Dammit. Not a good start.
I decide to not fill out that section and move on to the next question, crossing my fingers that Zoe doesn’t have a middle name. The farther I get into the form, the more questions I have to skip. Besides Zoe’s name, current address, work place, and her description, I don’t know very much about her. Not even her age because she refused to tell me.
“Age doesn’t matter, Jessa,” she said when I asked her how old she was. “It’s just a number that tries to force us to keep track of how many days there’s left until we die. But you know what, I refuse to keep track. When I die, I die, and a number isn’t going to have anything to do with it.”
The way she said it gave me an ominous feeling, as if she knew she was going to die. But I convinced myself I was overreacting because my freaky storm death intuition made me too paranoid about supernatural things.
Reaching the end of the form, I slump back in the chair and dig out my phone again to text Nora some of the questions I skipped, needing to see if she has any information.
As I’m opening the text message, I get the oddest feeling someone’s watching me.
I dare a glance up and see the guy sitting across the room from me drops his gaze from me and focuses on the floor.
Weird.
I squirm in my seat as I redirect my attention back to my phone and finish up the text to Nora. When a few minutes tick by and she doesn’t respond, I call her, but she doesn’t answer.
“Nora, call me back ASAP,” I tell her voicemail. “I’m filling out this missing person’s report for Zoe, and I don’t know all the answers to the questions. I’m hoping you do, or else I don’t think anyone is going to take this seriously. The receptionist already looked at me like I was some stupid girl trying to report her best friend running off with a guy she met at a bar.”
I hang up and return to the form. I end up sitting in the chair with my head down, restlessly tapping the pen against the clipboard and praying Nora will call me back.
“Come on, Nora. Call me back …” I trail off, the feeling that I’m being watched overcoming me again.
This time when I glance up, I lift my gaze without raising my head. The guy across from me doesn’t react fast enough and our gazes lock.
I elevate my brows at him. Yeah, creeper, you’re so busted.
I expect him to look away, but he just stares back with a smirk, and then he winks.
I eye him over, wondering if I know him, or if he’s just being a cocky jerk.
He looks a couple years older than me and is dressed head to toe in black, like he just came from creeping around a dark alley, doing God knows what. He has the hood of his jacket pulled over his head, but draws it off when he notices me studying him. A deliberate smile curls at his lips.
Cocky creeper or not, it’s hard not to notice how attractive he is. Well, if you like the whole bad boy, rebel, I-walk-on-the-dangerous-side look.
The longer the staring goes on, the more I want to look away, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes off him.
Continuing to hold my gaze, he reaches up and sweeps his black hair out of his dark eyes. I notice he’s wearing fingerless gloves, and that his fingernails are painted black. I guess it kind of goes with his whole cargo pants, clunky boots, rebel look.
He quirks a brow, rolling his tongue in his mouth. I don’t know what he seems to find so amusing.
I start to float to my feet, heading over to ask him, or talk to him, or … something. My head feels so foggy right now.
“Zane, you’re up,” the receptionist calls out, shattering the moment into pieces.
The guy flashes me a cocky smirk before pushing to his feet and lazily strolling over to the front desk.
“I love that we’re on a first name basis, Ceceil,” the guy—Zane apparently—tells the receptionist, trying to dazzle her with a charming smile. He doesn’t have an accent, making me question if he’s from the States like me. “It makes this place feel almost like home.”
“It should feel that way to you,” she mutters, typing something into the computer. “You’ve spent enough time here.”
“Most of that was for good reasons, though. And in the end, it turned out fantastically.” He rests his arms on the counter, grinning at her. “Don’t you think?”
She sighs as she looks up from her computer. “You can go back now. They’re expecting you.”
Leaning over the counter, he steals a sucker from a jar on her desk. Then he strolls toward the heavy metal door, throwing her a wink. “As always, Ceceil, it’s been a pleasure.”
The door buzzes open and he steps through, glancing over his shoulder at me. His eyes sparkle with amusement as he pops the sucker into his mouth and winks.
Dude, this guy seriously has wink issues. Either that or maybe he just has a twitchy eye.
I look away and fix my eyes back on the clipboard until I’m certain he’s gone. By then, Nora is calling me back and some other guy is staring at me, this one a lot less attractive, and one who definitely has a twitchy eye. And vomit on his shirt.
“Hey,” I answer, moving a few chairs down from creeper dude.
“Why do you sound like you’ve been running?” she asks. “Wait, you didn’t walk to the police station, did you?”
“No. It’s, like, ten miles.”
“Yeah, I figured you didn’t, but still … you sound breathless.”
“I sound freaked out. This place is …” I trail off, realizing the woman beside me is shamelessly eavesdropping on my conversation. I twist to the side and bring my knees up on the chair to get some privacy. “Anyway, I really want to get this taken care of so the police will start looking for her, but there’s some questions on the form I need help with.”
“Yeah, I know. I got your message. And I really want to help you, but I don’t know any more about Zoe than you do.”
“You don’t know any answers to the questions I sent you? Not a single one?”
“Sorry. I wish I did, but … well, I think out of all of us, you probably know Zoe the best. If you don’t know the answers to those questions, no one else is going to. I found that out when I had to look for her.”
Her words send a high dose of discouragement through me. I hate that Zoe’s missing. That only I seem eager to find her. That everyone thinks she chose to leave. Most of all, I hate that, if we hadn’t gone out last night, none of this would be happening.
I suck in a breath, fighting back the tears burning my eyes. “Okay, I guess I’ll just fill out as much as I can and see what they say.”
“I’m so sorry you have to do this.” Pity fills her tone. “I wish I could help you more, but I just don’t know Zoe that well.”
“I understand.” I hang up and put the phone away, frustrated, angry, and exhausted.
I haven’t gotten a drop of sleep since I woke up disoriented. Part of me hopes maybe this is all just a dream and that I’m really back at home, lying in my bed, asleep. When I wake up, Zoe will be blasting music in her room, and I’ll get up and yell at her to turn it down, like I do almost every morning.
The longer I stare at the form, listening to the shouting and chaos filling the police station, the more aware I become that I am wide awake and living this hell, not dreaming it.
Grimacing, I push to my feet, walk up to the front desk, and set the clipboard down on the counter.
“All done?” Ceceil asks, glancing up at me.
I nod. “There are a few questions that I can’t fill out.”
She scoops up the clipboard and reads what I wrote. “You barely filled out half the form.” She flips the papers over then frowns. “Are you sure this person even exists?”
I gape at her. “You think I’d come in here and file a missing person’s report about a fake person?”
“You’d be surprised how much it happens. People these days get their kicks and giggles off some messed-up stuff.” She looks down at the form again and mutters, “You didn’t even put down a birthdate.”
> “That’s because Zoe has this thing with her birthday …” I shake my head, my frustration rising. “You know what? This doesn’t matter. I filled out the form like I was supposed to, which means you guys have to look for her, right?”
Setting the clipboard down, she eyes me over suspiciously. “It’ll take me a while to put this information into the computer and assign an officer to the case, so you can either go home and wait for us to call you, or”—she points a finger toward the waiting area where a guy is jumping up and down and singing “Yankee Doodle”—“you can go wait over there.”
My jaw ticks. “Fine. I’ll wait over there.”
“All right, I’ll let you know when someone is ready to talk to you.” She reaches to close the window.
I turn around and head back toward the madness filling the waiting area, telling myself I can handle this. That I have to for Zoe. That while this place might be crazy and scary, she could be in a place way, way worse.
I slump down in an empty seat near the window and stare outside at the semi-busy street. Zoe, where are?
Chapter Four
After waiting around at the police station for five hours, I’m called up to the front desk again, only to be told there isn’t a detective available to talk to me.
“It might be a while, so it’s best to go home and wait until you get a call from us,” Ceceil tells me tiredly.
“How long do you think that will be?” I ask, trying not to sound as irked as I feel, but it’s been a long night and early morning filled with worry. And until I find Zoe, I’m never going to be able to rest.
“I’m not sure.” She glances around the waiting room crammed with people either being brought in, being brought out, or people there to bail someone out. “It’s been an extremely busy night. My bet is that it won’t calm down until this evening. I don’t know what it is about storms, but it always seems to increase the arrests we make. For some reason, it makes people lose their damn minds.”
I think of Zoe and the last time I saw her. How the storm was howling fiercely through the town. Then I picture the streets being flooded with people, ready to commit crimes, and Zoe wandering into the midst of them—
“Oh, for the love of God.” Ceceil picks up her phone and pounds in a number. “Yeah, can you please send an officer up to the front office? There’s a man outside about to throw a brick through the window—”
The sound of shattering glass sends me ducking for cover. I throw my arms over my head, shielding myself as shouts and screams fill the air
Oh, my god. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Who throws a brick through a police station window?
I peek up to see the culprit, but can’t see a dang thing through the officers swarming the room and the people fleeing out the front door.
“Are you okay?”
The voice holds a slight amount of familiarity to it.
I glance up and find Zane looking down at me worriedly.
I don’t know whether to be relieved or not. Whether I should fear him. I’m unsure why he’s here at the police station, if he’s in trouble or just here to bail someone out. Ceceil seemed to know him, but she didn’t seem that thrilled about it.
“Yeah, I’m fine!” I shout over the chaos. My knees knock together as I stand upright, keeping my back close to the counter to avoid getting trampled. “I’m just not used to this sort of stuff.”
His brow arches. “Is anyone used to this?”
I collect my bag from the counter. “Police probably are.”
He wavers. “Some are, but not all of them.” When I give him a puzzled look, he adds, “Meter cops would definitely be freaking out right now.”
“I don’t know about that. I once saw a meter cop get threatened by a guy just because he gave him a ticket. And the guy was huge. Like, bodybuilder huge.” I drape my purse over my shoulder and step toward the door, eager to leave.
Then I think about Zoe and stop dead in my tracks. I know Ceceil said I should go home, but how can I just take off when she might be out there somewhere, scared out of her mind, maybe in pain.
Maybe dead.
I try to blink the thought from my head as tears sting my eyes.
Zoe, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry for letting this happen.
This is all my fault.
Just like my parents’ deaths.
I thought I had the guilt under control, but Zoe’s disappearance seems to be triggering it.
“Is everything all right?” Zane asks, startling me. I honestly thought he’d walked away by now.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I breathe in, struggling to fight back the tears.
“Why are you here, anyway?” He drags his gaze up and down me, and my heart reacts, slamming into my chest. “You don’t look like the type who spends a lot of time in the police station. Then again, looks can be deceiving.” He pauses, as if waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, he frowns. “Huh.”
What a weirdo.
“Why are you here?” I question. “You seemed pretty comfortable with the receptionist, so I’m guessing you come here a lot.”
He rests his elbow against the edge of the counter, the corners of his lips quirking. “Oh yeah, me and Ceceil go way back. Back to before I even started working here.”
“You work here?” Okay, now I feel absurdly stupid. “I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to …” I bite down on my bottom lip, my cheeks heating.
“Imply that I’m a criminal?” he finishes, still wearing that same amused grin. “Oh, I am. Or used to be, anyway.”
I wait for him to embellish, but he doesn’t. Instead, he studies me in the same unnerving way he did when I first saw him.
“Look, if you need help with anything, I have connections here.” His relentless gaze makes me squirm. “I could help speed up the process of whatever you’re trying to get help with. I know things can work a little slow sometimes.” His gaze flicks to a couple of officers hauling in the guy who broke the window. “And it’ll probably move even more slowly now.”
I want to accept his help for Zoe, but hesitate because … “Why would you do that for me? You don’t even know me.”
He stares at me for so long I swear his gaze is going to bore a hole through my forehead. “Let’s just call you my good deed for the day.”
I debate whether to accept his offer. It seems like there’s more to it than what he’s letting on. Does it really matter? All that should matter is finding Zoe.
“My friend’s missing,” I tell him. “I filled out a missing person’s report and everything, but the receptionist said it’ll be a little while before a detective will be available to take the case.”
“How long’s she been missing?”
I glance at my watch. “For almost thirty hours. We were in this club … and she was talking to these guys, and they bought us drinks …” I take a breath. “That’s pretty much the last thing I remember before I blacked out.”
He frowns. “You blacked out?”
“It wasn’t because I was drunk.” I feel the need to defend myself.
“I never thought it was.” He pauses. “What club did you say you were at?” When I tell him the name, his frown deepens. “I need to go report this to my boss.” He sticks his hand into his pocket. “If you can think of any more details, or if your friend shows up, call me.”
I take the card from him and, as our fingers brush, I swear I get the strangest sensation of familiarity, as if I’ve met him before. But he doesn’t look familiar. I don’t think so, anyway.
“You act like something’s wrong with that club,” I say, clutching the card in my hand.
“I can’t talk about the details to you,” he says, backing toward the door. “Let’s just say that club has an infamous reputation for people going missing.”
“I …” The words die on my tongue as he vanishes through the door.
Sighing, I glance at the card. His name and number are printed on it, along with the city police department logo, but it doesn�
�t list a job title. Maybe because he works undercover?
I read the name a few more times. Zane. Zane. Zane. Where have I heard that name before? It’s not that popular of a name, but not so strange that I probably haven’t met more than one.
But no matter how many times I mentally say his name, I can’t connect a reason to the familiarity.
Giving up, I tuck the card away into my back pocket then push out the doors. As I step outside, my stomach starts to twist with knots, my head pulsating. Sucking in a breath of air, I collapse to my knees as little flickers of memories from the night before start to resurface. Memories of after Zoe and I left the club.
While I can’t piece together everything, one image stands out as clearly as the busy, sun-kissed street in front of me.
Blood.
I had blood on my hands. Zoe’s blood.
Stumbling to my feet, I run all the way home, not slowing down, even when rain begins to pour from the sky again.
Fuck, another storm. Just what I need.
More fear pours through me as I worry someone else is going to get hurt tonight.
Or maybe it’s just me.
From what I just remembered, maybe I deserve it.
By the time I make it to my loft, I’m drenched in sweat, rain, and tears, and my brain is drowning with fragments of images of Cole, Nolan, blood, screams, pain, and Zoe.
Blood on Zoe. So much blood. On her and me.
“I think I may have done something to her,” I whisper as I collapse to my knees.
I don’t know why or how or what I did, but I’m afraid and disgusted and sick. Vomit burns at the back of my throat as I race to the toilet and hurl.
After I empty out what little food I had in my stomach, I lie down on the cold, tile floor. My brain hurts. Everything hurts. Just like Zoe hurt the other night.
“What did they make me do?” I whisper, hugging my knees to my chest as I sob hysterically.
I’m crying so loudly I barely hear the buzzing of my phone, but I do manage to hear the soft ping.
“Zoe?” I whisper, hoping upon hope it’s her. That maybe, despite the bloody images filling my thoughts, she’s okay.
Reclaiming Madelynn (Reclaiming Book 1) Page 3
