watch would be both an heirloom and a treasured memento.
Weakly, I press a cold hand to my hot cheek. “She . . . ah . . . when could she have possibly done this?”
Macon makes a noise of annoyance. “She really doesn’t tell you anything, does she?”
The truth stings.
“Why would she tell me about a watch that she may or may not have stolen?”
“I thought Sam had been renting a room from you.”
I blink in surprise.
Three years ago, I was given the opportunity to partner in a high-end catering business. Angela, my partner, eventually sold the other half to me, and it became so successful I was finally able to buy a small bungalow in Los Feliz. A few months later, Sam moved into the loft over my garage because money was tight for her.
Truth is, I never know how she gets her money since she never mentions any jobs. It’s hit or miss if I receive the small amount of rent she insisted on paying, and since I don’t actually need money from her, I’ve learned not to rely on it.
But I thought we were close enough that Sam would tell me she’d been seeing Macon. I hadn’t a clue they were even in contact.
“That doesn’t mean I know everything that goes on in her life,” I finally say.
Macon makes a noise that sounds far too pitying before answering with an overly patient tone. “Sam has been my assistant for the past month. Though it soon became clear that she greatly oversold her qualifications.”
I don’t know what to feel. I’m glad they aren’t dating; if Sam and Macon took up again, inevitably, he’d be back in my life as well. But he is in her life, isn’t he? They’ve been working together for a month. And Sam never told me a thing. Hurt is a numb throb in my temples.
“I’ve been away for a week,” he goes on. “I returned home yesterday, found Sam gone and a couple things missing, including the watch.”
“What was she doing in your house?” I wince at the question. I don’t want to know. I don’t.
But I do.
“Being my assistant is a twenty-four-seven job,” he says as if this is obvious. “I have a guesthouse. Sam was staying there.”
I don’t miss the way his tone implies that he thinks it’s odd I hadn’t noticed Sam was living elsewhere for weeks. I had. But I’m used to her coming and going. My place is more of a base camp for her than anything.
“You might have had a break-in,” I offer weakly.
“Bullshit. The damn woman asked to see the watch for ‘old times’ sake,’ and I was fool enough to show her.”
Closing my eyes, I run my hand over my face. “Well . . .”
Shit. I have nothing.
His voice turns weary and resigned. “Just tell me where she is, and I’ll leave you to your baking.”
“I don’t know where she is. But I’ll find her. Talk to her.”
“Not good enough. I could almost let the rest go, but that watch means something to me. She’s gone too far this time. I’m asking the police for help.”
“Please.” The word rips out of me and burns on my tongue. I hate that I’ve said it. But I can’t take it back. “I’ll get your watch.”
I can’t let Sam go to jail. For better or worse, she’s my sister. And it would kill Mama. Figuratively, but I have a horrible fear that it might be literal as well. We lost our father last year, and our mother’s health is fragile at best. One day, I turned around to look at her and was stunned by how much she’d aged, as if my father had taken her spark of life with him. Sam and I are all she has left. Sadly, she’s always been overly protective of Sam.
“You have twenty-four hours; then I’m calling the police,” Macon says with a rough voice that speaks of impatience.
“Twenty-four? Are you funning me?”
“Do I sound like I’m having fun?” he shoots back.
“Well, I had to ask, what with the ridiculous time frame you’re proposing.”
I can’t possibly hear him grinding his molars, but I imagine he is. “That wasn’t a proposition,” he grinds out. “It’s a deadline.”
“This is LA, Macon. It takes at least twenty minutes to travel five miles in any direction. On a good day.” I let out a noise of pure annoyance. “Not to mention that if Sam is hiding out, she might not even be in the city. She could