Page 220 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

I nod. Calm the fuck down. You won’t be any help if you go off the damn deep end. I swipe the wetness from my cheeks that’s been constantly streaming down my face since Dad’s call. “How can I help?” I hiccup through my tears.

“Your dad couldn’t tell us what James was wearing today.” He holds his pen poised, ready to take notes.

I describe James’s clothing, the color of his hair, height, build, and eye color. His backpack and shoes. Everything I can think of that may help. I dig out my phone and show them my most recent photo of him, and the tears that I’d been holding back while speaking start again like a flood. My body shakes, so I wrap my arms around myself to hold myself together.

“And where have you been this afternoon?”

Puzzled by the sudden question, I stutter. “I-I-I was a-at work.” I glance over my shoulder to find Lincoln standing close by, giving me enough space to do what I need to do.

“And where’s that?”

I glance at Dad. “Fine Line Art Studio.”

Officer Banks nods. “The tattoo shop?” I swallow and nod again, too afraid to look at my father. The officer looks across at Lincoln. “And you are?”

“I’m her boss,” he tells them as he shoves his hands deep into his pockets.

Sergeant Grey’s eyes narrow. “And why are you here?”

I feel the air around Lincoln shift and change as he stands taller. “She was in no condition to drive, so I brought her home.”

“Can we please look for my son?” I beg.

“A few more questions, and we’ll need some of James’s clothing to get a search underway. Can you tell us places he likes to go, about his friends, and whatnot?” I tell the sergeant everything I can think of in my state of panic. “We’ll need the contact numbers for his friend’s parents.” I nod, swallowing down my impatience. I guess the more information they have, the better our chances of finding him, so I tell them everything I can about James.

“All right. I think we have everything. We’re going to call this into the station. We’ll put out a missing person alert and get a few teams here to help us search the area. He’s probably at a friend’s house or somewhere equally obvious.”

I hope so.

I nod, folding my arms around my body and curling in on myself. Lincoln’s arm wraps around my shoulders, and I want to lean into him; to take his strength, but when I glance across at Dad, his face is full of confusion and disappointment, so I step away from the man I need right now. “I need to change so I can search for James.” I won’t be able to run in these boots, so I race inside without waiting for a response and head straight for my bedroom. I wince when I catch sight of myself in the mirror behind my door. I quickly change into yoga pants and sneakers, then throw on an oversized sweater before tying up my hair in a messy bun. Not much I can do about my face right now. I don’t have time to waste cleaning myself up. Too much time has already been wasted.

Nineteen

Lincoln

She has a kid.

A kid who’s fucking missing.

My gut clenches as bile rises, and I grip the back of my neck, squeezing hard to stop my hands from shaking.

Fuck!

She has a kid and never said a damn word.

I’ve fallen for a woman who has a kid.

I never intended to fall for her.

But I did anyway.

And … she has a damn kid. My vision goes fuzzy around the edges.

A kid that may have been stolen just like Elizabeth was. Now I understand why Sophie was so sick when her dad called, because my gut churns and bile burns its way up my esophagus at the thought of her losing James the way we lost Beth.

I push the sensation down because I can’t afford to get lost in the past right now … Sophie needs my support.

She has an eight-year-old son.

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