Page 95 of Audiophile

“Of course not,” she scoffs. “He’s right here, playing with Brooke and Janie.”

He wouldn’t bring his nieces around her. Not ever. “I want to talk to him.”

Kinley shuts me down. “It’s over. He loves me. Don’t call anymore.”

I can’t let her hang up. This phone number is my only tie to Reed, and without it, I lose him. “Whereishe, Kinley? Put him on the phone or I’ll call the cops.”

“And tell them what? You don’t know where we are. Is it hard to believe you’re not special? You’re just his littlepet,” she hisses, and hangs up. Thirty seconds later, I get a text from Reed. It’s a woman’s hand covering the left side of her driver’s license with a diamond ring sitting prettily on her finger. It’s a California ID, with her name clearly printed across the top.

Kinley Alexander.

A memory sweeps through me.Is this where you say Petra Alexander sounds better?I’d asked, and he’d gazed at me with such warmth. But she stole Reed’s last name before I even had a chance to claim it.

Enough proof for you? He’s mine.

Mine. She tattooed her initials on him to prove it. What else will she do? She wouldn’t kill him. Would she?

Ice slides down my spine, and I sprint to Tommy’s room. My sweet, strong, smart brother, who might know where to go from here. “Tommy!” I knock, but don’t wait for him to answer before I throw the door open. He’s still sleeping after his night shift. “I need your help.”

“What?” Tommy blinks groggily. “Wha’s going on?”

It pours out of me. Reed’s company, his stalker, buying a house in Portland and wanting to date me, the phone call with Kinley. “She’s insane, Tommy. What do I do? How do I help him?”

“Can you call his family? Do you have any of their numbers?” Tommy asks.

“Of course not! It’s been like seven weeks! I don’t have his email or socials or anything.”

Tommy groans, exasperated. “Seriously? This guy could’ve beenanyone—”

“But he wasn’t!” I snap. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m scared. What if she’s got him locked up somewhere?”

“Have you called Darin? Maybe he can pull some records, ping Reed’s location or something.”

I grab his face and plant a kiss on his rough cheek. “Genius, Tommy! Sorry I woke you.”

“Hang on, I’m involved now,” Tommy protests as he throws on a sweatshirt. I follow him down the stairs and into the kitchen as he dials Darin’s number. “Let’s do some sleuthing.”

When Tommy explains it all, Darin is sympathetic, but straightlaced. “I can’t put a BOLO out because you have a feeling,” Darin chides. “It’s an abuse of power.”

“Can I file a missing person’s report or a wellness check or something?”

“Sure. Do you know where to send someone?” Darin asks. “He’s not living in a permanent residence, right?”

“Right.” My heart squeezes. I’m helpless here. “WhatcanI do?”

“I hate it, but,” Darren says, “you have to sit tight and call him again later. There’s nothing more you or I can do at the moment.”

“Alright. Thanks, Darin.” It’s not the answer I wanted, and it’s got to be written all over me.

“C’mon,” Tommy sighs. “I’m starving, and you probably didn’t eat breakfast.” He pulls a heap of things from the fridge and leads us in a conversation about trivial things. He’s trying to get me out of my head.

It doesn’t work. My answers are short while my brain runs through a million different scenarios. I don’t understand Kinley’s goal, which makes her wildly unpredictable. I’m left wringing my hands.

Once I’ve eaten a satisfactory portion of a meatball sandwich, he dives back in. “I know I’m not ‘one of the girls,’ but I care. How are you holding up?”

“What, because the first guy I see possibilities with is hurt, kidnapped, or dead, and all I can do is sit here? I’m doing great.” The sarcasm isn’t even layered—it’s spread thicker than cream cheese icing on my Happy Heartbreak Cake.

Tommy frowns at me. “How into him are you? If this happened when you first met Nate, would you have stuck around?”

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