“Hi. Yeah. My friend is missing.” Way to be specific.
“I’m sorry to hear that. When did you last see... What’s your friend’s name?”
“Fiona,” Parker said. “It was about three hours ago.”
Her sigh was so faint, he might have imagined it. “I see.” The woman’s voice softened. “Did the two of you fight?”
“No. She was upset, but not at me. But we’re not from around here. It’s the middle of the night. She wouldn’t just vanish.”
“I’m sorry, sir. She’ll be back when she’s ready, but right now, there’s nothing I can do.”
He should have known that. “Thanks anyway.” He disconnected and dropped his phone on the bed. He scrubbed his face, hoping to drag more ideas to the surface or push the gnawing ill-ease away. Either would work.
He could ask his viewers for help, finding her.
That seemed stupider than contacting the police after only three hours. He didn’t need to sic a bunch of people on the city, or have to wade through shit answers that didn’t lead anywhere. And if one overenthusiastic fan was a problem, he wasn’t sending more to find Fiona.
He paced a short path, until it threatened to make him dizzy. It didn’t matter how hard logic argued that things were fine; he couldn’t shake the feeling they were the opposite.
His gaze landed on something poking out of the pocket of Fiona’s luggage. A business card. He plucked it out, and scowled when he saw Wyatt’s name and number scrawled across it.
The bad taste Wyatt’s name left in his mouth didn’t stop Parker from grabbing his phone and calling.
“Do you know what fucking time it is?” Wyatt’s irritated growl almost made Parker smile.
“Did I wake you?” Parker couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice.
“Parker?”
He wasn’t in the mood to ask forgiveness or get into lengthy explanations. “Fiona’s missing.”
“And?”
Parker swore he heard a tremor in the question. Fuck holding back or not sounding like a loon or any of that. He didn’t give a shit what Wyatt thought. “She left right after you did,” he said. “Told me she needed to think. Maybe she’s just out, but it’s almost three in the morning.”
“I noticed.”
Parker ignored him. “The guy from Indiana, the one who approached her after the flashmob, has been sending her texts. She thought she saw him in the lobby a few days ago, when we checked in.” He didn’t know why he was sharing that information.
“Call the police.” Wyatt barked the words.
“I did. They won’t do anything.”
“Fuck. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Meet me in the lobby.”
The line went dead. It wasn’t the assurance Parker was looking for, but at least someone was as concerned as he was.
Seven and a half minutes later, headlights shone through the glass of the hotel doors before turning into a parking spot and blinking off. Parker strode toward the entrance, for lack of anything better to do.
Wyatt stepped inside and locked his gaze on Parker. He crossed the distance between them in a few long strides, grabbed Parker’s T-shirt near the shoulder, and slammed his back into the nearest wall. “She’s being stalked, and you let it slide?” Wyatt growled.
“I didn’t...” What? Think it would be a problem? Take it seriously?
“Hey. I’m calling the cops.” The nervous clerk’s voice cut through the tension.
Wyatt’s snarl morphed to a twisted grin. “Good.” He let go of Parker and walked to the front desk. “Did you see a redhead leave here in the last couple of hours? Attractive? Terrifyingly furious?”
Parker followed him.
“I already told that guy no.” The clerk shook his head.
Wyatt turned to Parker. “If she didn’t leave, she’s still in the building. You said you saw the creeper here.”
“Yes.” Parker should have thought of that. Something else occurred to him. He grabbed his phone and pulled up the video from the flashmob. He scrolled to the end, tapping his toe on the tile as he waited for the clip to buffer. When rose-guy was in frame, Parker showed the screen to the hotel clerk. “Is he staying here?”
“Like I know? That’s some really shitty resolution. And if he was here, I wouldn’t be allowed to tell you.”
“Fine.” Wyatt shrugged. “We’ll knock on every door in the place until we know for certain.”
“I will call the police.”
“You threatened to do that before,” Parker said. “I’d start dialing. By the time they get here, we may have our friend back.”
Wyatt was already walking toward the first-floor rooms.
“Wait,” the clerk called as his phone rang. “Let me deal with this first, and then I’ll see what I can do. I swear to God—worst fucking night ever. You psychos, plus some asshole I keep getting noise complaints about. Front desk. How can I help you?” The clerk’s tone shifted from irritated to sweet in a breath.
Noise complaints? The look Wyatt gave him made Parker think they were on the same wavelength.
“At least you assholes, aren’t thumping so loud every neighboring room has bitched about you tonight.” The clerk stepped from around the desk. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Wyatt didn’t know what compelled him to follow the clerk, but he was glad Parker fell into step without argument.
“You can’t come with me.” The clerk entered the elevator and pushed the button for Parker’s floor.
Bullshit, they couldn’t. “We’re still talking.” Wyatt let the threat leak into his conversational tone.
The clerk shook his head. “Whatever.”
The elevator slid to a stop, he stepped out, and Wyatt and Parker followed. The clerk stopped in front of a door, only a few rooms away, and hammered on it with the side of his fist.
“Do not Disturb means do not disturb.” A male voice came from inside.
“Sir, I need to speak with you, please.”
The door opened a crack. “Go away.”
Wyatt recognized the sliver of the face that was visible. Rage spilled inside, and he didn’t care if he was jumping to the wrong conclusions.
The clerk crossed his arms. “I’ve been getting noise complaints—”
Wyatt shoved past him and kicked the door, knocking rose-guy back with an oof.
Fiona sat on the edge of the bed, wrists and ankles bound and a gag in her mouth.
Parker rushed into the room, and as much as it ached to not be the one to comfort her, Wyatt knew she was in good hands. Wyatt whirled on rose-guy, and slammed him into the wall. His new favorite move, and he was liking the outlet for his fury. “Call 911,” he said to the clerk, who looked between everyone, shock on his face.
“Now,” Wyatt yelled.
The clerk sprinted for the phone in the room.
Rose-guy yanked out of Wyatt’s grasp, and Wyatt grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm behind his back, and pulled until the man gasped.
Wyatt let all of his frustration with the evening, with Parker, with every single moment in the last few hours, spill into his grip and his words. “If you do that again, I’m not above breaking bones.”
“This is assault,” Rose-guy said through clenched teeth.
“It’s self-defense. And I guarantee I know better lawyers.” Wyatt glanced into the room, to check on Fiona.
The rag was gone from her mouth, and she worked her jaw up and down, but she was still bound.
Parker sifted through luggage.
“Hey. Don’t touch that,” Rose-guy protested.
Wyatt applied more pressure to his shoulder, eliciting a yelp.
Parker produced a utility blade and two sets of plastic restraints. He handed the latter to Wyatt, then turned to Fiona.
The moment she was free, she fell into Parker’s arms with a sob and buried her face in his shoulder.
The exchange devoured Wyatt, chewing through heart and stomach and—he wa
s pretty sure—the soles of his feet.
It was exactly what it should be—not that this situation should exist to begin with. The handsome prince rescued the fair maiden. Or in this case, the rugged woodsman saved Red Riding Hood.
Giving them ridiculous names was much easier than acknowledging the envy and longing that rocked inside.
The police showed up, and the clerk begged them to take things downstairs, to not disturb the guests. It was almost four in the morning, and a low-grade ache thrummed in the base of Wyatt’s skull.
After about five minutes, Rose-guy—Tim apparently—was led to a patrol car. An officer pulled Wyatt aside, to get his version of things. A second one wanted to talk to Parker and Fiona, who refused to let go of each other’s hands.
Wyatt didn’t blame them. He even had a hard time being upset about the glares Parker shot his way each time their gazes met.
Wyatt gave his version of the events to the officer as best he could, only half-focused on the conversation.
Parker and Fiona looked good together. True, the circumstances sucked, but it was more obvious than ever that they were a couple. Wyatt had made the right decision, every step of the way. It didn’t matter that a voice nagged from the back of his head. The only thing wrong about any of this was the attempted fucking kidnapping.
He wished he’d done something about those comments on the videos. Said something. It was his one regret about the last couple of weeks.
“I think that’s it for now.” The officer—Jones? Johnson?—handed Wyatt a card. “Give me a call if you think of anything else.”
“Thanks.” Wyatt turned toward the front doors.
“Wyatt.”
He glanced over his shoulder to see Parker kiss Fiona on the forehead, then jog to catch up with him.
“Thank you for your help,” Parker said when he reached him.
Wyatt nodded. Nothing seemed appropriate on the wit-scale. “You’re welcome.”
Parker’s smile thinned. “And if I ever see you again, chances are good I’ll deck you.”
“I think that’s fair.” Wyatt gave Fiona one last look, then headed for the parking lot. The sun was creeping over the horizon. He was going to go back to his room and sleep the rest of the day.
He dropped into his car and closed the door. With the world shut outside, a fracture ran through him, and then shattered.
Everything he’d been ignoring—convincing himself he didn’t care about, pretending was insignificant—squeezed the air from his lungs until he gasped.
The impulse to run inside was so potent it almost stole his reason. He didn’t want to walk away. He wanted to crawl back and ask for forgiveness. Be there for Fiona, the way Parker was. Stay up the rest of the day, talking to them, even though he hadn’t slept half the night.
And he wanted to tell Chuck to shove the Grammie’s contract up his fucking ass.
Instead, Wyatt started the car. He wouldn’t do any of that, because a feeling like this was fleeting. It wasn’t real, regardless of the chanting in his head to the contrary.
He put the vehicle in gear and headed toward his hotel. Once he got back to his old life, he could bury this intense, deep ache, until it didn’t exist anymore.
None of the logic stopped him from feeling shitty, but he was stronger than that. This wouldn’t break him.
IT WAS ALMOST NOON when Parker and Fiona got back to their room.
Her every limb and joint felt like lead. Walking took effort. Talking was work. Breathing meant summoning inner strength. She wanted to collapse in bed and pass out for a month, but she didn’t know if she’d ever sleep again.
Parker’s fingers were intertwined with hers. From being questioned by the police, to heading to the hospital to make sure she was okay, to another round of talking at the police station, he’d only pulled away when he was required to.
She was so grateful for that.
He guided her to sit on the edge of the bed and crouched in front of her. “You look tired.” Sympathy and concern lined his voice.
“So do you.” She tried to keep her tone light but didn’t have the energy.
He pulled off her shoes and set them by her bag, then stripped off her socks. “You need to rest.”
She shook her head. With exhaustion gnawing at her senses, she couldn’t shake the terror of last night. Thank God they found her when they did. A detached part of her was happy to see Wyatt there, but the rest of the night made her want to curl up in a ball until the world vanished and took the memory with it.
“Just rest. You don’t have to close your eyes or sleep if you don’t want to.” Parker lay on the bed behind her, on his side. He propped himself up on one elbow and patted the blanket. “Come on.”
Fiona nodded and made herself as comfortable as she could, with her back to Parker. He draped an arm over her hip, and a thin layer of comfort settled over the raging bedlam inside.
She pressed closer and pulled his arm tighter. If she could vanish here, it would be perfect.
He rested his head against hers. “Just close your eyes for a little while, okay?”
“Okay.” Her answer came out as a dry croak.
Having him so close, without question or argument or hesitation, scared away more of the shadows lurking in her thoughts. If he was here, she’d be fine. Wouldn’t she?
She was too tired to answer her own question.
Fiona was jarred awake when the bed shifted and a chill hit her back. She forced her eyes open to the sunlight fading from the room. The clock on the nightstand said it was almost seven.
Parker strode toward the room door.
When he undid the latch, she scrambled to sit, her heart hammering in her throat. She forced herself to breathe. Calm down. Consciousness rushed in, helping her grasp clearer thoughts.
“Can I help you?” Parker asked.
“You’re the guy, right?” It was a man’s voice, but not one Fiona recognized. “With the kidnapped girlfriend?”
She clenched her jaw. Kidnapped. The word filled her with shame.
“Who the fuck told you that?” Parker asked.
“I know a guy.”
“Your guy needs to fuck off.” Parker let the door slam shut, then threw the locks back in place. He whirled toward the bed, and his expression softened. “I’m sorry he woke you.”
Fiona rubbed the sleep from raw, dry eyes. “No harm done.” Not since last night. The reminder brought back fear, but it wasn’t as strong now that she could think more clearly.
The problem was, if she tried to focus on any single thought, her mind protested. She didn’t want to linger on Tim. His name was nauseating.
Then there was Wyatt, and the mess that drove her out of the room last night. She couldn’t deal with that right now.
And she definitely couldn’t think about And Parker, who watched her, concern painted on his face. Because being with him meant one of them had to give up their life.
There was no way she’d ask Parker to surrender his vlogging. Not with this contest. Not given how much he loved the work. But she couldn’t stay on the road. Nick needed her. The app needed her. And she was terrified of encountering someone else like Tim.
She shook away the thoughts.
Parker was watching her. Crap. He said something, and she missed it. “I’m sorry, what?” she asked.
“Do you want to get dinner? You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
Her stomach grumbled in response. “Yes. Definitely. But I don’t want to go out.” I don’t want you to leave, either. She was allowed to be childish for a little while, after her ordeal, wasn’t she?
“Pizza?” He reached for his phone on the desk and swiped the screen. “Oh. Shit.”
Fiona didn’t like that. “What?”
He gave her a wilted smile. “It’s from Nick.”
“Oh?”
“He says, Why the fuck aren’t you answering your phone? You promised to keep Fiona safe, you fucking asshole.”
The sen
timent almost made her feel better. “I guess we should have called him. Wait. We didn’t call him, so what’s he talking about?”
Parker was already dialing. He put the phone on speaker, and Nick’s, “Tell me I don’t have to kill you,” filled the room.
“I’m fine,” Fiona said. In a way, I suppose.
Nick’s sigh was loud. “Thank God. They said you were kidnapped.”
“Who did?” Parker asked.
“Trending headlines. Social media. National news. Where the hell have you two been?”
Fiona didn’t like juggling the conversation without more information. She hated to worry her brother, but he was past that point. “It was a long night. We were sleeping it off.”
“You couldn’t have called?” Concern bled into Nick’s anger.
“That’s my fault.” Parker took him off speaker and moved the phone to his ear. “I panicked when she disappeared, and I wasn’t thinking straight... Some psycho fan followed us ... I know. Trust me, I haven’t stopped blaming myself.”
And guilt joined the jumble in Fiona’s thoughts.
“Yeah. Hang on.” Parker handed her the phone.
“Hey,” she greeted Nick.
“I want to hear it from you. How are you?” His voice in her ear should be another reason to feel calm. Nick represented home and family and everything she missed.
It notched her tension instead. “I’m okay. I mean, mentally I’m a little screwed up, but I’m okay. This creeper held me in his room for a few hours, but that was it.” It was more than enough.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” Nick said.
“Me too. I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’m starving. I promise not to get in any more trouble.” Hell, at this point she’d promise not to leave the room again until it was time to go home. Home. The word made her heart ache. Looking at Parker made the feeling worse. “I’ll talk to you soon.” She said goodbye to Nick, and hung up.
Parker found a local pizza place and called to place their order. She didn’t mind that he did it without asking her what she wanted. He knew what she liked.
She watched him chatting up the person on the other end of the line. They wouldn’t hear the strain in his voice, but Fiona saw it written all over his face.
Red Hunted_An MFM Ménage Romance Page 18