Page 8 of Theirs to Hunt
My voice softened. “I think part of me wants to have someone want me that much. Like I’m their first choice. Even if it’s dark.”
“Girl. You want to be cracked open and rearranged. I get it. Just make sure they’re not rearranging your spinal cord. Or planning to eat your liver.”
I snorted. “You’re the worst.”
“I’m the best. And I’ll be at your door tomorrow after work. You’re still calling out sick, right?”
“Yeah. They obviously know where I work, so probably where I live. I just… I need to figure out if I want to play into this. Or pack up and live my best Shania life.”
I hesitated again. “I, uh… did some Googling. On Genevieve.”
Bobbie perked up. “Spill.”
“She came from the California office, where Calhoun’s headquartered. Been here just under a year. And she had some seriously above-her-pay-grade designer stuff. Her purse alone didn’t look knockoff. Don’t get me started on her shoes or jewelry.”
“Well, what’s her last update?” Bobbie demanded.
I swiped on my phone. “Saturday morning. Just a short post. Said,Heading back to Cali. Miss the sunshine and waves and all my besties.Nothing since.”
“That’s it?”
“She usually posts a lot. Like, daily.This is… weird.”
Bobbie frowned. “So, she ghosted social media right after she brought you Friday?”
“Yeah.”
Bobbie leaned closer to the screen. “Okay, Rae. You can’t Shania yet. We’ve got work to do.”
Chapter nine
Reagan, Monday 07:30 a.m.
Monday morning, I sat on my couch practicing my sick voice. It’s a damn skill set. Throat rasp. Wet cough. Pathetic croak. NyQuil central casting would be proud.
I dialed HR.
“Calhoun Industries, how may I direct your call?” came the nasal voice on the other end.
I cleared my throat a few times, committing to the bit. “HR, please.”
“HR, this is Mandy. How may I help you?”
Mandy? I blinked, phone still pressed to my ear. Genevieve’s last post was Saturday morning, some vague crap about heading back to California and missing her besties. I’d seen it, but didn’t trust it. Something about the timing felt too neat.
Now she’s actually gone? No notice. No office gossip. Nothing.
“I thought this would be Genevieve?” My tone turned cautious. Who the hell was Mandy?
“Genevieve is no longer with the company. To whom am I speaking?”
“Uh… cough… this is, uh… Reagan Marks. I’m in customer service. I needed to let someone know I’m taking a sick day.”
“Oh, Miss Marks,” she said, louder now, weirdly chipper. “You are calling to say you will not be at work today?”
I paused. That tone was wrong. Over-enunciated. Stiff. Like she was reading to someone.
Still, I mumbled a yes and answered her FMLA questions like this was just your average Monday and not the beginning of something deeply unsettling.
