He’d cried in my arms. Fresh off whatever assignment where he’d pretended to be… what? Homeless? An addict? Or had it been worse? Had he been caught and held somewhere? Interrogated?
I remembered him waking up from a nightmare. The stark terror in his eyes and the thundering of his heart.
My fingers itched to hold him again, comfort him, support him financially so he could quit that fucking job, even if he wanted nothing to do with me ever again.
“Oh, this is unexpected,” the guy said. “His uncle is Jude Marian. You know, from Jude and the Saints? My mom used to listen to them all the time when I was a kid.”
“Uh-huh.” I couldn’t care less about Jett’s famous relatives. “What’s his address?”
“You want the kid’s apartment in New York, parents’ place in Rabbit Island, or?—”
“All of it,” I said, standing up and reaching for my suit jacket. “Give me every single fucking place I might be able to find him.”
I threw my jacket on and called out to Minnie. “Get my driver and have my pilot prepare the plane.”
“Wait,” Vox called through the phone. “If you’re looking for where Jett is right now, he’s at his parents’ place.”
I took a breath and thanked him before ending the call. “Minnie, tell the pilots I need to go to South Carolina.”
When I finally made it to the house on Rabbit Island, a younger man opened the door. “May I help you?”
“You must be Gabe,” I said. “Is Jett here?”
He shook his head. “No. Gabe and everybody left for California this morning. I’m just looking after the dog. My name’s Hunter.”
I eyed him. “Cy Berringer’s son? Jett told me you were friends with his brother.”
Hunter nodded, suddenly looking less open and friendly. “And you are?”
“Sorry. Locke Maris. I’ve met your dad at a few industry events.” I reached out my hand to shake, and he took it. My name seemed to relax him, but he still looked at me with suspicion.
“What do you need Jett for?”
“It’s a private matter.”
Suddenly, his eyebrows lifted as if he’d just put two and two together. “Oh, shit! You’re the reason he was crying last night.”
The image of Jett,my Jett, crying for any reason made my stomach turn. “Crying.”
Hunter crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I take it if you’re here, you care about him.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it. How I felt about Jett Dav…Marianwas none of his business. “I need to find him.”
He studied me for a moment. “I was just getting ready to take Pepper out. Walk with me. In return, I’ll tell you a story about Jett.”
Maybe the man was as cunning as his father, because he’d effortlessly tied a leash around my throat. Within moments, I was trailing him on the beach, barefoot in the warm sand.
“Speak,” I said when he wasn’t immediately forthcoming.
He chuckled. “You’re not like the guys he usually dates.”
“I thought he didn’t date,” I said, falling willfully into his trap. But then again, I’d thought Jett was a sex worker. A go-go dancer. A player. For all I knew, he was a serial monogamist.
“He doesn’t. I mean you’re not like the guys he dated in high school and college. Other geeky types like him. Sweethearts.”
I clenched my back teeth. Great. So I wasn’t Jett’s type? Didn’t matter. I hadn’t thought he was my type either, had I? When I got a hold of him, I’d convince him to date me anyway. Fuck type.
“Why doesn’t he date?” I asked, assuming it was most likely because of his job.
