Razed (Barnes Brothers #2)(82)

“It’s Gleason. Phil Gleason.”

Zach grabbed his pen, scrawled it down on the notepad he used for his sketches and notes. He drew a big block around it so he didn’t overlook it.

A shadow fell across him and he looked up, saw Travis studying the notepad before shifting his attention the phone. Zach wondered why but a quick glance gave him the answer. The caller ID. It had flashed up when he’d taken the call.

“Okay, Mr. Gleason.” Zach jotted down the number, underlined the area code. Did he know that one? He didn’t think so. “Just why do you think I might know this woman you’re looking for?”

“I’ve been looking for her a long time. My sources have led me to think she’s in the area, that you might have—might still be—employing her.” Gleason’s voice was carefully neutral now. Too careful.

Zach’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you just cut to the chase, Mr. Gleason?”

“Katherine is twenty-seven. She might have lied about her age. The name on her identification won’t be Katherine. She’s five feet nine inches tall and the last time she was seen, she was a hundred and thirty pounds. That might fluctuate some—she’s prone to depression and when she doesn’t eat, she loses some weight. She’s got a very fair complexion and her natural hair color is dark blonde, but it’s very likely she’s changed it. She does have rather unique eyes—one brown eye and one blue.”

Zach’s hand tightened on the pencil.

Keelie.

Son of a bitch.

Those first few years she’d come here, part of him had wondered if she was running from somebody. Just something about the way she’d acted, almost like she was looking over her shoulder—waiting for something.

He’d known, really.

But it didn’t matter.

Keelie was practically family. That mattered.

“I couldn’t say if I’ve seen her or not, Mr. Gleason,” he said, the lie coming easily. Whatever the bastard wanted her for, it wasn’t a happy mother/daughter reunion. The few times anybody asked about her family, Keelie would get a tight, cold look in her eyes and while Zach might not be super insightful, he knew that look.

He saw it on his wife’s face every time her mother was mentioned.

“What do you mean you can’t say if you’ve seen her or not?” For the first time, an edge crept into Gleason’s voice, slicing through that nice, slow drawl.

Zach smirked and settled back in his chair, propping his boots up on the edge of the desk. “Well, I mean just that. I’ve had this place open for several years now. I’ve had a couple of female employees, and hundreds of female clients. I can’t recall the number of women who’ve applied for jobs. In short, you’re not giving me enough information. Tall woman, brown hair, needs SPF 2000 when she goes outside. That could be one of a thousand women I’ve seen just this year alone.”

“You did hear me describe her eyes, didn’t you?”

“I did, yes. But again, there’s nothing standing out.” Zach grimaced and shoved a hand through his hair. “Look, I can talk to my employees and if this rings a bell, I’ll have them give you a call.”

“Perhaps you can give me their names and I can handle the calls myself.”

“Not happening.” Zach stood up, braced one hand on the desk.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Travis slip a piece of paper on the desk. In neat print, it read:

Private investigator. From Lexington, KY.

Zach shot Travis a narrow look. Travis flipped his phone over and Zach saw the search results. Travis had just googled the man’s name and number. Gleason was the only hit.

“Look, Mr. Barnes. I don’t think you understand my position—”

“I don’t care about your position,” Zach said, cutting him off. “I care about the privacy of my employees, and the privacy of those who come in and out of my shop. I’m not passing names off without so much as a by-your-leave. Now I think this conversation is over.”

Without waiting another second, he hung up the phone.

Travis studied him.

Zach ignored him and headed to his file cabinet. It was stuffed too full, crammed with information he should have gotten rid of years ago. It also needed to be replaced and he had plans of parting with it right about the time the world ended, or when the cabinet fell apart. He got attached to things. Like the file cabinet and its crazy designs that he’d do when he got bored or frustrated or distracted.

The bottom file bore a series of lotus blossoms, the kind he’d thought about inking onto Abby’s skin, more than once. Then he’d actually gotten to do it—temporary ink—but ink was ink and he’d had his hands all over her soft, naked flesh.

Crouching down, he made himself think about things not related to lotus blossoms and Abby naked. The files wedged in at the back were for his employees—not that Keelie was technically just an employee anymore, but as he lacked organizational skills, he knew the information he’d gotten when he hired her would still be in there.

He grabbed the fat folder and had to pry it out. The manila file ripped and he swore, gripping the pages together so they didn’t go flying as everything came free.

“You know, you really need to find some way to get some organization going.”

He shot Travis a dark look. “You need to find a way to keep your trap shut on how I run my business.” Rising, he used his boot to shut the file before heading back to his desk.