Hush (Black Lotus #3)(24)

This particular flight was based out of a large hub in Dallas, so the plane is comprised of passengers from all over the States. I star the ones that have a home address in Illinois, but truth is, he’s most likely somewhere else if he’s hiding out.

My eyes strain against the glow of the laptop in the dark room, but I keep going, entering in the next name: Dennis Lowery

“What are you doing?”

Declan’s voice startles me, and when he flicks on the lights, I shield my eyes for a moment as they adjust to the brightness.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

He walks over to me, rounding the desk to see what I’m up to, and when I look up at him, he’s annoyed.

“I told you to wait until the morning.”

“I know, I—”

“What? Want to give yourself another anxiety attack, because let me tell you something, that episode you experienced earlier . . .” His words falter, and I can tell how much my panic attack affected him. “You can’t treat your body like this. You’re worn down and sleep deprived.”

“Then help me, because I won’t be able to sleep knowing that I’m holding his name in my hand. The last time I was this close to him was twenty-three years ago. How am I supposed to sleep? How am I supposed to be patient?”

Raking his hand through his sleep-tousled hair, he releases a heavy breath and succumbs to my eagerness. “Will you start a pot of water for coffee?”

Relieved and grateful for his help, I jump up and let him take a seat, then head to the kitchen to fill the kettle and grind the beans for the French press. I move around the kitchen and gather a few things for the coffee tray. When the kettle whistles, I pour the water into the glass carafe and over the grounds.

I walk back into the office and set the tray down on the desk.

“Come here, darling,” Declan says, voice still scratchy with sleep.

He pulls me onto his lap and continues working. I smile down at him, comforted to know his need to be close to me. His fingers type away, entering another name into the search engine, and then he transfers the details into the spreadsheet I’ve been putting the information in.

“Is there something in particular you’ve been looking for?” he asks.

“No. I was just getting the addresses and phone numbers and seeing if I recognize any of their listed relatives.”

“If he’s changed his name and is hiding, I doubt you’re going to come across anyone from his past.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “You’re probably right.”

I reach over and pick up a mug from the tray and push the press down to pour his coffee.

“Thanks.” He takes a sip and then adds, “There are a few large business-oriented social networking sites for professionals online. We can search all the names through those databases. Most profiles contain pictures.”

I grab my phone, anxious to find the man I’ve been dreaming about my whole life. “Give me the name of one of those sites. I’ll search while you’re finishing up with the contact information.”

Seconds later, I’m on the world’s largest business network, punching in the names, starting at the top of the list.

The incessant ticking of the clock greets the sun as it rises behind the cloud-covered sky. I look over from the couch I’m now sitting on to Declan who has just finished the last of his coffee while still at his desk. Sounds of the clock, tapping keys on the laptop, and raindrops plopping against the window are the only noises in the room.

“How are you holding up?”

“There’s nothing,” I respond in frustration. “Half of these people aren’t even on these sites, and the ones that are, half of those don’t even have a profile picture.”

“I’m hitting dead ends myself.”

Although I feel defeated, I’m not hopeless, because it’s always been my dad who’s kept that hope alive when I wanted to give up. Even if it were only a miniscule piece of hope that remained in my heart, I couldn’t let it go, and that strength to hang on was always for him.

“I’ve got to take a break,” Declan eventually says, pushing his chair back from his desk. He rubs his eyes, and I can see the reddened fatigue in them. He holds out his hand for me, saying, “Come on. You need a break too.”

“I can’t.”

“Elizabeth, put the phone down. You’re going to tire yourself out to the point you’ll make yourself sick. If you want to find him, you need to get some rest so your body doesn’t give out on you.”

“But—”

“It isn’t a request, Elizabeth,” he states firmly, and it isn’t meant to be a test of his authority, but rather a display of concern for me.

It’s clear I worry him, so I don’t protest again. I take his hand and allow him to lead me back to bed. He curls his body around mine as I lie with my back to his chest, but I never fall asleep. My mind won’t quiet down enough for me to relax. Memories flood, playing reels of my past: tea parties, bedtime stories, scratchy beard kisses, and scooter rides around the neighborhood. He’s so vivid in my head, his eyes were unnaturally bright, and his smile . . . just the thought pricks my heart in needling pains.

Quiet tears slip out and roll onto the pillow beneath my head, and I wonder if he had been looking for me during the years I wasn’t me. Did he just give up when I was living as Nina? Does he know that I devoted so many years of my life to destroying the man who destroyed him? Does he want to find me as much as I want to find him?