Three days and several phone calls later, I head to Guildford. The address turned out to be a hostel and it seemed Jess lived there briefly. I swipe the image of her living in a place like that when I debate turning around and heading back to her. From the hostel, I’ve tracked down her workplace—the pub she worked in just after her disappearing act. And then I had to track down the old owner who know owns a club. So far my calls have proved fruitless. So a visit to the owner seems in order and one of the staff told me he’d be in today.
It takes me over an hour to reach the place on my bike. Set on a hill, the bulk of the town is spread between two streets. I park in a lot close to the club and walk over to the large brick building, it’s neon sign currently unlit, while I fight to forget what it had been like to spend evenings with Jess or how she sweetly said goodbye as I dropped her off. Jess curled up on the couch with big fluffy socks on and some cute tartan shorts has become my new fucking fantasy I think. I spent most of the night considering peeling those damned socks off and kissing the arch of her foot. The uncertain girl from the first night had dissipated and in its place was a woman who is close to irresistible. Only the knowledge that I planned to dig further into her past prevented me from trying anything.
Palms clammy, I push open the door to the club and two women swivel to face me from behind the bar.
“We’re closed,” the blonde one says, pausing mid-swipe as she cleans down the bar.
In the light of day, the club looks bare and lifeless. The empty dance floor covers the back, and a DJ Booth waits patiently for someone to bang on some tunes. The bitter tang of cleaning fluid pervades my nostrils when I approach the bar but clearly the floors haven’t been cleaned yet as they’re sticky underfoot.
“Sir,” the blonde drops her cleaning cloth and glances at her dark-haired colleague, “we’re closed. You shouldn’t be in here.”
I paste on a charming smile and her stance softens. I resist smirking. Looks like I haven’t completely lost my touch, even if Jess doesn’t fall for it. “Is there any chance of speaking with the manager?”
“We’re not looking for any new suppliers,” she says warily.
“I’m not a supplier. I need to speak to your boss about an ex employee. A missing person’s case.”
She draws in a breath. “Missing persons? Are you a cop?”
I shake my head. “Private Investigator.”
“Oh, cool.” A smile breaks across her face and her shoulders ease back.
I skim my gaze over her. Pretty, decent figure. Not my type. Not anymore anyway. I prefer… shit, I prefer Jess. I’m not sure I even have a type now. I’m a fucking sucker for a hot brunette rock chick.
“Let me take you up to the office,” she offers, grin turning flirtatious.
“Sure.” I smile back. I don’t want to piss off the gatekeeper quite yet.
“I’m Bella,” she informs me and leads the way out a door in the rear and up some stairs. We pause outside the door to what I assume is the office and she faces me, tucking a hair behind her ear. On Jess I’d find it charming but on Bella, not so much. Everything she does is deliberately flirtatious. With Jess, it’s all natural.
“Wait here, I’ll let Mr Harris know you’re here. What’s your name?”
“Hunter O’Reilly. O’Reilly Investigations. Tell him I’m looking into the disappearance of Jessica Callahan.”
“Hunter,” she practically breathes and I mask a shudder. “I’ll be right back.”
Bella slips in the door and I tap my foot as I wait. I hear muted voices but nothing out of the ordinary. The door opens again and Bella beams at me as if she’s just solved world hunger. “Go on in. And if you get the chance, stop for a drink after.”
“Thanks, Bella. I appreciate it.” I don’t respond to her invite. All I want to do is finish this job and get back to Jess. Whatever comes out of this, I’m becoming convinced we can work through it.
Kyle Harris rises from his seat when I enter and I shut the door behind me. He offers a hand and I take it surprised by the strong grip. He’s a wiry man, slightly owlish. Not the depraved businessman I thought he might be.
“Please take a seat. Excuse the mess.” He waves at the papers scattered over his desk. “How can I help, Mr O’Reilly? Bella said you wanted to ask about Jessica Callahan?”
“Yeah, I spoke to the owners of The Bell and they said you owned this place now.”
The grey-haired man chuckled. “Decided to get out of the pub game and go big. Regretting it now. I spend half my time dealing with incompetent or unreliable staff, and drunken idiots smashing the place up. Give me a village pub any day.”
I nod sympathetically. “You owned this place long?”
“Just over a year. Still finding my feet. Anyway, you wanted to know about Jessica?”
“Yeah, my client is looking for her,” I lie fluently. “The last place she worked was the pub.” People are more likely to give you answers if they feel sympathetic.
“Poor girl. I hope she is okay—I hope you find her.” Kyle runs a hand through his cropped hair. “She was a sweet kid. I don’t know what had happened to her before but she was desperate for a job. I thought she’d probably run away from somewhere but she never said.”