Gone (Deadly Secrets #2)(63)
She laughed as he kissed her. And when her laughter turned to a sigh and her lips became greedy, he sighed too because he’d finally been given a second chance.
No matter what happened with their investigation, no matter what happened with Emma, he promised himself he wouldn’t mess this chance up.
All Alec had wanted to do the next morning was stay in bed and show Raegan how much he loved her with his hands and mouth and body. But her boss had texted and told her she needed to come into the station to go over her research, and since that boss was the one who’d given Raegan the nudge about these missing-child cases, Alec had reluctantly let her go.
He pushed the drugstore door open and smiled as he remembered the way Raegan had brushed her lips against his when he’d dropped her off at her station. Her kiss had been filled with so much promise, his whole body had tingled. He couldn’t wait for her to kiss him again like that. Couldn’t wait to show her just how incredible that made him feel.
The brown paper bag crinkled in his hand as he slipped on his sunglasses, crossed to his truck, and tossed the bag inside. He hadn’t made it to the drugstore last night for the condoms now in the bag. Hadn’t wanted to leave Raegan for even five minutes. Instead, they’d used his last one and then gotten creative with their hands and mouths. Of course, it had been insanely hot and completely satisfying, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted her in the shower, on her bed, against the wall, on the couch . . . His whole body tingled, as he thought about taking her on the floor in the entryway just as he’d done the night he’d come home from that assignment in Afghanistan, so desperate to touch her that they’d barely had time to close the door before they’d ripped each others’ clothes off.
He hit the lock button on his fob, shoved the keys into his pocket, and pulled out his phone as he crossed the street toward the coffee shop on the opposite corner, feeling hopeful for the first time in years. Hopeful about his life and where it was headed, hopeful about his relationship with Raegan, hopeful even about finding their daughter.
His chest both tightened and warmed when he thought of that stuffed animal, when he thought of Emma. Raegan was right. This was the best lead they’d had in years. They weren’t going to give up until they found her.
He dialed, held the phone to his ear, and shoved one hand in the front pocket of his jeans as he moved down the block.
Hunt answered on the second ring. “Was just about to call you, dipshit.”
“My ESPN is on point today, then.”
Hunt laughed at the old joke, but his humor faded quickly when he said, “So Gilbert seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth.”
Alec’s mood took a serious nosedive at just the mention of the man who’d tried like hell to ruin his life. “He hasn’t checked in with his probation officer?”
“Nope. No one’s seen him. I’m checking in with his old acquaintances, but so far I’ve got nothin’. Was the FBI able to match that note on Raegan’s car to his handwriting?”
“Not yet.”
“Of course not yet, because shit doesn’t go down that fast in real life, only on TV.”
Alec really wasn’t in the mood to get into Hunt’s ongoing prejudice against Hollywood. “What about Murray? Did you find out anything about his accident? Or what he was doing before it happened?”
“Yeah.” Paper shuffled, and Alec imagined Hunt shoving aside folders and piles on his mess of a desk to find the scrap of paper where he’d jotted his notes. “I tracked his movements prior to the accident. He left work around five thirty p.m., stopped at a drugstore downtown, then headed northeast and entered the”—more papers rustled—“the Children Are Our Future charity offices on Morris. He was there for thirty minutes before heading to the West Hills.”
Alec stopped at the corner and waited for the light to turn. “What’s Children Are Our Future?”
“It’s a youth-mentoring charity. They partner at-risk kids with adult volunteers in the community. Kind of a big brother–type thing, but they claim to only use professional, successful, business-minded mentors. Let me see, their website says, ‘Successful men and women in the community who have passed vigorous background checks and are committed to being a stable, positive role model destined to shape the minds of our future generations.’”
“That’s a tall order.”
“No shit.”
“And Murray was a volunteer mentor?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Who runs the charity?”
“Um . . . I’m still looking into that. There’s nothing on the site. You think this has something to do with your cases?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll give the charity a ring later to see what I can find out. What about the accident?”
“Looks like alcohol was a factor. After he left the charity, he stopped at a bar, was seen drinking inside over the next hour, then he left. Accident happened roughly twenty minutes after that.”
Maybe or maybe not. It was still way too coincidental that Murray had been involved in all three of these missing children’s cases and now he was dead only one day after Alec and Raegan had tried to talk to him.
The sign flashed “Walk,” and Alec stepped off the curb, following a man in a suit and a woman in a floral dress that was way too springy for Oregon in January. “Once they get the toxicology reports back, any chance you can snag them so I can take a look?”