Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 110859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Returning inside he picked up the phone and dialed nine.
“Front desk.”
“This is Lucian Patras. I need a town car and driver brought around right away.”
“Yes, Mr. Patras.”
He hung up the phone and went to his closet to find another coat. Dugan had driven for over eight hours yesterday and would likely still be sleeping. He could take the second shift.
A young man by the name of Clint met him out front with a Lincoln Town Car. “Good morning, Mr. Patras,” the man said, holding the door.
The interior was still cool. He climbed behind the wheel. “Where will you be going today, sir?”
“Head down to lower Folsom. Drive slow and be prepared to stop if I say so.”
The driver’s mouth opened, but he kept his questions to himself. He shifted and merged onto the street. The town car bumped and glided over the snowy streets as the vacant walkways passed by.
By eight, the streets were all plowed and he had still found no signs of Evelyn. “You know where the old St. Christopher’s church is?”
Clint nodded and navigated in that direction.
The sky was a cocoon of gray, wrapped tight around the city. Snow was never a beautiful thing in Folsom. It was discarded as an inconvenience and stained black as soon as the plows forced it aside. Wet, salted walkways had pedestrians clumsily skipping puddles and drifts. The only good thing about the snow was where the plows wouldn’t go, footsteps could be found. There were trails leading in and out of abandoned buildings and cutting across chained-off industrial parks. It gave away where someone without proper shelter might be hiding.
He’d visited over a dozen shelters. No one recalled seeing a woman that met Evelyn’s description, not with her eyes or length of hair and petite frame. The town car pulled into the broken parking lot of St. Christopher’s. The construction crew was in full swing. “Pull over by the steps.”
Clint maneuvered the car as close to a snow-embanked curb as possible, and Lucian climbed out before he had a chance to get the door.
“Wait here. I shouldn’t be long.”
“Yes, sir.”
Taking the steps two at a time, his tension eased slightly at the sound of hammers hammering, drills boring into fresh Sheetrock, and saws trimming. Progress was being made, and that was a good thing. Lucian stilled when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
Someone was lying in the brick embankment that was once a flowerbed alongside the building. Wool skullcap and a thickly wrapped scarf were all he could see at first. The bulk of the body was disguised by layers upon layers of clothing. When the person shifted to sit up, Lucian caught his scruffy profile and saw that it was male. Several days’ growth of beard covered his chapped red cheeks. His light green eyes turned on him and he stilled.
“Parker?”
A rattling cough preceded his sardonic greeting. “Well, well, if it isn’t prince charming. She’s not here. No one is.”
Dropping all underlying disinclination, Lucian looked at him with all the humility he possessed. “Do you know where she is?”
The other man glared at him for a moment, clearly taking his measure. Lucian poured all his worry and concern into the space between them, and Parker sighed. “No. I don’t. I haven’t seen her in three days.”
Three days. That was something. Eleven days less than the time that lapsed since Lucian had seen her.
“Where was she?”
Parker’s lips pressed tight into a thin, silent line between the scruff of his beard.
“I want to help her, Parker. I swear it. I . . . I care for her.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”
Lucian hesitated a moment, then leveled with him. “Look, I know how you feel about her. I could let her go and give you my blessing, but you and I both know I can offer her more. If you really love her, let me help her. Help me find her. Please. I swear I only want to do right by her.”
When several minutes passed and Parker said nothing, Lucian figured he wouldn’t help. Then he surprised him by saying, “You hurt her.”
“I did,” Lucian admitted.
“I don’t know what you did or said. Scout has a habit of fixing everyone else’s problems and not letting anyone help her with her own. What I do know is that whatever you did, it hurt her bad. Scout doesn’t cry and you changed that.”
Guilt and shame cut through him. “I’ll make it right,” he vowed more to himself than to anyone else. “Please just help me. I’m begging you here, Hughes.”
Parker smirked. “Not something a guy like you does often, I imagine.”
“You’ve got me. I’m putting it all on the table. My hands are tied here. I’ve been driving around for days searching for her. I’m out of ideas. You have an idea of where she might be. What do I have to do to get you to help me?”