He trailed off, exchanging a silent look with Ronan that had me worrying I would crack a molar for how hard I clenched my jaw.
“Foster is what?” I grit out.
“Missing,” Ronan answered.
“Since when?”
“I haven’t heard from him since Monday. I’m not sure where he is, but that isn’t necessarily new.”
Two days.
He could be anywhere. Alive or dead. Two days was enough time to make it around the globe and how would I fucking find him now? I scrubbed a hand down the front of my face and stared up at the ceiling of Ronan’s condo. I didn’t even know where to start.
“Alright.” I stood up and cleared my throat. “If someone wants you dead, you need to get your shit together.”
“I’m not…” Ronan frowned and gestured at me. “I’m not like the two of you.”
“Just check your fucking surroundings, Doc.” I rolled my eyes and looked at Kevin. “You too. Stay in Colorado.”
“Do you know who wants him dead?” Kevin asked, glancing nervously at his boyfriend.
“No,” I admitted. “But I’ll figure it all out.”
I turned my back on them and went to the door, my hand on the knob before something Ronan had said resurfaced in the front of my head. I’d been so focused on who was after him and what happened to Golden that I’d almost pushed it out.
“Did I really not thank you?” I asked.
“No.” Ronan sighed. “You didn’t.”
I tightened my grip on his doorknob, my palm annoyingly sweaty against the cool nickel plate.
“Thank you,” I said softly, not looking back at him.
“You’re welcome.”
I let myself out, going back to my car and trying to decide my next move. Someone had tried to attack Golden at home and there was a credible threat against his best friend. I didn’t think we’d been apart long enough for shit to go so sideways, but it seemed I was wrong. One thing became painfully apparent to me as I drove back to my apartment, and that was I needed to find Foster Golden, and I needed to find him quick.
I pulled into the underground parking lot at my apartment and took the stairs up two at a time. I shoved my key into the lock and twisted the knob, freezing in the hallway when I realized I didn’t hear the lock disengage. I always locked my door. Double-checked it and triple-checked it. There was no way I would have left without the door being locked.
I slipped my keys back into my pocket and pulled out my gun, finger tapping against the side of it as I used my shoulder to push the door open. Nothing looked disturbed or out of place. I checked the kitchen and living room, the bathroom…then I made my way down the hall.
If someone was still in my apartment, they had to be in the bedroom, and as much as I loathed to shoot a stranger in my favorite place, I would do it if I had to. The door to my room was cracked open, like I’d left it, and I used a heavy boot to kick it open wider, gun raised and finger on the trigger.
“What the shit?” I breathed out, dropping my hands to my side, an overwhelming sense of relief and exhaustion washing over me all at once.
Foster Golden sat on my bed, his shoes on, legs crossed at the ankle. He had on a white button up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a black leather shoulder holster around him. My Sig Sauer sat like a second skin in his right hand, resting against his thigh, like he knew it would be me, not an intruder.
“Golden,” I breathed his name out like a prayer.
His mouth twitched into the barest hint of a smile before his cheeks flushed and he looked down casually at my gun in his lap.
“Rosetti,” he said softly, “you sound like you missed me.”
Chapter Nineteen
Foster
“What are you doing here?” Sage asked, words shaking as they left his mouth.
