Sine was late.

She was never late.

I kept looking at my phone, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. It was nearly eleven o’clock, and I didn’t have a call or a text from her. I’d been so wrapped up in designing the next series of photos I wanted to take that I hadn’t realized I was still alone until Erik had texted me about our normal Friday night thing and I’d seen the time.

I’d gone to the office to see why she hadn’t stopped to say hi, but she wasn’t there. For the last fifteen minutes, I’d been telling myself to keep waiting, to not make assumptions. That she must’ve had a good reason for not calling and telling me she was going to be late.

She was a responsible person. A hard worker. Reliable.

She wouldn’t have simply blown off work.

After trying to convince myself that everything was okay for a quarter of an hour, I decided that it was better to risk her being annoyed with me for calling to see where she was, than it would be to stay in the dark.

The call went to voicemail immediately, which meant her phone was off, but I sent a text anyway. In the short time I’d known her, I’d never seen her turn the phone off, and the fact that it appeared to be powered down was starting to turn worry into something else.

I rubbed my jaw and told myself to think. If her phone was off, then she’d either turned it off, forgotten to charge it, had a phone problem...or she was in trouble. I had no way to check the first three directly, but I could do it indirectly.

She no longer had a roommate, but her apartment had a landline. I’d never seen her use it, but I knew a lot of apartments had kept landlines around, so I assumed hers still worked. I just had to find the number.

Now that I had something specific to do, I was able to focus. And multi-task. I called information while pulling up a search engine on my laptop. The search engine provided what I needed, and I made the call as I restlessly tapped my fingers on the table. If her phone had broken, that could explain why she was late since most people used their phones as alarm clocks.

I let the phone ring for nearly two solid minutes before finally giving up. She wasn’t there. Even if she was in the shower, she would have heard the phone and gotten out surely.

But if she was there, why wouldn’t she have used the landline to call me? Unless she didn’t have my number memorized. Or she’d simply forgotten about that phone. Either one made sense.

But, as much as I hated to admit it, the more likely scenario meant that something was really wrong.

My stomach churned as I pulled up a list of hospitals in New York. I had two more calls to make before I started on these, but whatever optimism I’d had was starting to fade.

“Bean Bodega, how can I help you?”

“Hello.” I used my business voice, figuring it’d probably be more likely to get answers than if I was abrupt. “I sent my assistant to pick up some coffee early this morning. Short redhead. Irish.”

“Yes, sir, she was here.” The young woman on the other end sounded way too chipper for someone who worked in a service industry.

“Can you tell me when?”

“I’d just started my shift, so about eight thirty or so.”

Shit. That sounded like the time she must’ve usually stopped there.

“But she didn’t buy anything, sir, so there shouldn’t be a problem with an order.” A note of concern crept into the girl’s voice.

“What do you mean she didn’t buy anything?” I demanded.

“She came in just as I punched in, and I recognized her because I’ve served her before, but this time, she left before she could order.” The words rushed out of her, as if she was afraid I’d lash out at her for something she had no control over.

“She left?”

“Yes, sir. I was filling a customer’s order for a double expresso latte when I saw her walk out.”

I knew better than to ask if she knew why. Bean Bodega was always packed in the morning. It was remarkable she’d noticed anything at all.

“Thank you,” I said, ending the call before she could respond.

The fact that she’d been at the bodega for coffee told me she’d planned on coming into work. Something had changed though. It could have been anything from her feeling sick to deciding to get coffee somewhere else, or something outside might have gotten her attention, though what that could have been, I couldn’t imagine.

Between the bodega and the studio, something had happened to keep her from coming into work.

Which meant I had other calls I needed to make.

I started with the hospitals, each call stretching my nerves and patience until they were both at a breaking point. Two hospitals told me that they had no one there by her name, but the others had refused to say anything without confirmation that I was a relative or spouse. Fortunately, I had people in influential places who owed me favors, including a private investigator.

“Max, it’s Alix Wexler.”

“Mr. Wexler, it’s good to hear from you.” As always, Max’s voice was smooth, professional.

“Are you in New York right now?”

There was a slight pause that told me my question had come out a little more blunt than I’d intended.

“I am.”

“Sorry,” I apologized quickly. “I just have a case for you that needs top priority. If you’re busy, I’ll take a recommendation.”

Another pause. I’d only met Max once or twice over the years, but my parents had sworn by his PI skills more than once when company employees or businesses had needed investigating. He was the best.

“I’ll pay you double your usual rate,” I offered.

“No need,” he said. “I don’t base case priority on who has the most money to throw around.”

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I didn’t mean to insult you,” I said evenly. “My girlfriend is missing, and I need you to find her.”

“Her name?”

“Sine McNiven.”

“How long has she been missing?”

Even as I said it, I knew what he would say in response. “Since this morning.”

“Was she taken off the street? From her home?”

At least he wasn’t telling me I was overreacting. I gave him a quick rundown of everything I knew already.

“The two of you work together?”

His words were carefully chosen. He knew who I was because he knew my family, which meant he knew that I was a photographer.

“She’s my assistant.”

I knew better than to add that she was also modeling for me. He’d already think poorly of me for getting involved with an employee.

“When was the last time you spoke with her?”

I had to give him credit for keeping his judgment out of his voice. “Last night.”

“And she didn’t mention having anything else to do today?”

“No.” I curbed my impatience, reminding myself that he could get information from hospitals that I couldn’t. “And before you ask, we didn’t have a fight. Things are going well between us.”

“Have you contacted any family or friends to see if she talked to them?”

I pushed my hand through my hair. “Look, we’ve only been together for a little while. She’s from Ireland, so I haven’t even met her family.” I didn’t add that we hadn’t even technically discussed whether or not we were referring to each other in boyfriend-girlfriend terms.

“That’s why you called me.”

“Exactly. Now are you going to take the case or not?”

“I will.” There was a beat before he continued, “If you could send me a picture, I’ll begin making the rounds. If I find her, I’ll call you immediately.”

After we finished up the rest of the details he needed from me, I started calling every other place I could think of. Restaurants we’d been together. Jean, though I kept my reasons for calling as vague as possible. Gilded Cage. Every business between here and the bodega.

Morgues.

As each called turned up nothing, I became more frustrated and less concerned, especially once I’d gotten the morgues out of the way. For three hours, I talked with people who were rude, bored, annoyed, and everything in-between, and I got nothing.

I tried calling her again, but there was still nothing. Every single one of them went straight to voicemail, where I left increasingly terse messages asking her to call me and let me know that she was all right.

As the afternoon went on without any progress, I had to face the fact that wherever Sine was, she didn’t want me to find her. After all, how hard would it have been for her to call me and tell me what she was doing? Or a text? Or if her phone was dead, there were dozens of possible options, not the least of which was to stop here herself and explain why she’d blown off work. Blown off me.

It wasn’t like she’d simply stood me up for a date. She had a job. Two of them, actually. Contracts that she’d signed. If nothing else, professionalism and courtesy weren’t too much to ask for. I didn’t know of any other employer who’d have spent the day looking for a missing employee rather than just firing them. Hospitalization, okay, that would be an understandable absence, but I was getting more and more confident that she wasn’t hurt or in trouble.

She just hadn’t cared enough about her job, or me, to tell me she wouldn’t be coming in today.

As the fourth hour came and went without a word from her or from Max, I’d had enough. I dialed her number one final time.

Each word I said was flat and cold. I made no attempt to disguise my anger. I should have felt relief at ending things, but all I felt was mildly sick. I needed to get out of here. The studio held too many memories of her, and all I wanted to do right now was forget.