“I know he goes to gyms to blow off steam,” I say. “The kind with rings and boxing clubs. But no gym is gonna be open at this hour. What if he’s gotten in with one of those underground fight club groups? You know, the bare knuckles thing where the guys beat the shit out of each other and other people bet on it.”
I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, of course. I’m stringing together tidbits from fiction, movies, television, and short pieces I’ve caught on the evening news. But the idea that secret fight clubs exist makes perfect sense to me. And if they do exist, then I have no doubt that a man as capable and determined as Jackson would know how to find one.
“Okay, you need to seriously chill. Do you want me to come over?”
“Yes. No.” I take a deep breath. “No, of course not. But I’m really worried.”
“Yeah, I get that. I’m thinking.” There’s a pause, and I clutch my phone so hard I’m at risk of breaking it. “Wait. Oh my god, we’re both idiots.”
Since I’m completely willing to believe that at this point I don’t bother debating. “Go on.”
“When you went running off into the hills that time in his Porsche, how did he find you?”
“OnStar,” I say.
“So use that.”
I replay her words in my head, sure I missed something. But nope, that’s all she said. So I ask the most basic question in the history of the universe: “How the hell am I supposed to do that? I’m not on the account. I don’t even know the license plate number.”
“Oh, please. You work for one of the original masters of the universe. Surely someone in Starkworld knows how to do that kind of shit.”
I am seriously doubtful. At the same time, I have no better idea and, if nothing else, this will give me something to do other than tossing and turning and pretending to sleep. “Okay. Great. I’m on it.”
“Yeah?”
“Unless you’re holding back on me and have a better idea hidden in your sleeve.”
“Sorry,” she says. “No.”
“Then go back to sleep. And tell Zee I’m sorry.”
I hear a rustling as she adjusts the phone. “She’s already conked out.” I hear her draw in a breath, and when she speaks again, her voice is soft, but firm and full of concern. “Listen, I know everything’s been pretty weird for you lately. If you need the ink, I’ll open the shop right now.”
I close my eyes, overcome with emotion. Of all the people in the world, Cass and Jackson are the only two who not only see me, but understand me.
I shake my head, though I know she can’t see me. “I’m okay,” I say, even as my hand slips to my lower back where his initials are tattooed. “I honestly hadn’t thought of it.”
“Really?”
I understand the surprise in her voice. My tattoos are a map of both pain and triumph. A record of the things in my life that have rocked me—and a reminder that I can and will survive.
“I don’t need it,” I say firmly. “This is just a bump. A blip. We’ve gotten through so much more, I know we can get through this, too.” Just saying the words aloud gives me confidence, and I’m glad that Cass brought up the tattoo. Because it gave me the chance to say no.
“Damn straight,” she says. “But call if you get weird. And call me once you find him so I know everything’s okay.”
“Will do. I have an idea, actually. Your OnStar spiel totally got me thinking.”
“Yeah? Well, good on me.”
“I love you, you know.”
“Then why the hell aren’t you in my bed?”
I laugh, then hang up, shaking my head with amusement. Despite waking Zee, I’m glad I called, because if nothing else I feel infinitesimally better.
I pull up my contacts and dial the home number for Ryan Hunter, Stark International’s security chief. He’s just the guy for a little late-night private eye work.
This time, the voice that answers is completely awake, and I can hear the stereo blaring in the background.
The voice, however, doesn’t belong to Ryan.
“Hello?” the voice says. “Hey! Yo! Turn that down, will you?”
I grin as the background music fades to a sane level and Jamie Archer, Ryan’s girlfriend, comes back on the line. “Okay, I can hear now. What’s up?”
“Hey, Jamie,” I say. “It’s Syl.”