Page 114 of Luck Be Mine
Where was he?
She scrolled her phone. No text messages. When he was non-operational or off ops cycle, he texted and called her regularly. Frowning, she sent one to him.
While her car idled, she collected the mail. Hunt had been getting it.
No answer. Had he gone to the base? She would know these things if he would talk to her, sleep with her, give her any sign.
She abandoned the text messages and stabbed at his contact. It rang and rang. Uneasiness rolled through her empty stomach. She tapped the call closed and called Doogie.
“Yo, Doc. Why are you sitting in the driveway?”
“Have you seen Hunt today?”
“Late morning. He got summoned by the CO. I left after he did. What’s wrong?”
“He’s shut down, and I’m getting worried.”
“He does this when missions don’t go right.”
“Baxter died. That’s the utter definition of wrong. He’s not sleeping. Or if he is, it’s not beside me. Not where I can reach him. Never mind, I’ll find him.”
“Cait…”
She disconnected. Doogie might be the BFF, but she was thewife.
She never tracked Hunt because of his job. They were independent individuals and needed to function separately, but this didn’t feel right.
Frank was home. He hadn’t seen him.
Clark’s Diner was full of cars. No Hunt’s truck.
Marnie hadn’t talked to him.
QM hadn’t seen him either.
Same for Senior Chief.
Driving aimlessly didn’t seem efficient. The only other place she could think to check was the beach spot they frequently went to for walks. He didn’t usually go there without her. That sheknew of. God help her, she didn’t know his haunts professionally or personally. She could be missing a black hole worth of places.
She checked the phone again. Three more text messages netted no answer. Two more phone calls. No answer.
By high noon, anxiety shredded her nerves leaving a harsh and edgy mood.
The beach would be empty because it was a workday. She wove through traffic and took the exit. No reason he couldn’t be there. She went there to draw sometimes.
Twenty minutes later, she pulled into a side parking lot.
There was Hunt’s truck. Silver, empty, and locked.
Relief left her shaking.
Anger followed in its wake.
Going to the path, her eyes traced the curve of the trail. She couldn’t see the beach from the top, so she had no choice but to hike down. She kept focused with effort, ignoring the cool ocean breeze and the gulls squawking.
She passed the spot where she usually sat to draw and kept going to the bottom. Salt clung to the air. The surf pounded in a dull, steady roar. The shoreline should have soothed with its stark blues from sky to sea. It didn’t.
The beach was empty.
