. She’s fine. She’ll be fine. She’s just very mad at me about something that happened at the gym today. A misunderstanding. I’ll find her, and I’ll fix this. I promise.”
“I trust you, Gunnar.”
Sam jingled his keys, signaling his intent to leave to pick up Gaby. Gunnar held up his hand as he said goodbye to Gaby. Once he’d disconnected, he dragged in another deep breath. “Before you go, can you make a phone call for me? Can you check with Noah to see if he’s seen her?”
Sam scoffed. “She’s not going to be with him. He told me they’re just friends.”
“Just call please.” Gunnar rubbed his chest in anticipation of a fatal blow.
Rikki took Gunnar’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze as Sam placed the call. Gunnar tightened his fingers around hers.
Sam put the call on speaker as it rang.
“Hello?” Noah answered.
“It’s Sam. I’m looking for Malin Eckert. Any chance you’ve seen her?” he asked without preamble.
“Yeah, actually.”
Gunnar pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the pain of knowing Mal had sought out Noah Kerrigan after they’d argued. The back of his eyes stung. God, he’d fucked this up so badly.
“Where exactly are you?” Sam prodded.
“At Red’s.”
Every nerve ending in his body snapped to attention. Gunnar whipped his head up. “What is she doing there? She doesn’t drink.”
“Noah,” Sam asked, “Can you keep her there for a little bit? Gunnar’s on his way over.”
“About damn time. What took him so long?”
“You know, he’s just being a dick with ears.” Sam laughed.
“Hey!” Gunnar tried to get mad at Sam, but he couldn’t do it. Sam’s description of him was too accurate for his comfort.
Noah’s laugh boomed out of the phone. “Yeah, I can do what you asked. But make it snappy. You hear what I’m saying?”
“Will do.” Sam disconnected the call and looked at Gunnar. “What are you waiting for? Go fix this.”
Gunnar flew out of his chair and across the room. He grabbed Sam’s hand and slung his other arm around Sam’s shoulder, thumping his appreciation against the other man’s back. “Thanks.”
Sam grunted. “I’ll get Gaby and bring her back here. Just let Malin know we have her.”
After kissing his sister, Gunnar turned and raced down the hall and pounded out the front door. He slid on a patch of ice on the front walk as he flew toward his truck, but regained his balance quickly.
On the trip to Red’s, he formulated a plan to make Mal listen to him. His future happiness depended on it.
Chapter 23
Mal stared at the glass of wine in front of her, avoiding Noah’s gaze. “Why the hell couldn’t I have liked you? You’d be a better boyfriend than... At least you appear to have staying power. You wouldn’t move on to another woman without telling the woman you were already seeing, would you?”
“Ah, I see.”
She jerked her head up and finally met his gaze. “What do you see? A woman stupid enough to get involved with a player? A man she knew would only be interested in a short-term relationship?” She snorted, then pushed the wine glass to the side, no longer interested in liquid forgetfulness. Leaning forward, away from Noah’s warmth, she lowered her chin to her crossed arms on top of the bar. “When a man is so kind and helpful and so damned persuasive, it’s hard not to get caught up in his charm. I tried, Noah. I knew we should just stay friends. But I couldn’t resist. His charisma was harder to withstand than the pull of that glass of wine. Now, my heart is broken. And why the hell am I telling you this?”
“Because I asked. And I’m your friend. Are you talking about someone in particular?” he asked, rubbing his hand between her shoulder blades as if the action could soothe away the overwhelming ache.
Bed Of Roses (The Five Senses Series Book 4) Page 24