On My Knees - J. Kenner Page 0,15

contacts and dial the home number for Ryan Hunter, Stark International’s security chief. He’s just the guy for a little late-night private eye work.

This time, the voice that answers is completely awake, and I can hear the stereo blaring in the background.

The voice, however, doesn’t belong to Ryan.

“Hello?” the voice says. “Hey! Yo! Turn that down, will you?”

I grin as the background music fades to a sane level and Jamie Archer, Ryan’s girlfriend, comes back on the line. “Okay, I can hear now. What’s up?”

“Hey, Jamie,” I say. “It’s Syl.”

“Yeah, I know. Caller ID. Welcome to the twenty-first century.”

“Listen, I need a favor.”

“No prob,” Jamie says. “What do you need?”

“Actually, I need it from Ryan. Is he there?”

“Sure. Hang on.”

I hear the clatter of the phone being passed, along with laughter in the background. I know that he’s taken Monday and Tuesday off to spend time with some college friends who came into town, and I feel a twinge of guilt for interrupting. Not enough guilt to make me hang up, though.

“Sylvia?” Ryan’s voice is smooth with a hint of concern. “Is everything okay?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” The words tumble out of me, and I give him the rundown of everything that has happened. Not the brother thing, but the firing. The explosion. The fact that Jackson is gone.

“I’m really worried. I thought maybe you could track his Porsche. It’s got OnStar.”

“Do you have his account information?”

“No.”

“How about the VIN number for the Porsche? Or the license plate?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t know how—actually, give me five minutes. Do you want to hang on, or shall I call you back?”

“I’ll hang.”

“I’m putting the phone down,” he says, and I’m left alone in my apartment, the worry that twines through me contrasting with the hum of music, drinking, and general revelry filtering back to me through the phone line.

Finally, he comes back on the line. “The license plate was easy—he has a card key for the garage, so we have his vehicle information.”

“That’s great.”

“Tracking the car’s another story.” He sighs. “Look, Syl. I’ve got a friend in intelligence who owes me a favor, and I think he could manage it. But it would put his ass on the line. But if you really think Jackson’s in trouble, then I’ll do it. You just have to say the word.”

I open my mouth to tell him to yes, yes, please find Jackson.

But the words don’t come. Because the truth is that it’s not Jackson I’m afraid is in trouble, it’s the two of us as a couple that I’m worried about.

And until I find him—until he holds me in his arms again—then I’m the one who really isn’t okay.

six

By the time four a.m. rolls around, I am seriously considering calling Ryan back and telling him to yes, please call his friend in intelligence. Hire a hacker. Contact the fucking CIA. Just do something to find Jackson before I go completely out of my mind.

I don’t, though.

I do, however, send an email to Damien telling him that I’ve terminated Jackson. Since he’s not an employee but a contractor, I don’t have to deal with human resources, thank goodness. Then I shoot an email to Aiden, my immediate supervisor in the real estate division, telling him that I’ll be working from home today. Fortunately, I’ve already asked Rachel to cover Damien’s desk for the rest of the week. Not because I expected to stay up all night, but because I’d planned to spend a good part of the week with Jackson, working on the details of the resort.

Now, of course, I still need the time, because the entire project is a mess and I need to get all my architectural ducks in order.

My eyes are scratchy, and despite my worry, I cannot stop myself from yawning. I’ve been sitting at my kitchen table, a pad of paper in front of me so that, ostensibly, I can make notes about the resort. The pad is entirely covered with doodles.

I get up, use my Keurig to make a cup of coffee, and then go to my sofa. I wedge myself into the corner, pull a blanket up to my shoulders, and hold the mug in both hands. It’s the warmth I want the most, because I feel cold. A bone-deep chill that I haven’t been able to shake since Jackson walked away, leaving me alone in his office.

I know that I should sleep, but I can’t bring myself to move to the bedroom. Everything around me is spinning