Looking for him.
Arron Matthews.
Not a name I’m ever going to forget.
She catches my eye, sitting in a carefully chosen spot where I can see the entrance, and her shoulders drop the smallest bit.
She mouths the words to me, and my lips tip up.
Thank you.
I keep this area as clear as I can to help them, ducking back and forth grabbing empty glasses and clearing tables. The crowd continues to swell, people pressing against me as I place some empty bottles on the bar and reach for a swig of my own beer.
It goes down fast, and Carla passes me another one without looking as she darts past.
“Can you check outside?” She calls over her shoulder. “We might need to put a cover charge on if we get any busier.”
Nodding, I glance at Em. She’s serving at the other end of the bar, her tied-up hair dark with sweat at the neck and her lips pursed in concentration as she adds another beer to an already full tray.
It’s a relief to breathe in cold air when I duck outside. A few drunken, younger guys are messing around, wrestling to the right of the entrance, but there’s nobody waiting to squeeze in.
“Hey!”
My hand pauses on the door of the bar as I turn my head. “Yeah?”
The guy strides toward me from the main street, his shadow stretching out behind him in the lights from the bar. He’s tall and broad, andexpensive. He stinks of money, from his aftershave to his designer white shirt, polished black shoes and perfectly pressed black overcoat. “You still open?”
Tension has me stepping back. My eyes rise to his face. Handsome, in an oily way. Eyes a little too close together, chin a little too pointy. His hair is slicked back, dark in the dim lighting. “We’re at capacity. Ticketed event.”
I keep staring at his hair. Trying to make out the color.
But Iknow. It’s too much of a coincidence.
Casually, I push the door closed and lean against it. “Sorry.”
I don’t sound sorry about it at all.
Em’s husband gives me a slightly uncomfortable grin. Self-deprecating. If I didn’t know better, I’d think him harmless. Alittle bumbling. “No worries. I wondered if you could put up a poster for me.”
When he holds it out, I give him a hard stare. “We don’t advertise here.”
He shakes his head, and his jaw tightens. “It’s a missing person. My wife. Please.”
Fuck.
Slowly, I reach out for the poster.
This is what Em used to look like. Before she became the person she is now.
A young woman smiles uncomfortably out at the camera. Beautiful, but her eyes look empty. Her hair is longer, but impeccably styled into a tight-looking up-do. Not a single caramel flyaway to be seen. She’s clearly posing for some sort of event, dressed in a long, sleek pale pink gown that I would never have imagined her wearing.
Underneath in big letters is a description.
MISSING
EMILIA MATTHEWS
$50,000 REWARD
