His stomach rolled before he even clicked it. Elliot’s photo stared back at him, probably pulled from his social media accounts. Allen skimmed the first paragraph, then went back and read it slower when he saw the job title.Producer.He stared at the word for a few seconds, then forced himself to keep going. Found late Friday night. Police investigating. Wallet and phone missing. Possible robbery. He didn’t know why he was reading all of it. It didn’t make him feel better. It just made the situation more difficult to ignore.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he copied Elliot’s name into a new search bar. Credits. Short bios. A couple of older interviews. He clicked through, scanning lists of projects and names, and there it was again—Rick. Allen’s hand went still on the trackpad. He backspaced the search and typed Elliot’s name again. The same results appeared. He pushed the laptop back and swallowed hard.
“No,” he muttered under his breath. “No. That’s not—”
Standing, Allen paced because sitting still wasn’t working anymore. He moved from the couch to the kitchen and back again, one hand dragging through his hair, the other holding onto his T-shirt. Coincidence. People in the same industry crossed paths all the time. Shared credits didn’t mean a real connection. Two names could still be explained away. Three washarder to ignore. It was horrible, but it still wasn’t evidence. Not yet.
Slowing, Allen nodded to himself. If he was going to be this person, he was going to do it properly. He wasn’t going to half-glance at headlines and let his imagination run wild. He was going to check dates and facts, and then he was going to stop.
Allen sat and opened a notes app, then started writing down what he knew. He pulled up Rick’s credits and worked backward, clicking through anything that listed locations or timelines. Some of it was messy because the industry was messy. People moved between jobs, titles, and projects. A name on a list didn’t mean a friendship.
He told himself that as he added another date and then another.
Then he hit one overlap that made his blood run cold. A tour stop. A studio session. A hotel in the same window. He stared at it, reading it again, then again, trying to make it not what it looked like. “That’s nothing,” he said, out loud this time, voice flat. “That’s nothing.” He closed the laptop with a sharp snap and sat there for a second, staring at the lid, breathing too quickly, then opened it again because he couldn’t help himself.
The same tabs were there. The same names. The same dates.
His phone buzzed with a message from Rick.Can’t wait.
Allen stared at it until the words blurred. He swallowed and forced his fingers to move, then sent the reply he knew Rick would want.Me too.
Putting the phone down, Allen looked back at the laptop screen. He just stared at the overlap until it was burned into his mind.
Chapter Nineteen
The second Allen came in, Rick knew something was off. Allen smiled when he saw him, but it didn’t last. Rick stood, kissed his cheek, and felt the tension in him right away. When they sat down, Allen’s eyes kept moving, and he couldn’t look at Rick for long.
Rick didn’t like it.
Rick kept his smile in place anyway and touched Allen’s cheek like it was normal, like he wasn’t watching him.
“Long day?” Rick asked.
“Yeah,” Allen said a little too fast. He didn’t meet Rick’s eyes when he said it.
Rick nodded, then pursed his lips. “You want food?”
“Sure.”
The answer was fine, but the tone wasn’t. Allen’s gaze kept flicking away—past Rick, to the room, to the door, back again.
Rick asked another small question. “Have you been watching the news?”
Allen’s throat moved. “No.”
It was a lie. Not a big one, but Rick felt it anyway. He watched Allen’s hands and how they kept flexing, how he kept rubbing his thumb over his palm like he couldn’t settle.
Rick decided then. If Allen was putting things together, Rick wasn’t going to wait for him to bolt or go to the police. He’d rather drag it into the light and deal with it.
It wasn’t that Allen was distracted. Everyone gets distracted. It was the way Allen was holding himself. Rick could see the tension in his body, and it was obvious enough that he asked, “Are you okay?” Rick asked, keeping it low.
“Yeah,” Allen blurted out immediately. “Just tired.”
Too quick. Too clean. Allen usually had a pause before he lied, even a small one. He wasn’t a good liar. That was one of the things Rick liked about him.
Rick picked up the menu and gave Allen an excuse not to talk. He let the first couple of minutes pass. He could be patient when he had to be. He’d learned it the hard way. People didn’t tell you the truth when you went at them too hard.
Allen stared at the menu without really reading it. He kept glancing over Rick’s shoulder, tracking movement in the restaurant. He wasn’t looking for someone specific. Rick could tell that too. It was more general. Watchful. Like Allen didn’t trust the room.
