Page 10

T he bass vibrated the sand beneath Riley’s feet.

Music blasted around her before getting swallowed into the dark sky.

She’d been meandering around on the beach, moving slowly to the music for two hours.

She hadn’t even bumped into Josh even through he’d said he’d be here.

It was after ten o’clock and the party would go until two a.m. God, she hoped this wasn’t for nothing, and that it didn’t take until the end of the night to find the bastard—if he was even here.

She took a long sip of the bright colored drink, a combination of liquor, one of which was the sweet tropical taste of coconut rum.

No. He was here.

He had to be. She could feel him. Her eyes glided over every man’s face in search of him…

as if she knew exactly what he looked like.

She would know. For one thing, he’d be Hanna’s type.

Tall, dark haired, and assertive. He would have to be in his late twenties to early thirties, and definitely not older or younger.

Cowboy attire had also been a thing for her.

If he was out and on the prowl, he’d likely be alone, and inconspicuous. Maybe not such a long shot after all.

After the attack the other night, Joe had informed her that they hadn’t been able to trace the voicemail. He was smart, and he thought he could toy with her. But she would catch him.

A warm body slammed into hers. Her tropical drink splashed down her chest, coating her bare stomach and soaking into her denim shorts.

“Sorry,” a young man mumbled before turning back into the crowd.

Ugh. Well, good thing it was dark, her bikini top was black, and her shorts were denim and not the white ones she’d considered. The sickly sweet liquid stuck to her skin. The humidity made it worse. Screams filled the air around her. She jumped and turned her attention to the stage.

“Give it up for DJ Romeo!” The MC extended his arm to the turntables on the stage and the DJ greeted the crowd.

“Oh my god, it’s him!” A young woman who looked to be barely twenty-one screamed in her ear.

Riley grimaced. At twenty-seven she was getting too old for this crap.

She’d rather be at home, curled up on the couch in her pajamas watching a movie or reading.

A wild night for her meant a smidge more than a glass of wine and chocolate.

Maybe pizza. Her life was as far from this crowd as it could get, yet here she was—hunting.

What was Hanna doing? Sharp fear tightened its grip around her heart.

She pushed her thoughts away as she had a million times over the last few weeks.

Not now. She had to stay focused. She was Hanna’s only hope.

The police had all but given up on finding new leads.

Everyone else seemed to believe she’d up and left rather than acknowledge that she’d been taken from the safety of their town.

Anger burned the back of her throat. Hanna wouldn’t up and leave. She loved her family, her job, and was the most considerate person on the planet. She would never put those she cared about into turmoil.

She held her slim shoulder bag close to her hip as she moved through the crowd. Her feet sunk into the divots in the sand, the terrain uneven and slippery. She needed another drink and a bottle of water to wash herself off. “Can I have a water and another one of these, please?”

The young bartender who had served her the cocktail smiled, passed her a cup of water, and began making her drink.

When he was done, she paid him, accepted the blue drink, and stepped outside the crowd.

She dumped the ice-cold water down her chest and rinsed away what she could of the sticky residue.

A chill raced over her until the hot air warmed her skin again.

“That hot?”

She whipped around at the deep southern drawl. She took in the tall man with his hands shoved in his pockets. He wore a plaid button-down shirt, red baseball cap, and cargo shorts with flip-flops. The corners of her mouth tugged into a smile. Bingo.

She laughed. “It’s so hot out.” She brought the cocktail to her lips and sipped leisurely. God, if Hanna could see her now, she’d be screaming “slut!” jokingly in her ear.

The man’s grin spread to his eyes, the color was unclear in the darkness, but they were dark. His jaw was freshly shaven without a hint of stubble. Light-haired? It was hard to tell with the hat over his head.

He held his hand out to her. “My name’s Greg. What’s yours?”

She slipped her fingers into his warm, moist palm. “Angie.” She stepped closer to him, letting her thigh brush against his hip. He leaned down toward her mouth, while his hand hovered on the small of her back.

“Want to dance?” she croaked.

His fingers moved over her bare skin suggestively. Goose bumps raced over her. Not good goose bumps. Not like the ones Ethan gave her.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Sure, but do you want something else to drink? A shot maybe?”

Oh yeah, he could be the one. God, why did they always want to do shots? The answer was obvious. She didn’t handle shots well. She’d nursed the fresh cocktail for the last hour and her skin puckered with tightness from the first one that still coated her abdomen. She took a shaky breath and smiled.

“Sure.”

He held up his finger indicating he’d be back in a minute and pushed his way to the bar. Her hand moved over her purse again. If he was the one who had taken Hanna, he’d be dangerous. She was prepared. A can of pepper spray and a foghorn lay inches away, inside her purse.

In her back pocket, she kept her cell phone, a slim switchblade and the roofies.

Tucked safely in the tiny zipper pocket of her bag was a picture of Hanna.

In order for her plan to work, she needed him to take her somewhere so she could drug him.

Her heart palpitated at the prospect of being alone with the creep.

As long as she got the drugs in him as soon as possible, he’d be less powerful against her.

And if he tried anything, she was ready.

She had never hurt a fly in her life, but in order to find Hanna, she would do anything.

He returned with a shot in each hand.

Her blood thundered wildly through her veins to the techno beat that pulsed through her thin sandals.

Her fingers curled around the tiny, smooth plastic cup.

“Bottoms up.” His fingers lifted the end of the cup, urging her to drink.

He kept his eyes on her while his shot hovered at his lips.

Dammit, she hadn’t watched him get her drink.

She knew better than that. If she backed out now, he’d know something was up.

She tilted her head back and let the liquid wash down her throat.

It burned all the way down to her belly.

She coughed. “What was that?”

“Tequila.”

She groaned inwardly. She’d only drank tequila once before and she didn’t remember much of that night other than a lot of vomiting before passing out. That had been Hanna’s twenty-third birthday party.

“Want another?” He leaned close, his body crowded her.

Her hackles rose. Wow, he wasn’t wasting any time. She lifted the cocktail in her hand and drank the too-sweet liquid, washing out the burn of the tequila.

“Not yet, let’s dance.” She led him into the crowd and began to sway to the music. His hands grasped her hips, drawing her against him. This close, his scent invaded her. Her nostrils burned with the ashen smell of cigarette smoke and a hint of sweat. Gross.

He smiled down at her. His eyes were shadowed beneath the bill of his hat. She moved closer to get a good look at him, which planted the front of her body against his. His smile widened. His hands moved to cover the small of her back, where denim met bare skin.

The bridge of his long nose had a large bump—a recent break? She took in every inch of him, she needed more. Something else to identify him.

“You’re not drinking.” His eyes darkened on hers.

Her breath hitched. The heat from the tequila warmed her blood. Another one of those and she’d be on her ass. She sipped her cocktail.

“Where’s yours?”

His hips pulsated to the beat of the music. She moved against him. He drew her closer, his thigh slipped between hers. Her body stiffened and her throat tightened.

He was assertive, all right.

He reached into his pocket and opened his palm to her. “I have these, do you want one?”

Three tiny purple pills stared back at her. Her stomach dropped. Every muscle in her body turned to stone. She swallowed over the lump that expanded in her throat and forced words out. “Not right now.”

He tossed back one of the pills and swallowed without any water. “You’re no fun. Have one of these or a shot, your choice.”

He was challenging her. If she stood her ground and accepted neither, he’d move on to another woman. One that was less prepared than she. The pills just made him a prime suspect. Could he have drugged Hanna? She had to pursue him.

“I’ll have another shot, but make it a double.”

He laughed, “Now you’re talking.”

She led the way to the bar this time, no way in hell she was letting him touch her drinks after seeing the pills. Had he slipped her one already? A gentle hum ebbed over her body and fear ate a hole into her heart.

“Two doubles of tequila.” Greg rested his arm on the bar and turned to her. “You’re here by yourself?”

She nodded. “My friend was supposed to meet me but she bailed.”

“Bummer, but I think we’ll have a fun night. Where are you staying?”

She gave him the name of a motel toward the outside of town. There was no need for him to know she lived nearby.

“No way, I’m there too.”

Yeah, right. “Oh my god, small world.”

The bartended set their shots on the counter. She grabbed hers before he could reach for it.

“Show me what you’ve got,” he snickered as she eyed the golden liquid. A double? She was insane. She closed her eyes and sucked back the liquid.

Greg roared, “All right, blondie. You’ve got balls.”