“Thanks,” I say, biding my time until we are back on the highway and he can’t put me off any longer. And as soon as we are, I find that I can hold my tongue no longer. “Tell me, Jasper.”
As the seconds stretch between us, thin and fragile, I feel my throat constrict and tears burn the backs of my eyes. He’s stalling. And the only reason he’d stall is because he has bad news.
My chest feels like it might collapse, crushing every vital organ behind it. I press the heel of my hand into the center to ease the panicky discomfort.
“Are you okay?” Jasper asks, a frown on his face and a small thread of concern in his voice.
“Not really. Just tell me. Don’t sugarcoat it or beat around the bush. I have to know and I have to know right now.”
“Your father is fine,” he says, unscrewing the cap of his own water and taking a long sip like we’re discussing nothing more important than the weather.
My heart stutters for a few beats before it picks back up at a rapid pace. I’m almost afraid to get too excited, certain that I must’ve misunderstood him.
“Wh-what?”
“I said I’m sure he’s fine.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, to most people, it looks like he’s just out for the day. Working, running errands, whatever he does. Bed’s made, toothbrush is in its holder, mail’s on the counter, coffee cup’s in the sink. But to someone who looks more closely, it seems like he left with no intention of coming back right away. Yes, his toothbrush is there, but his razor is gone. Men can use any kind of toothbrush, but a good razor is hard to find. There’s a gun safe on the top shelf of his closet that still has a revolver in it, locked up tight. But there’s another one behind a box of pictures in the back corner that’s empty. He left the obvious one and took the hidden one. As for how he left, the vehicle’s gone, but the automatic garage door opener cable has been disabled. There are no signs of him being forcibly taken from there either. So I’d say he left for good reason and that he’s holed up somewhere.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
Jasper shrugs. “I’m not. There’s a reason he’s juicing up that apartment in Atlanta.”
I feel overwhelming relief. That would explain why he wasn’t there when I called. And maybe why he hasn’t called me either. If he’s hiding out, he’d want to keep me out of danger. A giddy laugh bubbles up in my throat like a Halloween concoction might bubble in a witch’s cauldron. I’m afraid to get too excited, though, to let my guard all the way down. “And you’re sure?”
“Well obviously I can’t be one hundred percent certain until I knock on the door of that apartment and he answers the door, but I’m reasonably sure.”
I digest his words. I consider them carefully. I consider the source, too. His expertise, his confidence, his calm demeanor. And without really making a conscious decision to do it, I take the leap and I trust Jasper. Trust his judgment, trust his words. Trust him.
It’s not until later that I realize just exactly what I’ve done. And how much it would hurt me.
FOURTEEN
Jasper
Muse is quiet on the drive to Atlanta. Her nervous energy, however, fills the cabin with so much silent noise it’s hard for me to think. She’s tapped her foot, twirled her hair, clicked her fingernails and probably rubbed a raw spot on her palm with the thumb of her other hand. She hasn’t made much actual sound, but I can hear her nonetheless.
If I could ignore her, I’d be much better off. I could think. And plan. But I can’t. Somehow, she got under my skin and that’s screwing up everything. I have a job to do. Right after I get some answers that I need. And for the first time in my adult life, I find myself putting off the inevitable rather than just embracing it.
I’ve always put duty above all else. Some people are just built that way. I’m one of those people. You can imagine that the first time I’m tempted to veer from the straight and narrow path I follow comes as somewhat of a surprise. And very little surprises me.
Three and a half hours later, I’m pulling into the gravel lot of a club named Dual. I left a message on Gavin Gibson’s cell phone. There’s a possibility that I might need some help and I wanted to talk to him. He’s a good resource and I trust him to some degree. More than I trust most people, I guess. We have an . . . understanding. The kind of understanding few people would comprehend or approve of. We lend a hand in certain types of situations. The next time he needs a favor, he’ll call and I’ll do my best to help. It’s sort of like an unspoken pact.