The music abruptly ends on the other line.
“This is Officer Tolbert. How may I help you?”
“My car was stolen,” I tell him. “And it’s headed to the Tucson airport.”
I fill him in with more details. No, I don’t know her last name, but they can check with the motel. No, nothing else was stolen. And, yes, I’m sure I didn’t give her permission, even though I left my keys in her room—which was an accident.
I’m still bristling as I slam my room door to go downstairs and wait for the police. I halt when I see a man banging on Emmy’s door. There’s a pretty petite brunette with him, her expression tense as she wrings her hands, then tugs at his sleeve to pull him away from the door.
“She isn’t here,” she tells him. “Let it go. Maybe we can make the end of the rehearsal party.”
“Her phone said she was here,” he snaps.
“Maybe she found the app and deleted it,” the girl says.
He turns to me. Dark kohl underlines his eyes, and his bottom lip is pierced. Brown hair falls into his face, and he shoves it back. “Hey, you there, wait a minute.” He juts his chin out. “Did you see the girl who’s staying in this room? Emmy?”
I open my mouth to tell him she’ll soon be in jail but stop. “Kian? Kian Adams?”
He frowns and lowers his head, scanning me. “Yeah. Who the fuck are you?”
A short laugh comes from my chest. I’ve let my hair grow into an unruly mess during the off season, and my jawline is covered in scruff, but surely I’m not that unrecognizable.
Built like a truck, he’s a defensive player for our rival New York team, the Hawks. In his position, he’s the guy who wants to tackle the tight end—me.
He’s a few years younger than me and was a real talent when he was first drafted, but not so much lately. You have to be an idiot to get a DUI. Every player in the NFL has access to a driver twenty-four seven, provided by the league. All it takes is a phone call. The Hawks’ PR said he was benched for an injury, but the gossip is it’s more about his personal issues.
I step into the light, and his eyes widen. “Graham Harlan. Shit. Sorry.” He tucks his annoyance away and flashes a quick smile. “What are you doing here?”
“Passing through. You?” I glance at Emmy’s door.
He tucks his hands in his jeans. “Looking for my girl. Have you seen her?”
His girl? I keep my face impassive as realization dawns. She mentioned she was through with the guy she’d been seeing. She might have even said Kian’s name.
I take in the scratches on the tops of his fingers, others on his cheek and under his eye. He’s the one who choked her, and she must have defended herself.
Rage rises like a wave inside me, but I keep my tone steady. “Nope. You guys have a tiff?”
“No. We get along great.” He assesses me, eyes hardening. “It’s funny that her room is next to yours.”
“Small world.”
“Very small.”
“Minuscule,” I drawl.
“Uh-huh. I mean, we’re in the middle of nowhere. What are the odds.” He opens the flashlight on his cell phone and roves his gaze over the parking lot, scanning the lobby area, then the pool. It’s lit up but empty. He rechecks the parking lot, shining a light into the interior of the vehicles. He comes back to me, eyes narrowed. “She hiding in your room?”
I smile. Dangerously. My hands tighten as I speak slowly, enunciating my words slowly. “You’re . . . welcome . . . to . . . check.”
He rolls his neck. “Nah, nah, just messing with you. I believe you. She likes to play games with me, is all. If you see her, tell her I came by, and she needs to call me.”
“Sure. Hope to see you on the field soon.”
“You’re coming back? After what happened? I mean, I hear your head is messed up.”
“I hear you drink too much.”
His jaw tics as he glares at me. “Yeah, looks like we both need to straighten our shit out.”
Stuffing down my anger, I whip around and head downstairs. As I’m leaving, I hear him pounding on the door again, his voice pleading with her to come out.
I reach the clerk at the desk. Grinning, he’s looking down as he counts out several hundred-dollar bills.
I see how it is.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out Kian paid the clerk to get her room number.
I move closer. “The girl in Room 307. What’s her last name?”
Just noticing me, he sputters as he tucks the wad of money into his pocket. He clears his throat, face reddening. “Sir, I can’t give out that information.”