Chapter 8 (1/2)

Christian shakes his head at his fiancée. “We aren’t going to that damn wedding. Not after all this shit.”

“Why not?” Kimberly asks with dead eyes.

“Because this”—Vance gestures back and forth between the two of us—“and because both of my sons are more important than any wedding, especially this one. I don’t expect you to sit there with a smile in the same room as her.”

Kimberly looks surprised, but at least partially placated by his words. I watch and keep quiet. Christian’s referral to Hardin and Smith as his “sons” for the first time has rattled me. There are so many things I could say to this man—so many hateful words I desperately want to sling at him—but I know I shouldn’t. It won’t help anything, and my focus needs to stay on figuring out Hardin’s whereabouts and how he is handling the news.

“People will talk. Especially Sasha.” Kimberly scowls.

“I don’t give a shit about Sasha or Max, or anyone. Let them talk. We live in Seattle, not Hampstead.” He reaches for her hands, and she lets him gather them between his. “Fixing my mistakes is the only priority I have right now,” he says, his voice shaky. The cold anger I feel toward him begins to melt, but only slightly.

“You shouldn’t have let Hardin out of the car,” Kimberly says, her hands still in Christian’s.

“I couldn’t exactly stop him. You know Hardin. And then my seat belt got stuck, and I couldn’t tell where he went . . . goddammit!” he says, and Kimberly softly nods in agreement.

I finally sense it’s time for me to speak. “Where do you think he went? If he doesn’t show up at the wedding, where should I look?”

“Well, I just checked both bars I know that are open this early,” Vance says with a frown. “Just in case.” His expression softens when he looks at me. “I know now I shouldn’t have separated him from you while I told him. It was a huge mistake, and I know that you’re what he needs right now.”

Unable to think of anything remotely polite to say to Vance, I give him a simple nod and pull my phone from my pocket to try Hardin yet again. I know his phone won’t be on, but I have to try.

While I call, Kimberly and Christian look at each other silently, hand in hand, each searching the other’s eyes for some sign. When I hang up, he looks at me and says, “The wedding is starting in twenty minutes. I can drive you there now, if you want.”

Kimberly holds up a hand. “I can drive her. You take Smith and go back to the hotel.”