And in the far corner, beside the shredded remains of a small chair, were the mangled remnants of their tiny Christmas tree, every ornament smashed, the flickering lights looking somehow ominous as they lay tangled against the backdrop of such pointless, malicious violence.
“Vivian!” she screamed, her hands in her hair and a terrified expression on her pale face as she spun in a circle in the midst of the destroyed room.
“She isn’t here,” Max bit out, looking like he wanted to tear something apart with his bare hands as he came in behind them. He locked his glittering blue gaze on Elliot, and gave a frustrated shake of his head. “When we split ways at the diner, I came straight here. But after an hour or so, I headed over to the club where she works and found her there. One of the other girls said Vivian had been asked to work a little later tonight.” Max shot a quick glance at Skye, who was staring at all the broken pieces of furniture like she was in the middle of a nightmare. He worked his jaw a few times, then shoved his hands back through his hair again as he muttered, “So I sat at a table and waited for the right time to talk to her.”
“What did you say to her?” Skye demanded, suddenly going still and giving his partner a panicked look of accusation.
“She ran before I got the chance to say a goddamn thing,” he growled, and Elliot shot him a hard glare, silently warning him not to snap at her. Max gave him a dark look that was full of suspicion, then rolled his shoulder and muttered, “The girl I talked to must have told her I was asking about her, because after that she never looked in my direction again. Then she left the floor, and I figured she was taking a break or something. But after a while, I got a bad feeling, so I got up to see what was going on. When I found the girl I’d talked to, she told me that Vivian had bailed on her shift.”
Aw, shit. Having an idea where this was headed, Elliot asked, “Then what happened?”
“Then I got in my truck and raced back here as quickly as I could,” Max said, forcing the words through his clenched teeth. “But she was already gone by the time I got here.”
Elliot drew in a deep breath, trying to glean something from Max’s scent that would tell him what was going on with the guy. Yeah, it would be natural for Max to be upset about screwing up a protection job. But this...this was different. Maybe guilt for not realizing she would run? Or had something happened at the club that Max didn’t want him to know about?
Before he could ask another question, Max jerked his chin toward the door. “I’ll be outside. I’ve been trying to pick up a trail that I can follow, but the snow isn’t helping.”
He knew Max meant a scent trail, but had been careful not to say anything suspicious in front of Skye.
“Watch your back,” he muttered, worried that the assholes they were dealing with might still be close. And still not even sure what they were dealing with. Yeah, the apartment had that same musky odor that the other abduction sites had had. But did that mean that the bastards had already taken Vivian? Or was she on the run for her life, after managing to evade them? From what Max had told him, and the way his partner was acting, he knew that Vivian was in trouble. He just didn’t know exactly how bad that trouble was.
“Just don’t let her back in the roommate’s bedroom,” Max added in a low voice as he passed by him, obviously trying to make sure that Skye didn’t overhear the quiet words.
Elliot tensed in response to the look on Max’s face. “Why?”
His partner just shook his head again, a muscle pulsing in the hard edge of his jaw. “You’ll know when you fucking see it, man.”
“I don’t trust him,” Skye said in a hoarse rush, as soon as Max had shut the front door behind him.
Walking over to her, he murmured, “He’s good people, Skye. I promise. Max is just pissed that Vivian gave him the slip.”
“She’s...cautious,” she whispered, blinking at the moisture gathering in her eyes. “It would have freaked her out to know he was asking questions about her, instead of just talking to her.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
She suddenly started kicking at the debris on the floor, like she was trying to uncover something, then dropped down on her knees, rummaging through the books and broken bits of furniture with a desperation that had him coming a little closer and crouching down beside her. “What are you doing, honey?”
“Our phone! I need to find our phone so I can call her.”
Elliot helped her look, and quickly found the cordless unit under what looked like the torn material of a sofa cushion. She gave him a grateful look as she took the phone from his hand, then quickly punched in the number. Her hand shook as she held the phone to her ear, her big eyes glistening with tears she was barely holding back. “Damn it,” she croaked, shooting him a tortured look. “I don’t think her phone is turned on.”
“We’ll keep trying,” he said as gently as he could, taking the phone from her and helping her back to her feet. “But we can’t stay here, Skye. I need you to go back to your room with me, and then you need to pack a bag. Okay?”
But she was in her own little world at the moment, and he didn’t even think she’d heard him.
“Why would s-someone do this?” she asked, her voice cracking at the end from the tears that had finally started pouring down her face.
“I don’t know.” Looking around, it broke his goddamn heart to see how hard the two girls had worked to make this place as pretty as they could. Yeah, the outside might have been shit, but they’d put a lot of time and effort, if not money, into making the inside as nice as possible. The walls had been painted a pale gray, and it definitely had that shabby-chic look to it that his friend Sayre seemed to love so much. Cheap tables had been painted with chalkboard paint, and had had what looked like quotes written in a beautiful script across them. He wished that they had the time for him to fix the pieces, fitting them together like a puzzle, so that he could read their messages, curious about what his girl found important enough to make a permanent part of her home.
But they’d already spent far more time there than was safe.
“Come on,” he said, reaching out and taking her cold hand. He kept his movements easy and smooth as he led her from the room, not wanting to spook her. “Let’s get that bag packed.”
Though there were three closed doors in the hallway, it was easy to tell which one was Skye’s by simply searching out her scent. He quickened his pace, opening her door and dragging her into the untouched bedroom, grateful that she couldn’t detect the scent of blood coming from her friend’s room the way he could.
Elliot hoped like hell that Vivian Jackson was okay—but it was becoming harder to hold on to that hope with each second that ticked by.
“I’ll just be a minute,” Skye whispered, drawing his gaze as she opened her closet door and pulled down a big backpack from the top shelf. She set the bag on top of a weathered white dresser, then started rummaging through the drawers, throwing in what looked like an assortment of jeans, T-shirts and sweaters.
Bracing himself against the wall behind him, Elliot kept up a constant lecture in his head. One that basically went along the lines of how he needed to keep his shit together and that even though he was in her bedroom, surrounded by her so-perfect-it-killed-him scent, he needed to suck it up and stay strong. What he couldn’t do was let his hunger get the upper hand on him. Or keep stealing heated glances at the double bed she had pushed into the far corner of the room, imagining what she would look like spread out over the pale gray sheets, her beautiful body completely bare to his burning, greedy stare, while her heavy gaze begged him to touch her...to claim her.
Time and place, man. Time and place. And this is neither!
“That’s all for in here,” she said, clutching the bag to her chest as she