Part 7 (2/2)

Jack stopped, but the dull pain in his chest continued.

No. She was frightened. Something spooked her. Thaddeus saw she was scared.

Ten minutes later, the door opened; Jennifer walked in. Her eyebrows arched and her hands rested on her hips. ”You failed to convey to me the state of damage your relations.h.i.+p with the sheriff is currently in.” A small smirk appeared on her face but quickly vanished. ”I spoke with Walter. This is off the record, okay? We have Severino's house, and all of his phones and computers, under twenty-four-hour surveillance now. All the phones are tapped. If anyone reaches out to him, we'll know. Right now, it's my opinion she's taken some time off for herself. You know her. Has she ever just gone off to be alone?”

Marisa's an artist. She could be a sentimental one. She's gone off before. Even when we were together.

”This is also off the record.” Jennifer leaned forward. ”Stay the h.e.l.l out of it. Collins was adamant. Stay out of it. Walter can also be a real b.a.s.t.a.r.d. But he knows his job and, beneath his crusty exterior, he cares. He placed Marisa here-he'll look out for her-but we can't tell Collins who she is. Go home, Jack. We'll look into it, and I'll let you know what we find.”

”I have to go finish my paperwork.” Jack started for the door, but Jennifer caught his arm.

She shook her head.

”Collins said...well, the censored version is tonight he's ordering you home. You're off for three days anyway. Just go home, Jack.”

d.a.m.n.

I love that stupid bed Jack walked up to the three-story brick apartment building and took out the key Marisa had given him. The building had once been an old mill, and Marisa had fallen in love with it. Aged wood, brick, and recently added bra.s.s and gla.s.s made it an artist's dream. He headed for the third floor.

The penthouse suite. She felt safe here.

Jack tried the door.

Locked.

He opened the door and listened.

Nothing.

”Marisa?” he called out.

It's two o'clock in the morning. If she's here, she's going to kill me. Please be here.

Jack walked into the apartment and slowly shut the door behind him. The darkness in the corners of the room seemed to close in on him. He listened for the slightest sound, but he could only hear his heart pound in his chest.

”Marisa?”

Everything was how it had been when he was last there. The living area was open and cluttered. Magazines lay on the sofa; open sketchbooks and pencils covered the little table in front of it.

Clutter is normal. Marisa is messy.

He scanned the room, and then marched into the kitchen. A small pile of coins, receipts, and papers littered the counter.

Looks like she empties her pockets like me.

He picked up a receipt for coffee from two days ago. There was also a business card for a de Lorme Fine Art Galleria that he flipped over.

DON'T ENTER THAT PIECE. I'LL BUY IT NOW. NAME PRICE.

I told her people would want it. No signature.

He put the card down and kept walking. His footsteps rang out in the silence; he was intruding. Marisa was a private person and this was her sanctuary. The bedroom door was closed. Jack knocked and then pushed it open.

Empty.

The huge, king-sized bed wasn't made. Clothes lay on the floor, and the bathroom door was open. He looked in.

Empty.

He stared at the bed, picturing her lying there wrapped in a sheet, gazing longingly at him with those big brown eyes. He could see her biting her lower lip while she invitingly pulled back the sheet.

I love that stupid bed.

The mattress was soft while the running boards were hard. He'd spent more than a few nights in it, so the smell of the room now brought back memories that made his chest swell and squeezed his heart. She lay with him here, and he had been with her. They had been lovers in this room and had forged a bond. Jack hung his head.

Bonded.

Chandler had told him that. s.e.x isn't just s.e.x. Making love with someone was something more. It bonded you with the other person. Something took place. Jack had laughed when his friend told him, but the truth was he didn't want to even think about it now. There were some girls he didn't want to remember, let alone be somehow permanently connected to. Now he knew how right his friend had been. Marisa and he were joined.

She needs me. I'm her friend. I was her lover. I have to find her.

He walked over to the largest room in the house. Marisa had converted it into an artist's studio. Easels, paint, clay, and papers were everywhere. Jack stood in the middle of the floor and then hit the wall with his fist.

d.a.m.n it. On one hand, I'm glad I didn't find anything but, where the h.e.l.l is she?

Taped to the corner of a half-finished painting of a lighthouse was a flyer for the Darrington Art Festival next week. He thought about the little girl in the field from the painting and, now, his dream.

She was afraid. She was running.

Jack bowed his head.

”G.o.d, please...”

He spent the next hour looking through the apartment. He found nothing that would give him any indication of where she'd gone.

It's not surprising. You could sift my apartment and have no clue where I am.

He stopped in the living room and closed his eyes.

I didn't see a purse or her phone.

He pulled out his phone and called Marisa's number. While it rang, he walked around the apartment and listened. He finished his circle of the rooms back in her bedroom.

Nothing. All I know is she was worried and Thaddeus saw her leaving. What had she said? She felt like somebody was watching her. She was nervous.

Jack scanned the room again until he saw Marisa's Bible next to the bed. He flipped it open to the back and then took an old photograph out.

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