Page 5 of Still Missing You

I chuckle before I can stop myself, but stop nearly as quickly, forcing my expression into a mask of neutrality. Grabbing a pen from the holder on the corner of my desk, I flip to an empty page in my notebook, writing down the date and Dylan’s name. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”

“Um... Look.... Hunter,” he begins, but I hold up my hand, cutting off what I suspect will be some weak-ass apology that will only piss me off.

“Tell me why you’re here.”

His throat jumps when he swallows and nods. “Right. Um... so... someone I know is missing... and I need help to find him. I think something bad might have happened.”

It costs me almost everything I have not to roll my eyes. Ten years without a word, and he shows up to help track down another man. Fuck my life.

“Who is he?”

“His name is Matthew Fraiser. He works for me and lives in the apartment over my business—I run a café.”

I nod, writing down everything he says. I knew about the café. Dylan had been working there when I looked him up. At least, this should be a fairly easy investigation. Employing and renting to the man, Dylan would have a lot of personal information I could use to track this guy down. It shouldn’t take me long. Then I could go back to my life and forget all about him. Sure, you will.

“Why do you think something’s happened to him?” I ask.

“Um... the night I met him, he had bruises around his neck.” Dylan’s hand drifts to his own throat, lightly tracing the skin just above his collarbone. I remember how he used to respond when I kissed him there; how, when I’d press my lips to the hollow at the base of his throat, he’d shiver. I shift in my seat, pushing the memory away while forcing myself to focus on what Dylan’s saying. “As if someone had tried to choke him. He was acting afraid, too, like he was worried someone might come after him.”

My pen stills on the page, and I look up, eyes locking with Dylan’s brilliant blue gaze. “Did he tell you who?”

Dylan shakes his head. “He never really confirmed that someone hurt him. Just when I told him that I thought he might be in trouble, he didn’t deny it.”

Had Dylan swooped in as a protector, found him a place to live and a job? What were they to each other? Employer and employee? Friends? Or something more? My stomach churns at the thought.

I focus on my notes and do my best not to picture Dylan with someone else. “How long has he been missing?”

“Today’s the fifth day. I went to work on Saturday, and he never came down for his shift. So I checked the apartment to make sure he was okay, but he was gone, and so was his car. He hasn’t been back since.”

“How long has he been working for you?”

“Almost six weeks.”

“And he started renting your apartment at the same time?”

Dylan shifts in his chair. “It’s not that formal. He didn’t sign a lease or anything.”

I frown. “How do you know he didn’t just leave? Move on?”

“All his things were still in the apartment, even his phone.”

That didn’t mean much. If this Matthew Fraiser believed someone was following him, he might have ditched his phone, fearing it was being used to track him. As for his things, they could always be replaced—including his phone. The fact that his car was also gone made it look like he pulled a runner.

“Have you spoken to the police?”

He nods. “Twice. When he wasn’t back by Monday, I reported him missing yesterday. When I still hadn’t heard anything, I went back to see if the police had found anything.”

“Had they?” I’m fairly sure I know the answer.

Dylan shakes his head and shoves his hair back out of his face. “I don’t think they’re even looking. Given the way he’d started working for me, they think he’s just moved on.”

“And you don’t?” Right now, I agree with the cops. Matthew could have taken off for any number of reasons—he’d felt threatened, he got a better offer, he was bored. The list is extensive.

“I hadn’t paid him for the week yet. On Friday, I was supposed to pay him, but I had a plumbing emergency at the house. When the plumber fixed my sink, I called Matthew at the café to tell him I’d be in to pay him, but he told me not to worry about it. We were both working the next day, so he said I could do it then, but he was gone Saturday morning. Why not wait one more day? Hell, I’d told him I would come in. If he’d planned to leave, why not just let me bring him his money? If you were going to leave town for destinations unknown, wouldn’t you want your last week’s pay?”

Dylan makes a valid point. If Fraiser left of his own accord, he would no doubt have waited for his money, especially if his exit had been planned. But he might have left out of necessity. If he felt threatened, if there’d been something or someone who’d come into his world unexpectedly, he could have bolted, leaving behind his things, his phone and even his pay. But that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s missing.

“Did you explain that to the police?” I ask.