"I don't know," Cade rasped.
"But he was here? You're not just saying that? Is this some sick joke?" Natalie said, eyeing Cade suspiciously.
"It's not, I swear. I helped him find you. He and I were... close."
Cade ignored Rodriguez's wide-eyed surprise and focused on Natalie, who scowled at him and challenged, "If you knew him, what was he like?"
"He looks a lot like you. He's loud and competitive and never stops talking or asking questions. He's reckless and jumps into situations headfirst, and he thinks he's funny, but his jokes are kinda cringy. He said you lost your mom two years ago, and he did some dangerous crap to find you, but he didn't care about his own safety; he only cared about finding you."
Natalie's scowl relaxed. "That's him. I believe you."
Cade watched numbly as the last of the hostages settled into the van, thinking at least they were safe now. As Kate drove off,Annabeth arrived, and she, along with Tag and Taylor, joined their group.
"What's going on?" Annabeth asked.
"Tristan's gone." Cade tried to keep his voice even, but it still cracked.
"What? How?" Tag demanded as his eyes swept the area. "What the fuck?"
"Maybe he went to take a leak in the woods," Taylor suggested.
Cade considered the possibility, but it didn't feel right. "I don't know. He's been gone for a while, more than five minutes."
"Maybe he's taking a dump instead," Tag said, prompting Annabeth to roll her eyes.
"Maybe he went to piss and tripped and fell? Injured himself?" Rodriguez asked, and though Cade wanted to believe that was true, the knot in his gut told him otherwise.
"Let's check the trees."
The group fanned out to scour the woods, with Tag using thermal goggles to check for heat signatures. Cade vaguely registered the others calling Tristan's name as he squinted into his flashlight's beam, desperate to see movement or any sign of red hair. With each passing minute, Cade's panic climbed, his thoughts a jumble of guilt, regret and worry. By the time they had searched the entire property with no results, his stomach clenched and roiled.
Back in front of the house, they found the cleaner exiting his car, dressed in golf-club attire: khaki pants, polo shirt, and neatly styled dark hair, a combination that inexplicably irritated Cade. As the man grabbed a worn, oversized duffel bag that clashed with his polished look, he asked, "What are you all still doing here?"
"We're missing someone," Rodriguez responded.
"That seems unlikely in an operation this small," the cleaner observed haughtily, and Cade suppressed the impulse to punch his stupid face.
"Just go do your job," he spat out.
The cleaner just raised an eyebrow and continued toward the house, while Annabeth urged, "Cade, calm down."
"I can't! This is all my fault. I shouldn't have let him come with us. Fuck!"
He slammed his fist down on the hood of the car once, twice, three times before he felt an iron claw around his wrist. He whirled around, fully intending to punch whoever stopped him, to unleash the anger and guilt consuming him.
"Cade, stop!" Tag barked.
Stunned that Tag used his real name and that his face lacked its usual sneer, Cade hesitated for a moment, then stopped struggling.
"I know you're upset, but you need to pull yourself together so we can find him." Tag kept his voice calm and steady, and even though part of Cade wanted to lash out, he clamped his mouth together and tried to steady his breathing. When the burn of rage fizzled to a simmer, an icy dread replaced it.
Cade inhaled and pushed out one final, deep breath and answered, "Okay."
"You're sure?"
"Yes, I'm okay."
Tag released him, and they both turned to Annabeth as she took charge. "Okay, what are the possibilities?"
