Dalton, Tymber - Stoneface (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Tymber Dalton

  He’d never told Tim anything about Mel other than how she…died.

  How she was murdered was more like it, even though it was, technically, an accident.

  Thinking about her always brought a wave of grief, followed by anger. Because when she died, he didn’t just lose his girlfriend. It meant Jack had to cope with losing his other love—his boyfriend—to jail, leaving him totally alone.

  To this day he never understood why Mel let Pete drive drunk. Why didn’t she take the keys from him? She was a strong-headed woman and had never tolerated that before. He couldn’t imagine what would have led her to letting Pete drive. If nothing else, she never would have gotten into the car with him.

  He hadn’t spoken to Pete since that night. He’d first been grief stricken she’d died, worried because Pete was hurt, too. Then to find out Pete was drunk when they crashed…

  Jack burned, unopened, every letter Pete had sent from jail. Nothing Pete said to him could make Jack forgive him for killing Mel and leaving him totally alone. Had it been an honest accident, it would have been different.

  In Jack’s eyes, Pete murdered her.

  No one had known the three of them were anything but roommates, and that she was Jack’s girlfriend. They’d lived and loved together. Talked about moving to California, where Melodie had grown up, to live openly together as a threesome. Made plans to move the next spring.

  Maybe even start a family together, the three of them.

  He’d loved both of them so much, more than he ever thought it possible to love someone.

  Then they were gone.

  Jack preferred to totally cut ties, to treat Pete’s incarceration as a second death. To grieve and move on. It was also why he decided to switch majors in college from English and go into law enforcement, to help take drunks off the street so others didn’t have to die.

  It was the only way to keep the anger from eating him alive, even though he missed like hell having not just one, but two people to love and laugh with.

  Stoneface. He didn’t want to tell Tim anything more about what happened than he’d told anyone else, that his best friend killed his girlfriend in a drunk driving accident. Maybe one day he could admit it to him, but it still hurt too much.

  Chapter Six

  Jonathan and Markham pinned Shelaine between them, their large cocks buried inside her, thrusting and withdrawing like independent living beasts all their own. Passion had turned her limp legs to jelly. She wanted nothing more than to lay there between them and hear them say, “Where did you want to go for breakfast…”

  The slam of a door from a nearby room startled Gwen awake from her hot dream about Jonathan and Markham, her latest wolf shape-shifting heroes. She heard two men discussing nearby restaurant options as they walked away out of earshot.

  Disoriented, she stared at the unfamiliar ceiling.

  Where the fuck am I?

  She groaned as she closed her eyes again. Rapid City. She fumbled for her BlackBerry and squinted at it. It read five fifteen a.m., but outside her window, she saw grey light creeping around the outsides of the generic hotel curtains. Was that five o’clock local time, or five o’clock home time?

  She sat up and looked at the clock on the bedside table.

  Local time.

  She’d been so exhausted the night before that she’d just dumped her suitcase on the bed and not opened it. She unzipped it, pleasantly surprised to see Liam had also included the notebook, photo CDs, and a few of the brochures Amy had shipped.

  She didn’t want to call yet, in case he wasn’t awake. She figured out the room’s tiny coffeemaker. While it brewed her a morning cup of wake-up, she crawled into the shower and stood under the hot water until she felt marginally human again.

  Dressed and slightly caffeinated, she tried Amy’s phone first, even though she didn’t expect her sister to answer. It went straight to voice mail.

  “Look, I don’t care why you’re not coming home, but please call me and talk to me, okay? Bye.” Gwen didn’t want to tell her she was here looking for her in Rapid City, in case Amy decided to hide.

  Next call—Liam. He answered on the second ring. “Did you find the notebook in your bag?” he asked her.

  “Thank you. I didn’t even think of packing that. Any problems with Mom?”

  “Nope. She already called once. I told her to please not bother us today because we’re working on your website and I need to concentrate.”

  “You think she will?”

  “Hopefully at least until dinnertime. If she calls you, don’t take it. Call me first in case I’ve talked to her.”

  “Roger.” She flipped through the notebook and looked at Amy’s notes. “Hold on.”

  “What?”

  She read. “Her notes about Mt. Rushmore. ‘We didn’t have any trouble hiking the trail down to the Sculptor’s Studio.’”

  “‘We’? She wrote ‘we’?”

  “Yeah.” She flipped through the pages. “Most of the time she refers to I or me, as if she’s alone. Here’s another ‘we’ talking about Wind Cave. It’s like she’s slipped and missed it. Most if it refers to her alone.”

  “Any luck with the front desk?”

  “No. Last night the clerk was a bitch and wouldn’t tell me anything. I’m going to try again this morning. Then I’m going to the police and see what I can find out. I doubt they’ll do anything yet.”

  “I’m going to work on her credit cards more. There was a charge for a gas station three days ago in Rapid City, but no hotel charges. Or maybe she’s using her bank card. I don’t have the access code to get into that.”

  “Just use the forgot password feature and log in to her mail again to retrieve it.”

  “I don’t have her user ID code for the site or I would, believe me. I’d have to go home to Mom and Dad’s and toss her desk to find her files.”

  “Ooh, that sounded very Magnum, P.I.-ish.”

  Liam faked a snooty British accent. “Zeus, Apollo, sic balls.”

  Gwen giggled. Living with Liam would be fun. If it hadn’t been for her parents, she would have gladly offered to move in to take care of him, except she’d been in the middle of divorcing Dickweed.

  Not to mention she refused to live with her parents. “When I find her, do you want to hold her down while I pound her, or vice versa?”

  His voice turned serious. “If.”

  At his tone, a chill settled over her. “Don’t talk like that. When I find her. I will find her. I don’t know what hair crawled up her ass, but I’m yanking it out.” A thought hit her. “What about her cell phone records? Don’t calls show up there? Maybe we can find something out.”

  “No good. I already tried. Nothing but calls to you, me, Mom, Dad, and her job. Get this though, I saw an empty box in her trash for one of those TracFones a few weeks ago. So whoever it is she’s talking to, she doesn’t want it traced.”

  “Or he doesn’t,” Gwen said.

  “Exactly. So that’s a dead end regardless.”

  They said good-bye, and she browsed through the notebook again. Anal-retentive perfectionist Amy had meticulously detailed when she visited the sites.

  Gwen fired up her laptop and popped in the first photo CD. The pictures were, in typical Amy fashion, neatly arranged in folders by date, and further by location taken. Gwen browsed through them. Amy appeared in quite a few of the pictures. It didn’t hit her until ten minutes later why.

  Duh. Whoever Amy stayed with took the pictures of her. From the happy smile on Amy’s face, she appeared to be having a good time. Gwen matched the pictures to the handwritten notes. Whoever the other person was, Amy had been very careful never to snap a picture of him. Gwen assumed a him.

  If Amy’s secret lover was a her, maybe Amy had more secrets than Gwen first imagined.

  At least the pictures left Gwen with good recent images, including some of the clothes Amy had brought with her on the trip.

  She called Liam back. “Whoever the guy is, he’s no
t in the pics, but he took a bunch of Amy.”

  “She’s still in Rapid City. She bought gas last night with her Amex. I’m working to see if I can figure out which station. Any luck with the front desk?”

  “That’s my next stop.” She hung up and transferred several of the best pictures to her BlackBerry before heading to the lobby.

  Thankfully, the clerk was different than from the night before. The young woman was pleasant, helpful. When Gwen explained the situation, she looked around and motioned for her to hand over the BlackBerry, where Gwen had one of the pictures displayed.

  She nodded. “Yeah, I remember her. She was here with a guy. I checked them out yesterday morning.”

  Hope flared in Gwen. “Can you give me his name?”

  She winced. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” She leaned in. “But if the police call, I’ll gladly give it to them. If I give it to you, I could get fired. I can’t afford to lose my job.”

  Gwen held back her frustration but understood the clerk’s dilemma. “Can you describe him?”

  “Average height, maybe around six feet. Brown hair, brown eyes, nothing spectacular. He wore glasses, if that helps.”

  Gwen jotted it down. “Yes, it does. No idea where they went?”

  “No. I handled their checkout. From the way they were talking, I got the impression they weren’t leaving the area yet. They were looking at some of the local brochures.” She pointed to the obligatory rack of tourist pamphlets in the entryway.

  “Were they fighting or anything?”

  “No. She seemed a little sad over something, but they acted very affectionate with each other.”

  “Thanks anyway.” She returned to her room and called Liam back with an update.

  “Next stop cops?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I don’t hold out hopes of them doing anything, but maybe they’ll at least take a report so if something happens, we’ll have the start of a paper trail.”

  “You realize she probably is okay, right? We’ve now got confirmation she was with a guy. Maybe they’re planning on eloping or something.”

  “If I don’t get answers, Mom and Dad will skin me.”

  “I’ll protect you, sis.”

  “So says the guy afraid to break the news to them that he’s moving out. Thanks.”

  They said good-bye, and she headed back to the front desk to get directions to the closest police station. She started for her rental when she realized maybe she should take her laptop. She’d left it in the room.

  Might as well check my e-mail.

  To counteract her workaholic tendencies, Gwen only checked her private e-mail through her phone. Everything else, she had to use her computer to read. She found that Tim had written her that morning.

  Hey, Go-Go. I didn’t upset you with my rambling review, did I, sweetie? Kissy-huggy. - TimE.

  Mentally smacking herself in the head, she fired off a quick reply.

  I’m sorry, babycakes, sorry I worried you. I read it and loved it. Problems at home, emergency road trip to Rapid City. I’m there now looking for my sister. I’ll catch up with you soon. - G.

  She scanned a few more e-mails and shut down, then packed it and the notebook and drove to the station. She nervously sat for ten minutes until a super-hot detective walked up to the waiting area.

  “Miss Oxford?”

  She nodded, her gaze immediately homing in on his left hand. No ring. Hot damn!

  Wait, missing sister. Focus.

  “I’m Detective Kelly. Follow me, please,” he said. She did, gladly, enjoying how his tight ass moved under his snug slacks. Short brown hair, brown eyes, six-feet-plus of solid, trim muscle in a shoulder holster.

  Mmm. He’s my next hero.

  In the thirty second walk to his desk, she’d mentally written half of a scorching hot love scene she wouldn’t mind a chance to star in with him. Total yum with a gun.

  She’d kill Amy for this. Dragging her out to Rapid City, and she wouldn’t even have time to suss out this dude. Then again, maybe he’d be up for a quickie. It’d been a year since she’d gotten laid, and she decided she’d be willing to forego commitment in lieu of him settling for wearing a condom and going halfsies on a hotel room.

  Especially with a hunk like this in a city where no one knew her.

  Oh, forget splitting the room. If he’d do her, she’d gladly pay for it. Hell, she’d call it a business expense and deduct it on her taxes.

  Perk of being a writer. Call it research.

  “What can I do for you today?” he asked.

  To me, not for me, and anything you want. “Um, it’s about my sister. She’s sort of disappeared.”

  He frowned. “Sort of?”

  “Yeah.” She started from the beginning. Within the first thirty seconds, Gwen saw from the look on his face that not only was he not going to break out the search teams for Amy, but she probably wouldn’t get laid, either.

  Damn.

  “Miss Oxford, did you try calling her again?”

  “This morning. Straight to voice mail.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t do anything. She’s not missing.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “It’s not against the law for an adult to willingly not go home.”

  “Look, you don’t know my parents. If I don’t physically lay eyes on Amy and talk to her, get some answers from her, my mother and father will go apeshit. Can’t you just run her bank records or something? Ask the hotel clerk who she was with? We know she’s still here in town as of this morning. I just need to talk to her for five minutes, face-to-face, to find out what the hell is going on so I get answers.”

  He leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do right now.”

  “Yes, there is,” she insisted. “You can find out where she is so I can talk to her.” She felt irritation creep into her voice despite her best efforts and tried to clamp down on her infamous hair-trigger temper. “If I don’t find out what’s going on, my life and my brother’s life will be a living hell until I do. Not to mention we’re worried about her. Cops do stuff like that all the time, don’t they? Welfare check or something, isn’t that what it’s called?”

  “It’s not like on TV, Miss Oxford.” She didn’t miss his condescending tone.

  “I know that. I’m a writer. I’m not stupid.”

  “Then you should know it’s not like most writers portray, either. Unless you have a legitimate reason to believe she’s in danger, or is a danger to herself or others, she isn’t a missing person. She’s a hiding person. Unless she’s got a warrant out on her, or is violating parole or probation, or is wanted in connection with a crime, there isn’t anything I can do. If you want to find her before she’s ready to come home under the current circumstances, contact a private investigator. If you have reasonable cause to believe she’s in danger, then we can get involved.” He leaned forward. “I will warn you against filing a false report saying you believe she’s in danger if you don’t really think she is.”

  She set her jaw. “Please call the desk clerk at the hotel. She said if the cops talk to her, she’ll tell them who the guy is. At least give me that. Toss me a bone, buddy.”

  “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

  “You could get off your ass and make one simple phone call!” She hadn’t risked her sanity and shitting her pants in fear to fly all the way out there, just to be stonewalled by a lazy, albeit handsome, dick-Barney-fucking-Fife who couldn’t be bothered to let his fingers do the walking.

  His expression darkened. “We’re done here, Miss Oxford.” He stood. “Do you need me to escort you out, or can you find the front door by yourself?”

  “No, I can find it. Sorry I wasted your time. I’m sure somewhere in this city is a missing donut in need of your attention.” She grabbed her stuff and stormed out of the station.

  Fuck! Me and my goddamned temper!

  * * * *

  Jack blew out a relieved breath. Technically, he could h
ave looked into the woman’s story, but from what she’d said it was most likely the sister needed a break from the craziness at home.

  Especially if this woman was any indication of what the rest of her family was like.

  The fact that she’d been the spitting image of Melodie hit him like a kick in the balls when he’d walked out to the waiting room to bring her back to his desk. Except for her hairstyle, she could have been her, just a few years younger than what she’d probably look like today.

  If she hadn’t died.

  He closed his eyes for a moment before leaving his desk and walking into the restroom, where he locked himself in for a minute so he could splash water on his face.

  He didn’t need this. Why now? Suddenly, everywhere he turned, every conversation, even ones with Tim brought back memories of her.

  He would have to tell Tim the full story. It’d probably hurt Tim’s feelings a little that he hadn’t talked about Mel before now, but Tim was good about understanding him. Never tried to pry things out of him.

  Just like Mel.

  Fuck. Except that Tim was a hunky guy, the two of them could have been twins, personality-wise. How had he missed realizing that in the past six years? Funny, spunky, sweet, smart, protective, loyal. Sexy and emotional.

  He stared at himself in the mirror. It felt like he rarely smiled anymore. Another reason for Tim’s nickname. Stoneface.

  He used to smile. A long time ago. He remembered being happy all the time, it seemed. Even if life was crappy, he had Melodie to cheer him up.

  And…

  But he didn’t want to think his name this morning.

  He didn’t even want to think about the man he used to love.

  * * * *

  She called Liam. “I blew it, bro.”

  “What?”

  “I just pissed off a cop.”

  “You in jail?”

  “No.” She told the story. “What do I do now?”

  He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe you should just come home.”

  The thought of flying again filled her with panic. “I didn’t fly all the way out here not to find her.”