The speaker went from static to dead. A moment later, the door opened and an old man with eyebrows that resembled caterpillars opened the door. He wore a ratty flannel bathrobe and gestured us inside.
“First floor. Back here.” He led us back, opened the door.
The room was about as depressing as I’d ever seen. Not much more than a converted closet with no windows. “Cheapest unit we got,” the old man said.
“Did she tell you she was moving?” I asked. “Leave a forwarding?”
“No forwarding. Just said she’d got a job in Vegas.”
I looked around. There was nothing in the place, not even debris. “You clean?”
“Nah, she did. Wanted her deposit back. Gave it to her, too, so don’t start giving me shit.”
I stared him down. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” I met Tyler’s eyes. “So she packed up, cleaned up, and hit the road. But she didn’t tell you where?” I asked the old man. “Did she take a taxi to the bus station? Rent a car?”
“No idea. ’Cept someone was driving her. Saw that much at least.”
“Who?”
“Saw the car, not the driver.” He glanced into the room. “You’re not really interested, are you?”
“Sorry,” Tyler said, then handed him a twenty. “Sorry for waking you.”
“Someone went to Vegas with her,” I said. “Or at least drove her to the bus stop. The girls at Destiny might know who.”
“They might,” he said as we walked back to where Red stood holding the door open. “But we’ll talk about it later. That’s enough for one night.”
He was right, I thought, as I slid into the back seat beside him. My worry for Amy was fast fading, but as I shifted in my seat to look at Tyler, I couldn’t help but think of Kevin’s allegations—that these guys were into all sorts of shit. And, for better or for worse, I wanted to know if it was true.
We drove in silence for a while—Tyler received some texts that he needed to answer, and I took the opportunity to email Candy and tell her that it was looking more and more like Amy was alive and well and kicking up her heels in Vegas. Then I used the browser on my phone to start searching for Amy Dawsons in the Vegas area. There weren’t many, and I’d start making calls in the morning.
When we finally reached the part of Chicago I recognized—down by the Magnificent Mile—I tucked my phone away and frowned at the scenery. “We’re going the wrong direction,” I said.
Tyler put his phone down and followed my gaze. “No,” he said. “We’re not.”
“This is the way to Pilson?” I asked, mentioning my neighborhood.
“It’s one way,” he said. “But we’re not going to your apartment.”
I raised a brow. “No? What happened to telling Red my address. Me being ready tomorrow. All that big production about putting me in the back of this car?”
“One, it’s now past midnight so it is tomorrow. And two, things have changed,” he said, glancing meaningfully at me. “And I’ve changed my mind.”
Amused, I leaned back. “So where are we going?” I asked, but I didn’t really need to. Red was already maneuvering the Lexus in front of The Drake.
“What if I just want to go home,” I asked, as he opened the door for me.
“I’d say no.”
“Oh.” I considered that. Considered my very visceral reaction to his words. We’d thrown each other off-kilter at Destiny. But now … now Tyler was most definitely the one in control.
He held out his hand for me. I hesitated only the slightest of instants, then took it and allowed him to lead me inside the hotel and up the stairs toward the lobby.
“I hope your room’s close,” I said lightly, determined to steady myself. “It’ll be nice to kick off these heels.”
He glanced down toward the foot I had helpfully extended to show off the seriously uncomfortable strappy sandals and shiny new pedicure. “Lovely. But I might prefer you keep them on,” he added, and there was no mistaking the heat in his voice. “Everything else can go.”