Page 24

Seth Mays

How much longer do you think you’ll be at the house?

I had been at Humbolt’s office for the last four hours, filing paperwork with Humbolt and the very stylish and obviously high-priced Gwen Walsh, Noah’s lawyer.

Lulu had spared no expense, and Walsh was clearly both incensed by the injustice of it—which was a good thing—and also going out of her way to be as irritating as she could to the Augusta County Sheriff’s Office. I also appreciated that.

There were a lot of questions—including about the evidence Elliot and I had found the day before, about my mother’s will, about the facts of the murder case, about my father, about Noah’s and my shared childhood…

I was worn out, and I knew we weren’t even remotely done yet.

I flipped over my phone and checked to see if Elliot had replied.

Nothing.

For the last hour.

Are you okay?

I blew out a breath, nerves making my stomach churn.

I tried to convince myself that maybe his battery died. Or maybe a cell tower had gone out. I knew there was normally service at the house, so that wasn’t why he hadn’t replied.

He could have dropped his phone in the water trough, maybe.

Or maybe a goat ate it. Or maybe he’d accidentally left it on silent, although he usually checked his phone more often than once an hour.

But maybe he was just busy with the animals.

Or maybe he’d stopped to say hi to Helen and Ray, or they’d come up to the house.

Please call or text when you get this.

“Mr. Mays?”

I jerked my head up. “Sorry,” I apologized to Walsh. “Say again?”

Three hours later, I still hadn’t heard from Elliot.

He had my car, so I had no way to go up to the house, although I was seriously starting to consider calling Humbolt to see if he would be willing to drive me up there, even though it was almost six-thirty in the evening.

The sun would still be up for another two hours, so it would be possible to make it out to the house before then.

I’d texted Elliot several more times, tried calling more than once, and had even tried to find Helen and Ray’s phone number, only to discover that it was unlisted.

What I didn’t want to do was call the cops. First of all, I knew full well that you couldn’t issue a missing person’s report after only four hours of not having heard from someone. Second, I didn’t trust the Augusta County cops as far as I could throw them, and I knew Elliot didn’t, either.

I’d been debating trying to get a cab or ride service, but I also didn’t want to drag a stranger into what was probably me overreacting.

Nor did I really want to pay for it, especially since I’d been off work for over a week already.

Lacy Krinke, my boss, had been more than gracious enough to give me personal time off for two weeks—which I was starting to worry wouldn’t be enough, and I also wasn’t getting paid for, because I only got a week of vacation, and that had been used up yesterday.

I’d been pacing the hotel room for the last forty-five minutes, Sassafras sitting on the bed watching silently. I’d just about decided to say to hell with it and call Humbolt when there was a knock on the door.

Hoping that maybe Elliot had lost his key and needed to be let in or that he’d somehow gotten a message to the hotel front desk or something, I hurried to the door to open it.

And found myself facing an Augusta County Sheriff’s Deputy.

My brain froze. I wasn’t sure whether it was most likely that he’d come to arrest me or tell me something about my mother or?—

His expression was serious.

“No,” is what came out of my mouth, although how I managed to say anything at all, I had no idea, because my mouth had gone completely dry.

“Mr. Mays?” he said, sounding surprised.

I blinked. “Yes?” My pulse was hammering in my throat, blood rushing in my ears. Maybe it wasn’t?—

“Mr. Seth Mays?” the deputy asked again.

“Yes,” I repeated, something catching in my throat. Clearly something was wrong—and this didn’t feel like a precursor to me being arrested, and Elliot was missing…

“Mr. Mays, do you know who was driving your vehicle today?”

I felt the tears threatening, my throat closing off.

“Y-yes,” I managed again.

“I’m afraid I have bad news,” the deputy said, and I stepped backward, then half-sat, half-leaned on the edge of the hotel desk that I’d run into with the back of one thigh.

I couldn’t speak. I just stared at the man, his fair skin slightly freckled across the cheeks and nose, his grey eyes a little narrowly set and blinking rapidly, tongue licking lips that were slightly chapped, nervous.

There really was only one reason for someone in his position to be nervous .

Nobody likes being the guy who has to notify next of kin .

My whole body was numb. My mouth was a desert. There was a slight sense of being trapped in a bell jar, an insect or mounted rodent displayed but cut off from the rest of the world.

“Your vehicle was found off the side of Scott-Christian Road, overturned and… burning.”

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Elliot .

“Were… Did he…” I couldn’t ask it.

“The vehicle was still too hot for them to investigate,” came the reply. “But there was apparently no sign of the driver outside the vehicle.”

I couldn’t manage any words.

“We had assumed you were the driver,” he said. “And I was sent here here to— I assume the other gentleman was driving, then?”

I nodded.

“We’ll need some information from you,” he said. “So that we can confirm… identity.”

I nodded again, feeling nausea pressing at the back of my throat. I told him what he asked for.

Elliot Crane. Five-foot-eleven. One-hundred-eighty-seven pounds.

Forty-two years old. Indigenous. Love of my life.

I didn’t tell him that last one, even though it was the thing that was making me feel like someone had reached through my ribs and torn out my heart, leaving a gaping hole that would never stop bleeding.

“I am sorry,” the deputy said, awkwardly, when he’d put away his tablet. “Investigators will know more over the next few days.”

I nodded again, having no idea what else to do.

He closed the door when he left, and the click made me flinch.

“Mrow?”

I jumped again.

And then the tears came, dragging me off the desk and down onto the floor, my knees drawn up against my chest as it cracked in two.

I’d thrown up everything I’d eaten in the last forty-eight—or more—hours and was essentially comatose on the bathroom floor. Sassafras was sitting across from me, her yellow eyes fixed on my tear-streaked face.

I just kept staring at the last text messages I’d sent him, wondering if he’d seen any of them.

Wondering if he’d lost control of the car, if it had caught fire first, or what had happened.

If I’d gone with him, would he still be alive?

If I hadn’t asked him to feed the goats, he’d almost certainly still be alive.

And then I wouldn’t have to go back to an empty house?—

And tell Hart.

Fuck.

I had to tell Hart.

I sent him a text. I need you to call me ASAP .

About forty-five minutes later, my phone buzzed.

I answered it, and then couldn’t say a word, because every time I tried, another sob choked off my throat.

“Mays—what the fuck—Seth. Seth! ”

“I—” But I couldn’t.

“Are you okay?”

“N-no.”

“Is… Is Elliot okay?”

I couldn’t even manage a no that time.

“ Fuck. No. Not accepting that. No fucking way.” Even Hart’s voice broke.

I couldn’t say anything back.

“Just… Did you see him?” I didn’t want to know what it cost him to ask that question. It cost me a lot to hear it.

“N-no.”

“Then we’re not accepting it. Not yet.” It was insane. Delusional. He was in denial. But, God , did I want him to have good reason to say it.

“B-but?—”

“No. Fuck , no. Where the fuck are you? I’m coming out.”

I dragged myself out of the bathroom when someone started pounding on the hotel room door.

“Dammit, Mays,” came Hart’s muffled voice. “Let me the fuck in.”

Somehow, I managed to pull myself to my feet, then open the door, although it caught on the chain, and I said several very Hart-worthy things before I managed to get it off and get the door open.

I stared at him, taking in the fact that this was probably the most unkempt I’d ever seen him in my life, and we’d worked crime scenes together at every conceivable hour of the night and morning.

His eyes looked bloodshot, color high in his cheeks, his shirt and grey slacks rumpled, strands of hair coming loose from his long white braid.

“You look about as shit as I feel,” he said, his voice rough.

I swallowed, but I couldn’t make myself form any actual words. So I just stepped out of the way and let him come in.

“Mrow!”

“Jesus fuck!” Hart stopped, staring down at Sassafras, who was looking up at him. “When the fuck did you get a cat?”

“Yesterday? Day before?” I wasn’t sure what time it was.

“You got a cat here ?” he asked.

“She was hiding under the house,” I managed. It was easier to talk about the cat than?—

I couldn’t even think it.

“She got a name?”

“Sassafras.”

“Cute.”

“Thanks.” I sniffled.

“Fuck,” was Hart’s response, and then I found myself being hugged, and the sobs that I thought I’d run out of came back full force.

When I got myself back together enough to step away from him, I drew in a shuddering breath. “Shit. I’m?—”

“Don’t apologize,” he retorted, and his voice was as rough as mine felt. “This fucking sucks . But as hard as it’s going to be, I need you to tell me fucking everything .”

I let out a deep breath, bracing myself, and told him, starting with when Elliot had left that morning, the last time I’d heard from him, when I stopped hearing from him—although my voice broke—and then when the deputy had shown up at my door.

Hart’s lavender gaze sharpened. “He said the car was still too hot to investigate?”

“Y-yes?” That’s what the deputy had said.

“So… they haven’t actually seen him?”