Page 128 of Beautiful, Violent

“Screw this,” I whisper, about to slam my laptop shut, when the map finally loads.

Smack dab on the front of the screen is the little white bubble with a phone in the middle, my name right next to it.

I hover over the information icon, and it says my phone was here within the hour.

I glance at the surrounding street, the businesses. Peoria Ave, the park, the antique shop, the pool hall where Rigger and I have hung out a hundred times.

My heart skips a few beats and I zoom in closer, just to be sure I’m not seeing things.

If this app is correct, my phone is at Rigger’s house.

What the hell is it doing there?

But, better yet, how the hell did it get there?

Chapter 20

I pull into Rigger’s driveway, worry settling into my bones like an omen. I’m also irritated that my life has come to a complete standstill just because I don’t have my phone.

I tried calling Rigger from the house multiple times but it kept going straight to voicemail. I left him a message to call me ASAP, then grabbed my keys and left.

My nerves have settled a bit by the time I stop in front of his garage doors. But I’m nervous because there aren’t any lights on here. He’s probably out, having a drink or flirting with a waitress. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. But there’s no denying that the feeling of being abandoned is weighing on me.

I beeline to the front door, ring the doorbell. He doesn’t answer, so I knock as loud as I can. When he still doesn’t appear I walk to the large windows at the front of the house and peek inside, sweeping my gaze back and forth over the dimly lit space.

I can’t put my finger on it but something seems off. I press my hands to the glass to make it a little easier to see, and that’s when I notice what’s missing: the little black tin he keeps on the entertainment center. I’ve no idea why this stands out to me but it does. Rigger keeps his stepdad’s police badge in it. The one that Rigger somehow ended up with after he was killed. I don’t know if there’s anything else he keeps in the tin but it’s gone, along with whatever life existed in this place. I can already feel the ghosts moving in. This place is as cold as it’s ever been. My breath fogs up the glass and I back away. My mind is racing.

Racing to understand why my phone is here and why Rigger’s house looks so damn empty.

For now, I walk around the property, try the back door—it’s locked of course—and then come back around to the front door and twist the knob as hard as I can, shoving my shoulder against the wood as if that will help. I huff and fall onto the front stoop and see the woman across the street come outside. She’s only lived there a few months but Rigger has told me they’ve met. She stops, looks at me, then continues walking to her Prius.

I dart over there and catch her after she’s fallen into the driver’s seat. She seems startled but she lowers the window, forehead creased with worry. Long red strands fall down her shoulders, and her face is dotted with freckles. She looks to be about his age.

“Sorry to bother you but do you know where Rigger is?”

She looks in the rearview then peers at me questioningly.

“I’m a good friend of his,” I add, realizing I probably don’t sound like much of a good friend if I’m asking where he is.

She presses the start button on her car. “I saw him earlier as I was checking my mail, packing a few suitcases into his car. He said he was leaving town.”

“Leaving town?” My chest goes cold. He’s not supposed to be leaving for Guam this soon. “When? Did he say how long?”

She shrugs. “Indefinitely? It was around lunchtime and he asked me to keep an eye on things for a while, so I’m pretty sure he’s coming back.”

“Did he say where?”

She chews on the corner of her lip and presses the GPS screen underneath the dash, plugging in an address. “I … don’t exactly know. Sorry.” She looks my way again. “I have his number. Should I tell him you stopped by looking for him?”

“No, thanks. I have his number too.”

When her eyes flick up and down the length of my body, I assume it’s because she’s having the same thoughts as me right now. Only difference between me and her is … I haven’t fucked Rigger.

I step back and the window goes up.

The only other person who might know where he is would be the bartender at Shooter’s. I don’t know if Rigger confides in him at all but there’s only one way to find out.

On the way there, irritation nips at me. It’s hard to believe that Rigger would take off without telling me. I wonder if there was an emergency with his mom. He did leave me several voicemails that I never checked so it’s quite likely hedidtell me.

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