Page 16 of A Breath of Life (Shadowy Solutions #4)

Tallus

“ F uck.”

I stared from the living room window at the yellow-washed street below, angling my head to keep an eye on the apartment’s front entrance.

Traffic had slowed to a trickle over the past few hours.

Still no sign of Diem. He’d been gone for too long.

Cooling his temper was one thing, but this bordered on excessive.

The nursing home kicked visitors out at eight thirty. The clock read eleven eighteen. Even if he’d taken Echo for an extra-long walk afterward, he should have been home by now.

Why did I have to be a little bitch with him? Why couldn’t I bite my tongue and shut my mouth for once?

I’d driven him away. Pushed too hard. After his departure, the residual anger simmering in the air was so acrid I could taste it, but his continued absence was worrisome. It wasn’t like Diem to vanish for this long, not without a reason. Not without a phone call.

How mad was he ?

Had I ruined everything?

Pacing, I debated options. Could he have gone to a bar to drink? Doubtful. Diem hated bars as much as he hated people. Since giving up his prowling days, when he would go to a pub strictly to find a willing body to fuck, he stayed away.

A liquor store and a dark alley? Far more likely.

It wasn’t like Diem had supportive friends or family to lean on. Before me, he had lived the life of a lone wolf, happy with his own company, growling at everyone and anyone who dared get too close.

Since Echo had come into Diem’s life six months ago, his out-of-control temper had significantly simmered, or rather, he managed it far better than before. He took willing time-outs, but not for multiple hours at a time.

Where was he?

Calling his phone got me nowhere. He’d either turned it off or was dismissing my number each time it flashed across the screen. The voicemail kicked on after less than a ring. My messages went unanswered.

At eleven thirty, I ventured to the parking garage and checked again to ensure the Jeep was still in its spot, and he hadn’t returned to collect it.

It was there, same as it had been earlier.

The office was a good fifty-minute hike from the apartment.

Could he have walked there and decided to crash at his desk instead of dealing with me?

Was he that angry? We’d fought, sure, but it wasn’t the worst argument. It was sadly typical. A personality clash. It wasn’t relationship-ending. Was it?

I debated getting in my car and finding out if he’d gone to the office, if only to put my mind at ease. Was I jumping the gun?

“At midnight,” I mumbled, scanning the parking lot. “If you aren’t home by midnight, like it or not, I’m coming to find you. ”

And if he wasn’t at the office? I racked my brain for the next most conceivable option.

The gym? Maybe. It was a twenty-four-hour establishment. Diem worked out when he was stressed, punching a bag until his knuckles bled. Perhaps he’d gone to the gym.

The likelihood was slim, considering he wasn’t dressed properly and had Echo with him, but I refused to dismiss it outright. Anything was possible with Diem.

My mind kept returning to the liquor store and alley idea, but I didn’t want to think he’d done something so drastic. Unfortunately, on the scale of possibilities, booze outweighed everything.

Back in the apartment, I stood sentinel at the window and waited.

He would come home. He would reek of alcohol and cigarettes.

I would ignore it. We would put the fight behind us and crawl into bed.

He would hold me, and I would cuddle against his side and listen to his heart beat under my ear. In the morning, it would all be better.

Midnight came and went. No Diem.

At nineteen minutes after twelve, I caved, grabbed my car keys, and took off. The office was locked up tight, and I cursed as I looked for signs that Diem might have been and gone.

Nothing.

Next stop: Fallout Fitness.

A few hardcore members worked weights under the harsh fluorescent lights, but Diem wasn’t one of them.

When asked if anyone had seen a guy fitting Diem’s description, they told me no.

At a loss, I drove a few city blocks around our neighborhood, taking every side street at least once and checking our normal routes for when we walked Echo in the evenings.

I examined the face of every pedestrian who even faintly resembled my six-and-a-half-foot-tall tank of a boyfriend—there weren’t many.

Out of options, I went home.

At half past two, I cradled my phone, staring at the screen and willing it to ring.

My gut twisted uncomfortably. I’d filled Diem’s voicemail with endless messages, telling him that I was sorry for being a petulant brat, that I loved him, that I was worried, and that if he came home, I promised to never sass again.

“You can get rid of the card. You can put me behind a desk with research tasks until I’m old and gray. I don’t care, D. Please come home,” I begged, voice wobbling. “Or, at least let me know you’re all right.”

At some point, I fell asleep.

The late morning sun shining through the living room window woke me the following day. Confusion surfaced first. Why was I on the couch? Clarity came second, and I tumbled to the floor and bolted to the bedroom, where I was greeted with an empty, unslept-in bed.

Still no Diem.