"Okay, then. Get some sleep. You must be exhausted."
Tristan checked in with his body and knew Cade was right. His muscles dragged, and his mind faltered from fatigue.
Glancing around the room, Tristan asked, "Should I take the bed?"
"Yeah. There should be sheets in the closet. Let me know if you need help."
Tristan hummed in response and walked toward the sleeping area. Sure enough, a linen closet tucked into the corner held sheets, blankets and towels.
When he crawled into the newly made bed, he tried to get comfortable but couldn't quiet his brain. Snatches of memories from the previous night and images he concocted of his sister's torment flashed in his mind one by one like some gruesome slide show.
Breathing deeply, he purposefully called to mind happy memories: his mother's birthday when Natalie baked her a lopsidedcake, their family vacation to the beach the summer he was twelve, his mother serving pancakes shaped like snowmen and reindeer on Christmas morning.
Eventually, his mind settled. Reminding himself that he needed to be rested and clearheaded to help Natalie, he finally surrendered to sleep.
Tristan woke to a quiet room, bright from the midday sun shining through the cabin's sheer white curtains. It took him a moment to orient himself in the unfamiliar environment, but then the events of the last week swamped his consciousness, and his stomach clenched.
Natalie.
He threw the covers over his head and considered wallowing in self-pity for an hour or maybe a day. He screwed his eyes shut to brace against the disturbing images that always seemed to flood his brain upon waking. Natalie alone, scared, suffering, maybe hurt. Maybe even dead.
To cope, to push away the horrific thoughts, he visualized gathering the thoughts with a giant net, casting them into an open grave, and shoveling dirt to cover them. Imagining them buried, at least for now, was what he needed to go on, to move forward and concentrate on a solution.
He tried not to think about how his heart hurt, how his chest felt tight, and instead focused on logic and reason. Soon his brain kicked into gear, and he started cataloguing the information he had and how it could lead to his sister.
Tristan quickly concluded he was unlikely to succeed without the help of Cade and his friends. They had more resources and more experience, but he still wanted to contribute and vowed to do his part, whatever that looked like. That promise to himself and his grumbling stomach propelled him from the comfortable bed.
In the main living space, Cade slept on the sofa with his arms folded across his chest and his feet propped on the armrest, and Tristan was able to fully appreciate his face for the first time. At Wilson's, he'd been too busy trying not to piss his pants, and in the motel office, he'd been so rattled by the other man's touch, he had looked anywhere but at his face. Then, in the motel room, well, Tristan's eyes had been pulled decidedly south of Cade's shoulders.
But now that he had time to admire the hard planes and perfectly sculpted angles, he admitted Cade was undeniably handsome, with his dark hair and three-day scruff resulting in a dangerous, edgy look.
His shirt had inched up, leaving a few inches of abdomen bare. On his right hip, a mostly hidden patch of ink peeked out of his low waistband and danced along his v-line. Both biceps, also inked, bulged out of the sleeves of his t-shirt, and one tattooed, muscled forearm drew Tristan's eyes, surprising him with its sexy appeal.
Cade was effortlessly beautiful, but strong and tough at the same time. The combination was enticing, nearly irresistible. If not for the circumstances, Tristan might consider taking his shot, risking rejection for the chance to run his hands over those forearms and biceps, to feel the hard muscles and …
"I can hear you thinking from here," Cade mumbled, obviously not a fan of people staring at him while he slept.
Tristan flushed and stomped toward the kitchen. "I'm not thinking," he said defensively. "I was getting a snack."
Cade grunted, and the sofa's springs creaked. Out of pride, Tristan refused to look that way and instead helped himself to potato chips and an apple. He chomped happily until a dark head popped over the back of the sofa.
"Do you have to be so fucking loud?"
"What? Chips are loud. It's not my fault."
He got a nasty glare as a response, and Tristan huffed, but when Cade got up and ambled over to shove his hand in the bag for a handful of the offensive chips, he had to admit grumpy Cade looked unfairly cute.
While they both munched, Cade's phone dinged. He glanced at it and reported, "Annabeth said the laptop is encrypted and will take a while to crack. She's also trying to hack security footage from the warehouse."
Tristan pushed the chips away, suddenly no longer hungry. "That's all she has?"
"Yeah."
"Ugh!" Tristan wailed in frustration as he surged to his feet. "I need to do something! Natalie's been gone a week. I need to find a way to help her. She's all I have, and I failed her. I feel so helpless, I want to scream!"
"Technically, you're already screaming."
Tristan shot Cade a hostile glare, which the other man ignored as he continued to chow down chips.
