Gone (Deadly Secrets Book 2)

by Elisabeth Naughton

  “Yeah, I think I can do that.” Jeremy had given her free reign to investigate these cases. He’d told Raegan when they’d met today that he knew she needed closure and was hoping looking into these cases would do that for her. She wasn’t stupid, though. She knew what he really wanted was a story, which was the real reason he hadn’t been the least bit upset when she’d called things off between them. A story—and the ratings it could provide—was always more important to Jeremy than anything else.

  “Okay, then.” Alec pushed back from the table and reached for his coat. “It’s late. I need to get going.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Raegan rose as Alec pulled a twenty from his wallet and dropped it on the table. A generous tip for two black coffees, even with all the flirting from Molly the wonder server.

  “You want to take that to go?” He nodded at her untouched mug.

  The last thing she wanted to do was take any memory of that waitress with her. She shoved the papers back into her bag and shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  Alec shrugged and turned toward the door.

  With nothing else to do, Raegan tugged on her coat and followed. The air was chilly as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, the bell on the door jangling after them. A few dirty piles of snow from last night’s storm still lingered against the edge of the building, but as the temperature had warmed up into the forties during the day, they were almost gone.

  Alec tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looked toward her. “Did you drive or take a cab?”

  “Drove.”

  “Where’d you park?”

  She angled her chin ahead. “Just around the corner.”

  He tipped his head the other direction. “I’m this way. You okay getting to your car alone?”

  Something in her chest pinched tight. “Yes, Alec. I’ve managed to get to my car just fine the past few years alone.”

  He nodded again but looked away, and she sensed the flex in his shoulders had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with this awkward situation between them.

  What was between them? History. A little of the same old chemistry they’d always shared, judging from the way he’d looked at her last night in his kitchen. And guilt. Not a whole lot more, though. As much as she wanted the old Alec back in her life, she had to accept the fact that he never would be. And even though that truth hurt her heart, at least she had this—whatever it was they were doing together—to tide her over, and hopefully help her move on.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way into the city.”

  “Okay.”

  She watched him walk away from her and remembered the last time she’d seen him before the divorce. When he’d moved out of their apartment. He hadn’t spoken much to her when he’d been packing his clothes, hadn’t asked to take any of their pictures or even the furniture they’d bought together. Just zipped his bags and left without so much as a good-bye. And when she’d realized he really was going for good, she’d rushed down the stairs after him, stopped him on the street, and told him that even though he was leaving, she wouldn’t give up. She’d never give up on them.

  Her heart twisted with the memory. At the way he’d laughed in that cold, heartless way and said, “We only got married because you were pregnant. Now that she’s gone, there is no us.”

  A familiar wave of grief washed over her, one that threatened to suck her down into a funk if she let it. Breathing deeply, she looked away from him and headed for her car, wishing a hundred things could be different between them, knowing they never would be. It was finally time to accept it all and get on with her life, even if her heart didn’t want to agree.

  She pulled her keys from her bag and hit the unlock button on her fob as she rounded the corner. Three cars down, her Audi’s headlights flashed, and the driver’s side door clicked as it unlocked. She crossed to her car, tugged the door open, and tossed her bag on the front seat as she slid inside and drew another deep breath that did little to make her feel better. Fragmented memories of everything Alec had said tonight swirled in her mind as she looked up and spotted a flyer of some kind stuck under her windshield wiper, blocking her view.

  Frustrated, she climbed back out and reached for the paper, expecting news about a rave or some Sunday sermon invite. But the paper in her hand wasn’t an invite or an advertisement. One look told her whoever had placed it there had known this was her car.

  They’d known because it was meant specifically for her.

  YOU ALWAYS THOUGHT SHE WAS ALIVE.

  STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING OR SHE’S DEAD.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Alec’s nerves were shot by the time he pulled his truck to a stop in front of Raegan’s building the next day.

  He’d stupidly suggested he pick her up so they could drive together to the first interview. It had seemed like a logical plan. Now that he was sitting outside her building—the same building they’d once lived in together—he wasn’t so sure.

  He’d thought she’d moved. Hadn’t realized she’d stayed in the same place until she’d texted him her address after he’d already been on his way into the city. And now that he was here it was too late to back out and change plans.

  Why the hell hadn’t she left?

  Common sense told him it was because this was a nice building in the highly desirable Pearl District of Portland, close to shopping and restaurants and entertainment, all things Raegan enjoyed. But he couldn’t imagine walking into that apartment day after day, knowing Emma would never toddle out to greet him. And when he thought of all the nights he and Raegan had spent there together, in their bed, on the floor, in the shower, on the couch in the living room, even on the dining room ta—

  “Shit.” He ran a shaky hand down his face, trying to ignore the bruising rhythm against his ribs. He did not want to go up there. Knew he’d never survive it.

  Grabbing his phone from the console, he texted her. I’m downstairs.

  An ellipsis blinked on his message screen, indicating she was typing. Seconds later her response flashed on his screen. Come on up. The door’s open. I’m not quite ready. The code to get in the lobby is 6429.

  “Dammit.” His pulse beat faster, and nerves bounced all around in his gut. He couldn’t go up there. Didn’t need the memories or the flip it could trigger inside him. But the longer he sat in his truck, the more he knew he looked like a coward, and the whole reason he was doing all this was to make amends, right? He could spend five minutes in her apartment—hers, not theirs—to make that happen.

  Muscles tight, he climbed out of his truck, slammed the door, and moved onto the sidewalk. He punched the code into the security panel near the door and waited until he heard a click. Pulling the door open, he drew a last deep breath of fresh air and told himself to relax. He could get through this. It was no big deal.

  But man, a shot of Jim Beam sure wouldn’t hurt any.

  He bypassed the elevator for the stairs, hoping the physical exertion would kill the alcohol craving. Unfortunately, by the time he reached the fifth floor he was still keyed up and jonesing for a drink, only now he was sweating too.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered as he stood outside the apartment he used to share with Raegan and knocked. “She better seriously appreciate the effort here.”

  “Come in,” Raegan’s muffled voice echoed through the door. “It’s open.”

  Fuck. He didn’t want to go in. He wanted her to come out.

  His palm grew damp as he forced himself to reach for the handle. Like she’d said—unfortunately—the door was unlocked, and the knob turned in his hand.

  The short entry hall swirled around him as he forced his feet forward and let the door snap closed at his back. The coat tree Raegan had picked up at the Saturday Market stood to his left, the trench coat she’d been wearing yesterday hanging from one side. To his right, the antique hutch he’d bought for her birthday was still pushed up against the wall under a dec
orative mirror she’d had in her old place when they’d first met. The air seemed to close around him, and his chest grew tight. Feeling boxed in, he moved into the living room, hoping more space would help him relax, but the sight of the familiar room drew his feet to a stop at the threshold and sent pressure spinning through his chest like a top.

  The furniture was exactly the same—same burnt-orange couch they’d saved three months for when they’d first been married, the same gold throw pillows Raegan had picked out at a flea market they’d wandered through one drizzly Saturday afternoon still scattered across the seat. The scuffed round coffee table was just as he remembered—also a flea market find—as were the mismatched, oversized side chairs, one off-white, one gold. He looked across the living room to the kitchen with its wide island and familiar stainless-steel appliances where he’d watched Raegan cook more times than he could count. Even the round, shabby-chic table and four upholstered gold-striped chairs that he’d bought Raegan for their first Christmas were the same. Still sitting in the breakfast nook with its wide windows that overlooked the patio and the city view, waiting to be used.

  The air caught in his lungs. It was like stepping back in time, like walking through a memory.

  “Sorry I’m running late,” Raegan called from the hall that led to the two small bedrooms. “I’ll be right out.”

  Her voice jolted him out of his memories, shocking him back to the moment. Swallowing hard, he flexed his hands and closed them into fists, did it again and again and focused on the sensation as he forced back the pain threatening to suck him under.

  Thankfully, it worked. The memories faded, the ache subsided. But as they did, his alcohol cravings intensified. In a rush, he looked toward the kitchen cupboards, wondering if Raegan had anything hard stashed behind those doors. He took a step in that direction but faltered when he noticed subtle differences in the apartment, ones he hadn’t seen on first look.

  The high chair that had sat against the wall between the kitchen and breakfast nook was gone. The magnetic alphabet letters were missing from the fridge. There were no toys in a basket near the fireplace. No outlet protectors covering the plug-ins low on the walls.

  The hole in his chest that he lived with daily seemed to grow, creating a crater beneath his ribs. Turning away, he stared at the bookshelves on both sides of the fireplace, scanning titles and tomes in a desperate attempt to take his mind off everything that was missing. But instead of helping, all that did was tear at something in his chest. Because two seconds was all it took for him to spot the framed photo on the third shelf. The one of him and Raegan, both kneeling down behind Emma in her high chair on their daughter’s first birthday.

  He’d been wrong. He did still have a heart. A shadow of one that twisted so hard in the center of his chest it felt as if it were ripping in two.

  The backs of his eyes burned as he stared at the photo. At Emma’s little hands covered in blue icing. At the cake smeared all over her cherub face and in her auburn hair. At the way she was laughing hysterically as she pressed her frosting-covered hand against Alec’s cheek while he smiled at the camera and Raegan looked at both of them with nothing but love and happiness in her eyes. A thousand emotions hit him like daggers driving deep into his chest, stealing his breath, blinding him with pain, robbing him of the ability to think of anything but that long-ago, precious moment.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Raegan said from the hallway. “I was at the station this morning, and one of the interns spilled coffee all over my blouse. I had to come home and take a quick shower because I smelled like a barista.”

  Alec blinked quickly, turned away from the photo, but couldn’t bring himself to look at Raegan. Focusing on breathing, on taking one lungful of air at a time, he glanced over the room again, only everything he saw reminded him of Emma. Of Raegan. Of a time when he’d been happy and loved and whole.

  He couldn’t stay here. Needed to get out. Was going to lose it if he didn’t leave right fucking now.

  “That’s fine.” He strode past her, careful not to look at her or anything except for the carpet in front of his shoes. “Let’s go.”

  “Um, okay,” she said after him. “Let me just get my coat.”

  He didn’t wait for her. Pulling the door open, he moved into the hall as fast as he could. “I’ll grab the elevator.”

  He moved quickly down the hall, punched the elevator button, leaned a hand against the wall, and closed his eyes. Sweat slicked his skin everywhere, and his pulse still raced like he’d been in a fight. But at least out here in the hall he wasn’t about to hyperventilate.

  A click sounded behind him, followed by footsteps. Seconds later Raegan moved up on his right. “Everything okay?”

  The elevator dinged, and the door swept open. Still feeling unsteady, Alec stepped inside and said, “Fine.”

  He punched the lobby button and stared at the wall panel as Raegan moved into the car next to him. “Fine.” There was that word again. The one he’d gotten good at using over the years. He wasn’t fine. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d been fine. Was shocked people couldn’t see through his bullshit like tissue paper.

  The car jolted to a stop at the third floor, and the doors whooshed open. Six teenaged boys dressed in shorts and tanks, one holding a basketball, moved into the car, chatting and laughing as if they were alone.

  Raegan stepped toward Alec to give them room. The car was small, built for five people max, not a group of almost-men. Alec turned sideways and angled closer to the wall, desperate for space, but doing so only made Raegan move closer, and the next thing he knew, they were pressed together at their fronts, the teens behind her rehashing last night’s Blazers game like the superfans they obviously were.

  “Dude, did you see McCollum’s dunk? That thing was sick.”

  “Yo, man. He brought the house down last night. That guy’s the real deal. I’m tellin’ ya.”

  “Plumlee cleaned the glass too. They’re fuckin’ all-stars. We’re goin’ all the way this year.”

  Heat surrounded Alec as the doors closed and the car began to move again. A heat that had nothing to do with the number of bodies in the cramped space and everything to do with the soft curves pressed up against him, making all the dead places inside him suddenly come to life.

  He knew it was a bad idea, especially when he was already still shaken from being in their apartment, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from looking down at her. And when he did, his pulse beat even faster because Raegan wasn’t watching the teens or paying even an ounce of attention to what they were saying. She was staring up at him with the softest green eyes he’d ever seen. Eyes he still dreamed about every damn night.

  All that heat around him intensified. Seeped from her into him or him into her, he wasn’t sure which. The only thing he knew was that the temperature was growing warmer in the tiny car. So hot his skin tingled, his fingers twitched, and his body grew hard and hot and achy.

  The elevator dinged, and the doors whooshed open. The boys’ voices faded as they stepped out of the car and disappeared around the corner. But Raegan didn’t move, and neither did Alec. He couldn’t because all he felt was a growing urge to slide his hands into her silky auburn hair, to tip her mouth up to his, to taste her the way he’d wanted to taste her last night in his kitchen.

  She blinked and stepped back, breaking the connection. Without a word, she moved out of the elevator, leaving him alone. Alone to wonder what the hell was happening and why he’d thought helping her with these silly cases had been a good idea at all.

  He took a second to clear his head. When the elevator doors began to close, he still wasn’t ready, but he pushed a hand between the doors, forcing them open again, and finally stepped out.

  The cool air of the lobby surrounded him, easing at least one of his problems. Ahead, though, Raegan tied the sash of her coat around her waist and fixed the strap of her purse over her shoulder, averting her gaze in a way that told him she hadn’t missed
what had almost happened in the elevator and that she was just as rattled as he was.

  Irritation pulsed inside him. An irrational irritation, all things considered. What the heck did he expect? That she’d want him to kiss her? After last night when he’d shut her down? She had every right to be confused by the mixed messages he was sending, but holy hell . . . he was just as confused by them himself.

  She pushed the lobby door open and moved out onto the sidewalk. “Are you driving or do you want me to?”

  “I’ll drive. Black Dodge over there.” Body still vibrating with things he didn’t want to think about right now, Alec pulled the keys from his jacket pocket, desperate for something—anything—to do with his hands so he wouldn’t be tempted to put them on her. “Do you have the address?”

  “Yeah.”

  They headed toward his truck. In the old days, he would have opened the door for her, would have helped her in, but today he didn’t trust himself, so he walked around to the driver’s side and let her fend for herself.

  Once inside, she set her purse on the floor at her feet and fluffed her hair from her jacket collar, then rattled off the address. “I called ahead. The wife was home. She didn’t sound excited to talk to us, but said she’d give us a few minutes.”

  A few minutes. Wow. He was fucking up his whole day for a few minutes.

  As he punched the address into his GPS, he tried to ignore Raegan’s familiar jasmine perfume, the scent that always made him hot, but failed miserably. That urge to touch her again came back full force, messing with his head and heating up his body in a way he didn’t want.

  “This is in east Portland,” he said, trying to focus on anything other than the fact she smelled good enough to eat. “Probably take us about twenty minutes in afternoon traffic.”