Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1)(12)

No way.

I consider contacting Haven’s aunt, but I know in my heart that she doesn’t care what happens to Haven, not really. She’d probably just feel bothered if I were to call. It’s sad, but true.

I discard that plan immediately, and instead I try to contact Farren. Only problem is that the number Haven gave to me—for emergencies—is no longer in service.

“What next?” I ask myself on Monday morning.

Forty-eight hours have passed since Haven went missing. I’ve always heard the more time that passes the less chance there is of finding the person who’s missing.

Well, that is not an option.

With the town of Oakwood more or less empty, I climb into my little rust bucket of a car and embark on my own investigation. In the interest of self-protection, in case Eric and Vincent decide to return to take me too, my first stop is at a convenience store. There, I buy a container of pepper spray to put on my key chain. I’d rather be safe than sorry.

Next stop is Se?or Frog’s. Sadly, I have no luck in finding any answers there. None of the employees who were working Friday night recall the two strange men. They don’t even remember me and Haven.

“Thanks, anyway,” I say dejectedly as I leave.

Discouraged, but determined, I drive over to the part of town where all the hotels and motels are located. I’m hoping to find out if Eric and Vincent stayed in any of them. But, again, no one knows anything. Maybe the two men did just drive in on Friday. But why would they bother to come to a place like Oakwood? Were they looking to hook up with two college girls? Recalling their stares, I question whether they specifically planned to meet us. Or, more specifically, was their plan to meet Haven?

I shudder.

Why in the world would Haven Shaw be a target?

On my way back to the apartment, I consider that the men may have been lying about many things. Perhaps they weren’t even from New York. Why, though, would Eric say such a thing if it wasn’t true? Looking back at our interaction with the men Friday night I find it flat-out weird. Like how New York was so easily injected into the conversation. It’s like the men knew all along that by saying they were from New York City it would appeal to Haven. Was Eric’s intent to make her trust them by creating a bond with her? Eric certainly had her attention, and the mention of New York seemed to seal the deal.

“Oh, Haven, where are you?” I whisper as I park in front of our apartment.

Where would Eric and Vincent take Haven? And why would they abduct her in the first place? These are my thoughts as I lock up my car, and then slowly climb the stairs leading to the second floor. When I reach the door to our apartment, I take out my key and slide it into the lock.

As soon as I step inside, I know something is off. I sense I am not alone in the apartment. Slowly, I flip the safety switch on my newly acquired pepper spray. Attaching it to my key chain directly after buying it was a damn smart move.

But I have no time for self-congratulations, as I hear faint noises coming from Haven’s bedroom. It sounds as if drawers are being opened and closed. Quietly, I tiptoe over to the door to her room. For a minute, I feel elation. Maybe Haven has returned. Maybe she’s the person opening and closing the drawers. I want so badly for that to be true that I start to call out her name. But then a sigh emanates from the room, a clearly male sigh.

My mouth snaps shut. Hope turns to fear.

My hearts starts to pound as I debate whether to run or confront whoever has broken into the apartment. Every instinct urges me to take off, get the hell out of the apartment. But if I run, I will probably never find out who was on the other side of the door. On the other hand, if I stay, I am potentially placing myself in harm’s way. What if Eric or Vincent has returned? Worse yet, what if both men are behind the door? Even if that’s the case, this may be my only chance to find out where my friend is.

So I stay.

I step closer to the door and find it’s not completely closed. It’s slightly ajar, but the crack is far too narrow for me to peek in and see who’s on the other side. Shit.

Uncertain, I stand completely still and just listen.

There’s more movement in the room, someone walking around. I conclude from the single set of steps that there’s only one man in the room. Since I’ve not yet been discovered, it seems the element of surprise is on my side. Maybe I can take this guy out with my new weapon.

Emboldened, I push the door open slowly. Very, very slowly. At the same time, I raise the can of pepper spray to what I assume will be eye level for this breaking-in mofo. When there’s enough space for me to slip through, I quickly and quietly duck into the room.

Instantly, a hand, a very strong hand, covers my raised one, the one holding the spray canister. Uh-oh, I’m screwed.

Ouch! One sharp squeeze and I drop my only weapon.

The intruder is standing behind me. How did he so quickly get from one end of the room to the other? I swear his steps sounded not anywhere near the door.

I twist my hand from the man’s grasp and start to scream, “Help—” But the man quickly covers my mouth.

From behind me, he leans down and whispers in my ear, “Settle down, Essalin.”

Huh? This man—who happens to smell amazingly good—knows me?

Slowly, my nice-smelling assailant removes his hand from my mouth. I spin around to face him. And when I recognize the face—a face far more gorgeous than in pictures—I squeak out, “Farren?”