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14
“I’d call that productive.” Pulling into his driveway, Ian gave voice to the thoughts that had been rolling around his head as he drove home. He cut the engine. “I agree with Charlie—that was damn good work on your part.”
“Thank you.” Sofia had been quiet on the journey home. And now, she sounded tired. Well, it was late. “I’m relieved that we’re making progress, but not so happy that the steady increase of MDMA-related ODs is pointing to a cartel being behind it.”
Ian’s phone buzzed a text message and he read it. “Update from the detective team we spoke to—”
“Oh, the ones who listened because a guy was reporting it and not some hysterical woman imagining things just to feel important?” Sofia asked sourly. Then she subsided. “No, that’s not quite fair, I know.”
The police had been non-committal with Charlie at first until he’d said the words “potential cartel activity.” Then the Bronte Security Services team had been put through to a detective, who’d gone over everything verbally and had them email all their information over.
“They did what they said they’d do.” Ian showed her the message. “They called in the DEA.”
“Like I suggested, a while back.” Sofia shook herself. “Sorry. I’m grumpy, aren’t I? Like I said, I am glad it’s progressing.”
Ian checked the time. That burger had been a while back. Maybe Sofia was hungry and that was the reason for the grumpiness. “Let’s go in and have supper,” he suggested. “I know it’s late, but something simple won’t take long.”
“I could make omelets,” Sofia offered, exiting the car and heading for the house, Ian following.
They closed the door quietly, not wanting to disturb Gavin, although Ian doubted he was asleep.
In the kitchen Sofia washed her hands and took out the eggs. Ian looked at the clean surfaces and sink.
“Seeing as the kitchen’s tidy, I don’t think Gavin made himself anything,” he commented.
“He could have gotten takeout,” Sofia suggested. “And the boxes could still be in his room.”
“Could be,” Ian agreed. “I’ll go see if he’s still awake and tell him we’re back.”
He jogged up the stairs and tapped on his son’s door. “Gavin?” he said quietly, not really expecting an answer. And yet the silence behind the door felt wrong somehow, in a way he couldn’t explain. Gavin hated Ian coming into his room without permission, but something made Ian push open the door.
The room was empty. Ian snapped on the main light and saw the sneakers Gavin wore day in and day out were gone, along with his favorite jacket. Cursing, Ian grabbed his phone and called Gavin’s number. It went straight to voicemail—he’d turned his phone off. Shit. Where the hell was he at this time of night, when he wasn’t allowed anywhere without permission?
He ran downstairs, his cell phone still in his hand, and Sofia met him at the bottom of the staircase.
“What is it?” she asked, her hand on her chest.
“Gavin’s not home. God knows where he is, and at this hour!”
“Ian.” Sofia put a hand on his arm. “Who are you calling? His friends probably won’t pick up, and I doubt their parents—”
“I’m calling the police.”
“The police? Ian, try to calm down and be rational.”
“Sofia, stop! It’s my decision.” A mixture of anger and worry over Gavin made his voice loud, and irritation with Sofia gave his tone a sharp edge. He dialed. “Yes, hi. My name’s Ian Campbell, and I’m calling about my fourteen-year-old son, Gavin.”
He gave the details, pacing the length of the corridor, and when he hung up, Sofia was leaning against the kitchen doorway, her arms folded.
“Do you really think that’s necessary?” she asked. “You could have waited for him to come home.”
Ian raked his hands through his hair. “And what if he doesn’t make it home? He was already hospitalized once,” he got out through gritted teeth. “What’s to stop him from trying drugs again, and the result being worse?”
“You have to trust him, you know.”
He did know, and hated that he didn’t and couldn’t. Her words weren’t making things any easier.
“Remember what we were talking about earlier, about cutting him some slack?” Sofia continued.
