Consolation Prize (Forbidden Men #9)(122)

Pick exited from the back hall, talking on a cell phone. “Thanks for the info,” he was saying, “I owe you one.” When he hung up, he set his arms on the countertop and sighed heavily.

“Anything?” I asked hopefully.

He was doing everything he could to find Julianna too, pulling strings and digging up information behind the scenes, even hiring a private investigator. One of his bartenders had been abducted; he took that personally.

“My guy has a lead on the guy Colton got into a fistfight with.”

I frowned and shook my head, confused. “The racist drunk?”

Pick nodded and pinched a spot on the bridge of his nose. “His name’s Fulton Seymour. He’s been arrested a few times in the last couple years for some minor hate crimes, mostly drunken arguments, vandalism, petty theft. But it started about four years ago after his mom was murdered…” He looked at me meaningfully before adding, “By a black guy.”

I sighed heavily, not liking where this was headed.

“He bonded out of jail about an hour before Julianna disappeared.”

“Fuck,” I murmured, shaking my head. “Has anyone questioned him yet?”

“No one’s been able to locate him. He’s no longer living at his last known address. None of his friends know where he’s been staying and the orchard his family owned, about twenty miles outside town, was foreclosed about two years ago and is currently property of the bank.”

I ran my hands through my hair, relieved there was finally some kind of lead, and yet more frustrated and scared by what we’d learned. “Does Colton know any of this?”

Pick shook his head. “I don’t know what the point of telling him would be. If we can’t even find this Seymour guy, how could it help anything? I think it could only upset Colton more. Besides, who knows if he’s the one who took her or not.”

I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure if I agreed. If there’d been any kind of news about Sarah’s disappearance, I’d want to know every detail. It all just made me feel shittier.

Colton snapped at me more than he did anyone else, and he couldn’t look my way without glaring. He was pissed about the way I’d initially reacted to his relationship with Juli, and at the moment, I couldn’t blame him. But it all made me antsy and distressed. I wanted to do something for him—like find his Julianna—so he’d finally forgive me.

“I keep expecting her to walk through the doors for her shift,” Pick murmured, watching the waitresses set up tables for opening.

I nodded sadly. She’d been scheduled to work tonight, but I was filling in for her. For some reason, I thought it’d earn me a couple brownie points with Colton, but I don’t think he’d even noticed. I opened my mouth to ask what the chances were that she was still alive when the nightclub’s landline phone rang. We weren’t open yet and normally I’d let it ring through to voice mail, but I’d been answering every call coming in from every phone around me these last few days.

“Forbidden Nightclub. This is Brandt.”

At first, there was nothing, just some static, and then I thought I heard a faint sound.

“Hello?” I asked, my heart rate jerking with hope. Pick straightened, alerted to my reaction. His gaze pinned me with question. “Hello?” I said again.

The scratchy noise came again, but this time I swear it said my name.

It didn’t sound like her at all, but I still had to ask. “Julianna?”

Pick leaped over the counter to stand anxiously next to me.

Straining to hear, I pressed the phone harder against my ear. There was a hiccupping kind of sob, and then the person on the other end of the line began to cry.

“Julianna?” I said a little more urgently. “Is that you?”

“I…this was the only number I could remember,” the hoarse, faltering voice told me. “Should’ve called 911. Why didn’t I call 911? I can’t think. I should call nine…”

“Julianna.” Affecting my voice with a calm clarity I didn’t feel, I asked, “Where are you?”

“I don’t know.” The voice broke with either a bad connection, her inability to talk, or both. “Orchard,” I finally heard. “Country.”

“Okay.” I nodded, eager hope blooming inside me as I nodded. “That’s good. You’re at an orchard in the country.” I met Pick’s gaze meaningfully. “I think I know exactly where you are. We can find you. Are you okay?”

When she said, “No,” I shuddered, worried how Colton was going to deal with this.

“Just hang tight,” I told her, not sure what else to say. “I’m going to come get you.”

She began to cry again, and the only word I understood after that was, “Colton…”

“Yes, we’ll get Colton. You’ll see him soon. I swear. I’ll be right there.” Not wanting to hang up with her but ready to get where I needed to go, I tossed the phone to Pick.

He caught it easily and pressed it to his ear while I jumped over the bar and ran for the exit. I logged on to my phone as I jogged, typing Seymour, orchard, and Illinois into my map search as I went. Though it’d been closed for two years, I found that a Seymour Valley Apple Farm, located exactly eighteen miles outside Ellamore, was still registered as a place of business. I plugged in the driving directions and hopped into my truck.