Page 53 of Wanted

That doesn’t feel right. He didn’t come back for me. That’s how I wound up staying at Jude’s in the first place.

Right?

I lick my suddenly dry lips.

Dillon frowns and shakes his head. The man at the table says something to him. Dillon glances casually around, his head turning right and left, before he does a double take and his eyes widen.

He’s found me.

My pulse pounds chaotically as he excuses himself from the table. His lengthy strides eat up the distance between us at a cautious but direct pace. His intention is clear, but he seems to be holding himself back.

I feel rooted to the spot. Muddled feelings rise up inside me. Fear and confusion take hold, a storm brewing that no one can feel but me. Something doesn’t feel right. Something feels… off. Unease slithers up my spine the closer he comes.

Not remembering what happened in that car has me more skittish than a rabbit in the presence of a predator. Instincts begin blaring this isn’t someone I can trust, and I start searching for Jude through the sea of people.

“Frankie, there you are,” Dillon greets warmly when he’s within speaking distance. He stops near enough to appear familiar but too close for comfort, and his eyes flick down to my cast.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The words are measured. A thread of uncertainty underlines his tone.

“It’s been two weeks.”

“You weren’t easy to find.”

He flutters the paper between us as he turns it to face me. A black-and-white picture of me appears in a social media post beneath a bold headline.

Have you seen this woman?

Humiliation paints my cheeks a deep red. “Might as well have slapped my face on the side of a milk carton. Who does that?”

He raises a sardonic brow. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“You just happened to find me in this bar?”

“I’ve been in town for the past three days after getting tipped off by some guy named Lonnie. Staying in a motel while I asked around. Funny that nobody seems to know who you are. What have you been doing for the last two weeks, Frankie?” His torso dips toward me.

I lean back. “That’s none of your business. Did you finish your… trip?”

His eyebrows raise as he appraises me. Did he notice my hesitation?

“I did. Dropped off our stuff at the new apartment before I came back.” He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “People have been worried sick about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

Clasping my hands to my elbows does little to stem their shake. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” He inches closer.

Lie, lie, lie.

“With what phone?” I bite out. “I didn’t have any of my stuff. It’s not like I have your number memorized.”

“I checked with your parents. You haven’t called them either.”

“Why would I? I can’t remember the last time I sought their help.”

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