I wanted to rake my fingernails down the glass.
Chance pointed out the window at me and the woman turned. I gave a little friendly wave, but my eyes bored into her. She got it. Her fake smile froze. Whatever her angle was, it wouldn’t happen today.
Thank God I had come. No telling what this chick would be up to if I wasn’t here.
We weren’t far from home, just a quick flight to Portland. At first we weren’t sure we could scrape together enough money to get me a plane ticket too, but then Mom had chipped in. So, here we were, on a short two-night getaway. Chance was paid for, and so was our hotel room, so we could kick back a little.
My phone buzzed with an update. Another twenty followers for Chance.
Finally, the broadcast caught up, and the DJ introduced the woman as Amity Garrett, a music producer at some record company local to Portland. Apparently she was here to give Chance career advice as he got started.
“I hear you got a little press coverage while you were hitchhiking across the country,” Amity said. “In LA?”
“I did,” Chance said, his voice deep and smooth. “I met one heck of a woman my first night in Cali.”
My interest perked up. He was going the sweet southern charmer route.
“As I recall, it even made the television tabloids,” the DJ said.
“Yeah, that was something,” Chance said. “Not my favorite brush with fame. But I might have to get used to it.”
“But you got a wife out of it, didn’t you?” the DJ asked.
“I sure did,” Chance said. “She’s here today.”
I guessed that was the point when Amity had turned to me.
I glanced up at him again, but of course they were already on some other topic in real life. Chance seemed to be concentrating and serious.
“But you’re a family man now, I hear,” the DJ said. “Congratulations on the birth of your daughter.”
“Thanks,” Chance said. “It’s been a whole ’nother experience, going from alone on the road to a home.”
They went on to talk about some of Chance’s songs and Amity gave him demographic information about his potential audience. In the sound booth, she had stopped reaching for him constantly.
I relaxed a little. Everything seemed back on track.
I scrolled through my contacts and paused on Tina. A week had passed with no word to anybody. I took a moment to send my daily message to her, something light and chipper.
Then I thought to check on a website she had asked me to set up for Albert’s art fellowship program. She wanted to get the basics up for when they started accepting applications, and I had agreed to help her.
Only a few people were finding the page, but we hadn’t done anything major to attract web traffic. I didn’t care about that at the moment. I logged in as admin. I had a hunch about something.
And sure enough, when the back-end page loaded, I saw it.
Last user log-in, yesterday at 11:56 p.m.
I hadn’t logged in last night. That meant Tina had.
She was okay.
I highlighted the IP address of the log-in and popped it into a search box. This would tell me where she was. It came up instantly.
Houston, Texas.
I had her.
Chapter 18: Corabelle
I held the ice pack uncertainly over Gavin’s crotch. “You sure this is going to help?” I asked.
He peeked out from under his arm, which was crossed over his face. “At least until the drugs kick in.”
I laid the sleeve of chilled gel on his boxers.
He sucked in a quick breath, then relaxed back onto the sofa cushions. “Yeah, that’s better.”
I sat on the floor next to him. He’d gone back to work today at the garage, a week earlier than he was supposed to after his surgery. And he’d thrown tires, when he should have waited several weeks for hard labor.
“We have enough money left over to make it for a while without you working,” I said. God, I was worried sick over him doing this. What if he wrecked his recovery and all this was for nothing?
“It’s Bud,” he said. “He’s short people and his son is sick.”
“Can’t Mario do more shifts?”
“He’s already there. We’re all pitching in.”
I laid my head on his thigh. “Why did you throw tires? You got promoted from that a year ago.”
“It needed doing. And I’ve been cooped up for a week. I wanted to do something hard.”
And look where it got him. But I didn’t say a word. This was marriage. He would make his choices, and I would make mine. You could save people only as far as they were willing to be saved.
“Come here,” he said, and lifted me up to lie next to him on the sofa. I squeezed between his hard body and the back cushion and rested my head on his shoulder.
“I’ll be all right,” he said. “I’m just a little sore. Doc said I would be for a while.”