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He only wore those shirts to work. The rest of his t-shirt collection, made up of mostly Harley Davidson and band mech, Flame saved for outside of the garage. Both the large body towel and a smaller one were still a little damp from the night before. Flame had taken the time to shower and change last night before he’d left. He wouldn’t have bothered if he was just going to grab a quick meal from somewhere.

Fucker. He’d better not have them out here getting their tails twisted up with worry while he was enjoying a bit of morning-after fun with whoever he’d been out with last night. No way he went through the effort of cleaning up if he’d planned to spend the evening alone. When Rusty returned to the office, he relayed what he’d found to Cage and the others. The looks on their faces ranged from grim concern to vaguely pissed off, all of which Rusty could appreciate, since he felt the same way about the situation.

It was almost ten-thirty. Cage was two and a half hours late now. Three and a half if Rusty took into consideration the fact that his brother had signed in at seven every morning for the past thirty days. He knew it was a slim chance. As in razor-fucking slim, but he tugged his phone out of his coveralls and texted Emari.

Flame is missing. Any chance he’s with you.

Not a one. I have not seen or spoken to him since Storyteller’s night.

Thanks. Sorry to bother you at work.

So much for that theory. Or had it been hope that had made him reach out to his brother’s mate, despite the knowledge that Emari had rejected him? Rusty started to slide the phone back into his pocket when he noticed three dancing dots and waited to see if Emari had anything to add. They disappeared as fast as they’d appeared, then started up again a few seconds later, stopping and starting again soon after, before a message finally appeared.

Let me know when you find him.

I will. Rusty texted back.

“Any luck?” Cage asked.

“No, that was my one long shot, and he hasn’t seen him,” Rusty replied.

“Alright then, we head out,” Cage said and began issuing instructions to guys on which part of town to check and who to touch base with as they were known associates and enablers of some of Flame’s worst behaviors.

“Rusty, you and I can take downtown,” Cage said. “Onyx texted back and said that Flame dropped in yesterday afternoon on his lunch break and picked up three dozen assorted pastries.”

“And the fucker didn’t share?” Cor grumbled.

“There were no signs of pastries in his apartment,” Rusty said. “I checked the fridge, just to see if maybe we were off on the whole dinner theory, but aside from beer, soda, and condiments, it’s empty. No pastries in the freezer, either, just ice cream and frozen breakfast sandwiches.”

“No way he ate three dozen pastries without puking his guts out, so they had to go somewhere,” Cor grumbled.

“If we can figure out where, that might give us a better idea of what the hell he’s up to,” Cage said. “Let’s roll.”

They took off on their snowmobiles, looking for Flame’s distinctive, cherry red one with flames painted along the sides and front, where they surrounded the Howling Devil’s emblem. Rusty had given him shit about how cliché it was as soon as he’d seen the paint job Flame airbrushed on the machine himself. Now Rusty was grateful for Flame’s lack of originality because it would make the snowmobile easier to spot, provided he hadn’t deliberately stashed it.

Fuck.

He better not be curled up in bed wrapped around another wolf.

They combed the downtown area, dismounting several times to talk to different wolves, none of whom had seen Flame today. No sign of him at the rooming house, and none of the residents there had seen him either, not today, not last night, not in a few months, according to one of the wolves Rusty knew that his brother hung around with. Despite Cor saying that Flame had declined the invitation to join him at the bar, Rusty and Cage stopped in anyway, just to see if he’d slipped in later in the night and lingered near the back instead of joining the others.

“Yeah, he stopped in last night,” Atlas said, “but he didn’t stick around. He just picked up the order he’d called in and told me he’d see me at the bonfire on Saturday.”

“How big of an order?” Rusty asked.

“Family-sized carton of venison steaks cooked medium rare,” Atlas said. “Wanted all the trimmings as well as some of the new turkey rub I’d put together. I had everything waiting in an insulated bag when he pulled up, so he was only here for about two minutes.”

“Do you know where he took it?” Cage asked.

Atlas scratched behind his ear, making his long hair flop. “Naw, all he said was thanks, oh and then he asked if I had any good stakeout spots by the west bank where he could lay in wait for a flock of turkeys. I told him I’d bagged three out there just this week and told him where I’d caught them.”

“Thanks, man,” Rusty replied.

“Need me to shut the place down and help look?” Atlas asked. “Couple of the wolves in here have tabs, I’ll offer to clear them if they’ll join the hunt.”

“Thanks, Brutha,” Cage replied, “but let’s hold off on that right now. We’re not sure if he’s actually missing or just passed out somewhere, so the fewer involved in the search, the better. We start rallying too many troops and the council will have questions.”

“Which means Brooks will, regardless of if he’s our liaison or not anymore,” Atlas said.