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Sure enough, the front door flew open. Phillip Sinclair himself ran outside, his petite wife Laurel rushing out behind him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Phillip shouted, his glare bouncing between me and the pile of junk in his driveway.
“Returning your car,” I replied with a smirk, lowering the empty bed back into place.
“My…” His attention shifted to the mound, probably searching for a sign I was lying. Except, Roan’s license plate was right there. Along with the grill, the silver Audi rings as clear as day. “You son of a bitch! Where is he?”
I cocked my head, watching him scour the area.
“Roan!” Phillip took a step forward, shouting at the row of sculpted trees in the front yard. “Get out here!”
Laurel tried to shush her husband while patting his back but he wrenched himself out of her hands, stalking forward to check the cab of the truck. Once he realized it was empty, Phillip stormed around the pile and came nose-to-nose with me. Or as close as he could, since I still had several centimeters on him.
God, I hoped he’d do something stupid. I was still in the mood to fucking break something and his face would be perfect.
“Where is he?” Phillip demanded, enunciating each word.
I sized him up pointedly, smirking. With a quick flick of my wrist, I tossed the Audi’s worthless keys up into the air. Pivoting on my heel, I headed for the driver’s door, not caring if Phillip caught them or not. Since I didn’t hear them hit the driveway, I assumed he did.
“Wait! Sir!” Laurel yelped, scurrying over. She shadowed me back to the truck, raising and lowering her hand several times like she was trying to decide if she wanted to try and physically restrain me. “Can I talk to you about Roan? Do you know where he is?”
Pausing momentarily, I turned toward her with a frown. Her question implied shedidn’t. Which was strange. Even though I knew his relationship with his parents was strained, Roan still had more contact with her than his father. Or, at least, I thought he did. Hesaidhe did. But if the fucking texts with Samuel were anything to go by, I couldn’t really believe anything anymore.
“Is he ok?” Laurel asked. “He’s not returning my calls.”
She actually looked concerned. I could have told her he was fine, to give a worried mother some peace. Or I could have told her the truth, that no, he sure as hell wasnotok. Maybe if she was a better mother, she would know that.
In the end, I opted to say nothing. For starters, it wasn’t my place. Secondly, I really didn’t give a fuck about making a spoiled suburban housewife feel better about her shitty parenting.
My gaze flashed past her head to Phillip, who was closing the distance on us quickly. “You go back and tell that son of—”
As soon as he opened his mouth, I climbed into the cab and slammed the door. Insulting his wifeandhis son in one breath? It took everything in me not to put a bullet through his fucking skull.
Somehow, I managed to put the truck in drive and leave without blood on my hands.
It was too bad Roan didn’t want him dead because I’d be more than happy to oblige him.
* * *
Easing into the apartment,I lingered near the door, listening for anything out of place.
Ilya said he’d dropped Roan off an hour ago after his appointment but Roan hadn’t answered any of my texts or phone calls. I figured he was still pissed. I knew I was, but at least I would answer my goddamn phone if he’d bothered reaching out.
The apartment was still and silent, with zero indication anyone was home. No TV. No music. A feeling of dread swirled in the pit of my stomach. Like before.
“Roan?”
A memory tried to surface as I walked deeper into the apartment, a damnable feeling of deja vu that I really didn’t want to fucking deal with at the moment.
Shoving it to the furthest recesses of my brain, I focused on my surroundings. Obviously the kitchen and living room were empty. Due to the assortment of coats and footwear by the door, it was impossible to tell if he’d gone out without Ilya.
I set my phone and keys on the kitchen island, next to Roan’s. I also unholstered all of my guns, per his fucking “rule,” before proceeding to the guest room.
It, too, was empty. His computer screen was black and I didn’t smell the familiar piney scent of the rosin he used on his bow. So he definitely hadn’t been in here yet.
Moving down the hall, I pushed open the door to the master bedroom. The blackout curtains were still closed. No surprise there. They were almost always shut, either because of my weird sleep schedule or when Roan didn’t get out of bed for days at a time.
After my eyes adjusted, I scanned the room. There wasn’t a Roan-sized lump on the bed, like I half-expected.
