He doesn’t say anything further, but he doesn’t move away either.
Sophie believes I should try harder with them. I clear my throat. “I’m thinking of taking Sophie to the chalet for the New Year. Would you and Liberty like to join us?”
I grimace. That probably sounded as stilted coming out of my mouth as it did in my head. By the way Killian’s lip twitches, I am correct. Bugger.
But he answers before I can say another word. “Liberty and I would love that.”
“Shouldn’t you ask her before committing?” I know that much about women.
“No need. We have mind-melded.” He leans in. “Besides, she’s behind you.”
Startled, I step back and find Liberty grinning so wide, her cheeks bunch. “Hey, Scottie.” She gives me a punch on the arm. “Can we go skiing, and eat fondue, and do other James Bond-type things?”
“Such as jumping off cliffs and deploying parachutes with the Union Jack on them?” I drawl.
“Yes. But I need stars and stripes on mine. It’s my patriotic duty.”
“I’ll put it on my to-do list.”
“Hee!” She hugs me before I can get away. “This will be the best New Years ever!”
Killian laughs, but then looks around. “Anyone seen Jax?”
I disentangle myself from Liberty and nudge her in Killian’s direction. “Not since the concert ended. He was a little off tonight.”
Killian scans the room. “He looked like shit. And now he’s gone.”
When Jax disappears, we all worry. It is an automatic reaction now, no matter how trustworthy he seems. Instantly, I’m alert, my lower back clenching.
“When did you last see him?”
“Walking off stage.”
“That was…” I glance at my watch. “Forty-two minutes ago.”
Killian waves over Whip and Rye. “You guys seen Jax?”
Our worry is contagious. Rye frowns. “No, man.”
“I saw him go into the bathroom when we got off,” Whip says.
Rye jogs away to search the bathroom, while Killian heads for Kip, our head of security.
I move that way as well, and reach them just as Kip tells Killian he saw Jax go upstairs, hanging on to a groupie.
“And some guy,” Kip adds.
“A guy?” Killian repeats, confused.
“Yeah, kind of sleazy looking. He had Jax by the other arm. But Jax waved me off.” Kip shrugs. “So what could I do?”
Do your bloody job and tell me what was happening, I think with a silent snarl.
Killian’s gaze darts to mine. “Jax is not into dudes.”
“I know that,” I snap, then take a breath. “Look, we don’t know what’s going on; we’re simply being cautious. And I do not want to call attention to us, so let’s calm down.”
Killian’s jaw tenses, but he nods.
“Keep on with your duties,” I tell Kip. “Come with me, Killian.”
Rye finds us as we walk across the room, his expression is grim. “Not in the bathroom.”
“Apparently he went upstairs,” I say. “Stay here and be you.”
He knows exactly what I mean, but he doesn’t appear happy.
“Some days it sucks being the class clown. Text me when you find him, or I’m gonna be pissed.” He salutes us and runs off, jumping on the couch between two women. “Ladies, who wants to do shots?”
Liberty is with us, and I touch her elbow to slow her down. “Go tell Whip to stay down here. If we all go, people will notice.”
Killian and I fall silent as we wait for the elevator.
“We have no real reason to worry,” I tell him.
“He’s probably fucking some girl.”
“Right.”
A row of numbered lights track the elevator’s descent to our fifth floor level. Killian and I both watch it.
“Why do I feel like it’s something more?” Killian whispers, staring at the lights.
My heart gives a pained thump. “I don’t know.” But I feel the same.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sophie
* * *
Turns out I don’t have to hunt Martin down. He finds me. Of course the bastard does it his way, texting me to say he’s off to the concert—where I can’t follow without being seen by Gabriel—and then smugly adds that he’ll text again when he’s free.
Fucker. Fuck-faced fucker.
I have no choice but to sit tight, bide my time, and grow more anxious.
I’ve doodled devil faces on half the models in my magazine when I hear the elevator ding in the hall. A woman’s obnoxious laughter rings out, followed by the lower tones of Jax’s voice. The concert is over, and he’s clearly in the mood to entertain.
Their voices drift off, and I try to lose myself in TV. Unfortunately, nothing’s on, and I find myself watching Alvin and the Chipmunks in Italian. I have no idea why a kid’s show is playing in the middle of the night, but high-pitched chatter in rapid Italian is definitely a distraction.