“Is that it?” he asked tersely.
“For now,” Dottie replied in an understated tone.
She wasn’t going to like what he said next, and he didn’t care, which explained why he did it in front of witnesses.
“I’m out right after. Have personal business.”
“Is that so?” The look she gave him was a warning—a warning he ignored.
“Yes, Dorothea,” he snarled, using her formal name. “I’ve got business in California.”
They shared a few seconds of eyeball combat. He refused to back down.
“You do know that Lee gets a say, right?”
“If you’re referring to the boss, that guy can suck my dick. If you mean my friend, King,” he said pointedly, “he’ll understand.”
Dottie refused to call Kingsley Maddison by his shortened name and insisted he be called Lee. There was a reason, but it came with a story, and right now, he couldn’t care less.
Leave it to Dottie to blow past the barrier he tried to throw up. She didn’t have time for his bullshit. “What’s in California, Darnell?”
He smirked. Whenever they called each other by their formal names, it meant upper-level head-butting was underway.
“None of your business, Mrs. Anders.”
“The name is Quick. Which is what you better be if gallivanting around the West Coast is on your agenda. Four days. That’s it. You get four days.”
She studied him for half a second. “Does this have anything to do with your reluctance to cut short your visit in January?”
He didn’t react in any way, so good ole Dottie kept digging.
“Out of character for you, don’t you think? I mean, aren’t you endlessly whining and bitching about how nuts your family is?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Izzy snicker and quickly cover her mouth. Everyone and their cousin’s, neighbor’s, dog walker knew about his antipathy for the Wanamaker clan. Loathing the family was a part of his arrogant charm.
Knowing she scored a direct hit, Dottie grinned with annoying smugness.
If he let her inside his head now, she’d complicate the fuck out of something already too convoluted for words, so he chose a line he was certain she wouldn’t cross.
“If you must know,” he told her in a calm, controlled voice, “my grandfather cultivated a new hybrid rose that he’s named after my mother. He’d just unveiled the results of his labors when duty called.” He wrapped up the plausible explanation by saying, “Unfinished business.”
Dottie’s silence proved how neatly he’d boxed her in. There were just two things he never talked about. One involved a specific incident from his time at the DOJ, and the other was his mother.
Her deep affection for him came through in her words when she offered a small smile, and said, “That’s lovely, Arnie.”
They locked eyes. Dottie was one of the privileged few who understood the significance of his nickname, and why he was such a dick about who used it. To most of the world, he was Darnell T. Wanamaker III. Only his NIGHTWIND colleagues and people who knew his mother and were loved by her were allowed to address him as Arnie. He let his younger brother call him by the nickname, but not the evil bitch who called herself Stan’s mother.
Nope. Giselle was singled out when it came to the name game, and he had his father to thank. Getting bamboozled into sleeping with the nanny and marrying her when she got knocked up showed his dad’s failings at a moment of extreme weakness. But he quickly found his balls and in deference to the wife he adored and lost, Ned made it clear he never wanted to hear Giselle utter the pet name Arnie’s mother had used during her three short days as a mom.
There was a faint twinkle in his old friend’s eyes. Dottie didn’t completely believe him, but she was experienced at choosing her battles and let the whole thing drop.
Izzy styled his hair while he impatiently waited for Dottie to bring him his phone. When she did, it was dead. He scowled and snarled, making a big deal out of the fact that she had two full days to charge the damn thing after his assignment ended, and she knew he was on his way home.
In a car on the way to Manhattan, he slid his watch on and continued to complain about everything. The temperature, an overcast sky, tight shoes, the horrendous timing of New York City’s traffic lights. His surly attitude wasn’t likely to abate once his interrogation by the men in suits began. Chances were good it’d be ten times worse when they finished.
“Don’t fuck this up, Arnie. Just tell them what they need to know and keep your opinions to yourself. Understand?”
“Why aren’t you coming with?” he grumbled.
“Because you don’t need a babysitter, and I have a date with Avery.”
At the hotel, she all but pushed him out of the car. He stumbled onto the sidewalk and shot her a dirty look.
The door to the hotel suite she arranged was barely closed before he ripped his phone off a portable charger and checked his messages.
With his heart beating wildly, he listened to several voicemail message from Summer. She was furious when he hadn’t picked her up from work and let him have it. In another call, she was less angry but sounded confused by how he could stand her up without a word. There was another message that was nothing but dead air and what he suspected was her crying and unable to speak.
The mother of all guilt storms raged inside him. She was never going to forgive him, and he was also sure she’d never give him another chance.
Not even the best excuse of all time kept him from feeling like a piece of shit. No amount of presidential gratitude was going to mend a young girl’s first heartbreak.
He knew what he had to do.
Scrolling his contact list, he found the number of the charter plane service NIGHTWIND used. It was a ridiculous expense, but what the hell good were his piles of money if not for something like this?
His official government debrief was standard and by the book. A squad of dark-suited feds crowded into the junior suite and did their thing. Arnie’s personality dominated the whole lot of them. He got bored quickly and let his mind wander. When they tried to steer the conversation into a highly classified area, he shut them down and sent them on their way.
Not long after they left, Dottie texted to see if he’d been left in one piece. She was actually checking to make sure he hadn’t sparked an incident with his ill temper. He answered by informing her he was westbound and would be in touch.
Following a brief wrestling match in his conscience, he also left a voice message for King. He kept his justification for running off short and not too sweet by simply saying that he’d fucked up a personal matter and left it at that. King would either understand, or he wouldn’t.
Wasted time ticked by with each second, so he checked out of the Sheraton and grabbed a cab for home. He needed to pack a bag with real clothes and change into something less severe than black pants, shirt, and shoes.
The entire time he packed, his movements were by rote. He needed his mind working on a forgiveness speech because flying by the seat of his pants wasn’t going to get him the results he wanted.
When he passed by a wall mirror and caught his reflection, Arnie stopped to stare. To the casual eye, he looked like every other guy in a suit, but a wildness in his expression gave away his state of mind.
He loosened the knot on his tie and took the damn thing off. It was overkill at best. Nobody at the private airfield he was heading to gave a shit about anything except his wallet. He could roll up to his chartered jet dressed like a killer clown, and they wouldn’t flinch.
His hand slid inside his suit jacket and felt for the small velvet pouch holding a pretty bracelet he bought from the London storefront of a jewelry artisan. It wasn’t fancy or expensive. Its value was in the message. Dangling from the delicate chain was a small heart and a sunflower.
On his left wrist, he wore an unadorned silver cuff. The skilled jeweler etched the word sunshine in fancy script on the inside. One word was all he needed to
connect his beloved mother to the girl who held his heart and future in her hands.
Something hit his heart with a violent thud. The surge of emotion almost put him on his knees. He wobbled and grabbed the back of a chair for safety’s sake. There was nothing he could do about losing his mother. It was a wound he’d carry forever, but losing Summer would kill him.
“Mom,” he moaned. “I need some help.”
Arnie wasn’t in the habit of speaking to his dead mother. In fact, calling out to her was a first and only confirmed what he already knew. This situation between him and Summer wasn’t a one-off. He couldn’t live without her. She was special. Everything was riding on what happened next. A little heavenly intervention would be appreciated.
Without thinking about it, he drank his bodyweight in vodka during the first half of the cross-country flight. The attendant, an eager dude named Mike, earned an over-the-top gratuity for his above and beyond service. The young guy kept the drinks coming and wisely cycled food into the mix.
One distinct advantage to flying private was the food and beverage options. He requested the surf and turf meal and wasn’t disappointed. The charter company’s chef knew his shit, and the jet had a high-tech galley—two things crucial for airplane dining. Dessert was ice cream. Mint chocolate chip drizzled with chocolate sauce.
Fed and satisfyingly inebriated, he availed himself of the executive jet’s bathroom to freshen up. The onboard amenities were fantastic, and he smiled, imagining Summer digging through the courtesy basket, giggling with delight over the haul of name brand freebies.
He wanted to take her anyplace her heart desired. The whole world was waiting to show her a good time. Maybe they’d enjoy real English fish and chips in a London pub, take a stroll along the banks of the River Avon, and make up stories about the hordes of tourists visiting Shakespeare’s birthplace.
They had a place to stay in Hawaii if exploring the island paradise was on her fantasy travel list. His dad loved every opportunity to show off his green thumb kingdom. Summer would be enchanted, and then he’d have to fight his dad for the golden girl’s attention.
The thought filled him with hope.
Returning to the cabin, he motioned to Mike.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“Time remaining?”
Mike looked at his watch. “Roughly three hours, give or take.”
Arnie nodded. “I’m going to need some shut-eye.”
“The mid-plane seats convert to beds. Would you like me to …”
He cut him off midsentence. “That won’t be necessary. A recliner will do.”
The knowledgeable flight attendant pointed out the most comfortable seating and showed him how to control the lighting. He also produced a sealed pouch containing a beach towel-sized weighted blanket along with a firsthand testimonial about the newest sleep accessory.
Whatever. Exhaustion from four months of high alert clung to him like skunk stink. To recharge, he needed as much quality sleep as he could get. If a heavy blankie came with a sleepy time guarantee, he was there for it.
Two hours later, Arnie yawned, stretched, and sat up. He felt almost human for the first time in months.
When he was fully functioning and had moved around the cabin a bit, Mike was at the ready with fresh coffee and a basket of baked goodies.
“The captain reports we’re fifty minutes out, sir. May I get you anything else?”
“Keep the coffee hot and available.” He gestured to the basket. “Help yourself although that blueberry muffin is mine.”
Mike laughed and snagged a two pack of biscotti in a cellophane bag. “The chef makes the best dunking biscuit around!”
Coffee number one woke him up. Coffee number two provided the mixer for a jolt of sugar. Coffee number three, with cream and a lot less sugar, went down slow and easy. Ingesting vast quantities of caffeine meant eventually he’d pee like a stallion.
Oh, well.
He was two muffins plus a donut in and working on a slice of iced pound cake when the captain let Mike know it was time to lock down in preparation for landing.
Belted into a window seat, Arnie made the time zone adjustment on his watch. Butterflies created havoc in his gut. He popped a breath mint into his mouth and focused on remaining calm.
After two minutes of an honest effort, he gave up. Calm wasn’t an option. Not when Summer was so close.
The bungalow he and Summer used as a lover’s hideaway wasn’t available when he tried to make a reservation and neither were any of the other private accommodations. Forced to settle for a large suite in the hotel, he stashed his bag, called a florist he contacted before leaving New York, and nervously brushed his teeth three times.
The concierge called to let him know the car he rented was on-site and would be available whenever he needed it.
Now that the time was upon him, he wasn’t completely sure what to do first. She could be anywhere—at work or at home. He was prepared to grovel publicly, but Arnie was hoping for something else. He hoped she was home, and if the fates were on his side, he’d catch her relaxed and willing to listen.
At the florist shop, he picked up his order and placed it on the passenger seat.
No more stalling.
He could find her apartment building blindfolded and made it there in no time. A parking spot magically opened up right out front. It was a sign, right?
Holding the large yellow bouquet, he marched into the courtyard and went straight to Summer’s door. With a deep breath for strength, Arnie cleared his throat and knocked.
Almost immediately, the door swung open, but it wasn’t Summer staring back at him.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“Who are you?” a frowning dark-haired woman barked over the top of the sunflower arrangement in his hands.
“Where’s Summer?” he asked with a scowl.
“She’s not here.”
His blood pressure was dangerously close to making him blow his stack.
This time when he spoke, Arnie lowered the bouquet and used his fearsome physicality. His facial expression and tone dared her to fuck with him.
“Are you authorized to speak on her behalf?”
She took a step back and eyed him up and down. “I’m her cousin. Stacey. And you are?”
Cousin? Stacey? No way. Arnie remembered every word Summer ever said. She spoke often and lovingly of her father and brother, but there was never a mention of cousins. Something wasn’t right. He came back at her with a statement intended to get a reaction.
“I’m the guy she’s sleeping with.”
“That explains the sunflowers.” Stacey sniggered. “Look, you can leave a message if you want. I’m just house and plant sitting while she’s out of town.”
“Define out of town,” he demanded in as friendly a tone as he could muster.
The laugh this Stacey woman produced sounded memorized and rehearsed.
“She’s on a booze cruise with some girlfriends. Mexican Riviera. I’m so jelly,” she insincerely chuckled.
He sorted the details. Summer on a booze cruise. To Mexico. With girlfriends. It sounded good, but he wasn’t buying it.
“I’d like to leave a message. Do you have a pen and something to write on?”
“Sure, sure,” she muttered. “Hold on.”
When she moved from the doorway, he leaned in and surveyed the room. The big sofa still dominated the space, but all evidence of Summer was stripped away. Nothing personal. He looked around the door. The framed photo of Merlin’s cave was gone. So was the bowl of crystals.
A stack of mail sat on the lawn chair next to the front door. He squinted to make out an address label but failed.
Stepping back, he waited for Stacey to return. She handed him a pad of paper and a pen. He laid the bouquet on top of the mail and took the pen and pad. Under Stacey’s watchful eye, he scribbled his name and wrote, Please call me.
Handing the note to Stacey, he retrieved the flowers alon
g with the top piece of mail. It was a semi-sleazy and underhanded move, but desperate times called for desperate measures. On the walkway leading from the courtyard, he ran into Summer’s neighbor friend. He was going to say something to jog her memory and see if she remembered him. Maybe she’d have better information.
Remembering the lady’s name, he smiled and greeted her. “Mrs. Hayashi. Remember me? I’m Summer’s friend.”
She looked at him, at the flowers, and at the walkway. “I’m sorry. I have to go,” she said before scurrying off. He heard her apartment door slam a moment later.
What the fucking fuck was going on? Where was Summer?
He made it quickly to the rental car and got in. Tossing the flowers aside, he inspected the mail he picked up.
Summer Warren.
Rattled and off balance, he started the car and drove away. Stymied by her whereabouts, he had no choice but to return to the hotel and hope to Christ she got his message and called.
The next day, when he didn’t hear from her, he called the restaurant where she worked and asked for her by name, only to be informed she hung up her apron and didn’t work there anymore.
Panic seeped into his system.
At the end of the second day, he tried one more thing and called the number that came up on the message she left him. It rang, but there was no voicemail option.
All the signs were there. Summer was on the run. His heart sank.
Why had she gone to ground? And when?
Was it him? He searched and searched for an answer but came up empty.
He could go to King, and unleash the whole of NIGHTWIND’S influence and power to track her down in five minutes, but he didn’t want to involve anyone else in something so personal. And besides, using NIGHTWIND felt stalkerish and was one hundred percent a step over the line.
What was he supposed to do now? Investigation wasn’t his area of expertise, and he couldn’t surveil someone who was hiding.
Fuck.
“Summer, baby. Where are you?”
Twenty-four hours later, when she hadn’t called, he reluctantly returned to New York with a broken heart.
Finding Summer (Nightwind Book 3) Page 31
