Colt

 

Late that night, I’m driving through the city to the bar Quinn had mentioned. I slow for a set of stoplights, my mind focused on Quinn. I’d never meant for her to find out about how I feel, but I hadn’t been able to watch her beat herself up over something that’s mutual. Truthfully, I hadn’t ever thought that she’d see me in that way.

My hands grip the steering wheel tightly. She’d let that psycho into her life because he looked like me, and it burns. She’s always had shit taste in men, but this one… There’d been so many damned red flags. How could she have kept seeing him? Is she really into all that shit? She’s always been adventurous, but to allow that freak…

A burning anger simmers deep within me, and I struggle to control it. I need to stop thinking about Quinn and how she’d allowed herself to be so goddamn vulnerable. Right now, I need to track this fucker down and have a one on one with him.

What the fuck was she thinking?

I can feel many eyes sizing me up, and I ignore them as I make my way to the large, heavy-set man stationed behind the bar. He looks to be in his forties, and judging by the way he openly watches me with a hint of warning—he’s either the manager or the owner. I can’t blame him for the unwelcoming reception. I’m more than ready to make some heads roll if anyone so much as looks at me the wrong way. It’s going to be hard as hell not killing Slade, and I’m already expecting to come away from tonight with blood on my hands.

“I’m looking for Slade,” I tell the man.

His expression promptly shifts into a scowl. “He quit.”

Not the reply I was hoping for. “I need his full name.”

“Slade Blank,” he says in a droll tone.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

He shrugs. “I don’t care about names—as long as the job gets done, that’s all I care about.”

“He still living in the apartment above?”

His beady eyes narrow on me.

I pull out my wallet, tossing a twenty on the bar, waiting.

The man ignores the money. “He moved before I was aware of it. Didn’t even pay the rent he owed.”

Fuck. “Mind if I check the place out?” I ask.

He folds his arms across his massive chest and belly, looking far from happy with all my questions. “You a cop?”

“Far from it.”

He sizes me up and shakes his head. “I can’t leave to show you the place. I’m short-staffed tonight.”

I open my wallet, and two more twenties are added to the one I’d already set on the bar. “I don’t mind going up on my own.”

He smirks behind his overgrown goatee. “I’m no fool.”

I grind my teeth and dig out my keys, deliberately setting them on the twenties. “Keys to my ride. I’ll leave them with you until I return the apartment key.”

He regards me for a moment before turning away and going to a drawer by the register, digging out a single key. He swipes the money and my keys off the bar and sets the key down. “Follow the hall beyond the restrooms until you come to the employee door. Once you’re in, go down the hall, and the stairs at the end will lead you to the apartment above.”

I give him a warning look. “I find a scratch on my ride, and you’ll wish to God that you’d never laid eyes on me.”

He stares back at me, unflinchingly.

I take the key and make my way through the bar. I pass by the restrooms and slip through the employee door. Down the hall are a set of narrow stairs, and I make my way up to the locked door and let myself in.

It’s your average dump with a tiny kitchen and barely there living room. Stains are visible on the carpet, and the walls are in desperate need of fresh paint. Slowly, I wander down the hall to the bedroom. It’s been completely stripped of anything personal. My eyes linger on the bare mattress on the bed, and it takes everything within me not to imagine Quinn bound and helpless on it.

The situation is growing worse by the minute. This guy has no last name and no place of residence. He’s a fucking ghost right now, and that makes him very dangerous. There’s nothing to see here, and I return to the bar and exchange the key for my truck’s.

Instead of heading home, I drive to the apartment complex where Bryce lives. He’s a homicide detective, so he’ll know what else can be done to find this bastard. I manage to snag a parking space out front in the visitor lot, and I stride inside the building. I bypass the lobby and take the elevator to the second floor.

A minute later, I rap my knuckles on Bryce’s door—envelope in hand.

It takes a full minute before the door swings open. Bryce stands there, bare-chested and wearing sweats, his dark hair slightly messy.

“Am I interrupting anything?” I ask without remorse.

He scrubs a hand over his face. “The only thing you’re interrupting is my sleep.” He stands back and motions me inside.

I step into the apartment and glance at my watch. It’s well after midnight.

Bryce switches on the main light and squints at me. “What’s going on?”

It’s rare for me to drop by Bryce’s. Usually, we meet up for drinks and to find pussy. “Quinn has a problem on her hands.”

All the sleep fades from Bryce’s gaze as his hazel eyes sharpen. “What kind of problem?”

“The kind that’s been following her.” I hand him the envelope.

He opens it and studies the words written in blood. His expression turns grim. “I don’t like what I’m seeing.”

“What do we do?”

He rakes a hand through his hair, frowning. “Explain this shit to me first.”

I give him the shortened version of what’s been happening since Quinn’s birthday.

Bryce is silent for a full minute, and then he folds his arms across his chest. “So he’s gone?”

“I don’t think he’s left town.”

He nods in agreement. “He’s hiding.”

“Which means he has a reason to hide. What comes next, Bryce?”

“Not much can be done at this point. I doubt Slade is his real name, and without a photo or any kind of personal information, I can’t do anything. She can’t even apply for a restraining order.”

Damn it. “In the meantime, he continues stalking her,” I state grimly.

“These cases are always difficult, Colt. Especially when the law hasn’t been broken. For now, she needs to log or record every time he contacts her.”

“That’s it?”

“For the time being, yes.”