The possibility had been teasing me for a few weeks now, and the pull was getting stronger and stronger.
It was like what I’d told Sloane about Cole. Eventually, I was just going to have to go after it.
I grinned. Going after Cole had worked out well. Maybe that was a sign that a job selling real estate was where I should land.
“First things first,” I said, with a quick pat to the floor. “Tomorrow morning at ten, you’re mine.” And why did I know for certain that buying this house was the absolute right move for me? Because I didn’t feel even the slightest bit foolish talking out loud to it.
I spent another hour poking around the house, measuring, taking notes, thinking about all the things I had to buy—in addition to the house itself—simply to make my meager amount of stuff fit into this tiny space. I planned to hit both Home Depot and The Container Store after the closing tomorrow. And then I’d spend the afternoon in the blissful haze of that lovely state known as home ownership.
After that, I’d see about finding another job. My job at Perk Up might have been crappy, but I’d been counting on the minuscule paycheck to cover the mortgage.
I was going to go straight back to the apartment to pack a few more boxes, but once I got in my car, I found myself heading toward the Windy City Motor Inn instead.
I knew that I should call Cole, but I didn’t. He would only tell me to stay away. That every time I went, I ran a risk.
He was right, of course.
But I knew how to spot a tail and how to lose one, and when I arrived at the inn after my incredibly circuitous route, I knew I hadn’t been followed.
The inn was conveniently located next to a Taco Bell, and I parked in that lot, then went inside to buy an assortment of burritos and tacos. I took my bulging sack across to the motel, scoped out my surroundings, then headed to my dad’s room.
I tapped three times. “Daddy. It’s me.”
No answer.
I frowned and tapped again.
I pressed my ear to the door, but heard nothing except the pounding of my heart as my fear grew and grew.
I’d kept a key for myself, and though I hadn’t used it originally out of respect for my father’s privacy, I put it in the door now, then gingerly cracked it open. “Dad, if you’re in the bathroom, I’m coming in.”
I pushed the door the rest of the way open, then froze.
He was gone.
Except that made no sense. How could he be gone? Where could he have gone?
I looked more closely around the room. Nothing in the drawers. No suitcase anywhere.
I felt the rise of panic and tried hard to tamp it down.
Had they found him?
No—no, because then the room would be wrecked. So he was safe. Or, at least, he’d been safe when he left the room. But where had he gone?
Did he not trust me to help him? Had he suddenly gotten spooked by this room? Had he seen someone watching him?
I didn’t know—hell, I couldn’t know—and the whole situation both pissed me off and scared me. This was my dad. My dad. And he’d gone into the wind on my watch.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I locked the place back up, then stalked down to the management office. A bored clerk who looked to be all of fourteen was playing games on his phone. He barely glanced up at me. “Help you?” he asked, between smacks of gum.
“There was a man in room 247,” I said. “Do you know where he is now?”
“Lady, this isn’t the kind of place where the guests leave a forwarding address. He was here, now he’s gone.”
“So then he’s definitely checked out?”