“But you’re still not satisfied.”
“She’s not here. All that means is I need to keep looking. I need an address,” I continued. “I’ll do an Internet search on Amy Dawsons in the Vegas area and start looking there, but those are going to primarily be Amy Dawsons with traditional phone service, and my Amy wouldn’t bother with anything but her cell phone.”
“Which she isn’t answering.”
“Thus the worry,” I agreed. “She could have lost it. Run out of money to pay for it. Have run off to Mexico with a hot guy and is ignoring it. But …” I trailed off with a shrug.
“Have you talked to her old landlord?”
“No,” I admitted. “Amy is a text and email kind of girl. She never got around to sending her friends an actual mailing address.” I sighed. “And tracking her isn’t easy. She didn’t subscribe to magazines, doesn’t have health insurance. She doesn’t own a car.”
“Easy for a girl like that to fall off the grid.”
“Very,” I said. I started to once again ask for a job at Destiny—I wanted to get to know the girls who had been Amy’s friends—but Tyler spoke first.
“Well, come on, then,” he said. “Let’s go take a look at her old apartment.”
Chapter Seven
Her apartment was just a few blocks away, and Red—who must have picked Tyler up three seconds after he dropped me off—drove us there.
It was just past eleven at night now, but that didn’t give Tyler pause. The apartment was a crappy converted house, in which the original foyer had been converted to a lobby of sorts. At the end of the foyer, a new wall had been installed, and beside the single door was a small, yellow buzzer beside a speaker.
Tyler push the button. Waited. Pushed it again.
“What the fucking hell,” crackled a voice. “It’s the fucking middle of the fucking night.”
“Has Amy Dawson’s room been rented?”
“You interested?” The voice was now much more conciliatory.
“Possibly.”
The speaker went from static to dead. A moment later, the door opened and an old man with eyebrows that resembled caterpillars opened the door. He wore a ratty flannel bathrobe and gestured us inside.
“First floor. Back here.” He led us back, opened the door.
The room was about as depressing as I’d ever seen. Not much more than a converted closet with no windows. “Cheapest unit we got,” the old man said.
“Did she tell you she was moving?” I asked. “Leave a forwarding?”
“No forwarding. Just said she’d got a job in Vegas.”
I looked around. There was nothing in the place, not even debris. “You clean?”
“Nah, she did. Wanted her deposit back. Gave it to her, too, so don’t start giving me shit.”
I stared him down. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” I met Tyler’s eyes. “So she packed up, cleaned up, and hit the road. But she didn’t tell you where?” I asked the old man. “Did she take a taxi to the bus station? Rent a car?”
“No idea. ’Cept someone was driving her. Saw that much at least.”
“Who?”
“Saw the car, not the driver.” He glanced into the room. “You’re not really interested, are you?”
“Sorry,” Tyler said, then handed him a twenty. “Sorry for waking you.”
“Someone went to Vegas with her,” I said. “Or at least drove her to the bus stop. The girls at Destiny might know who.”
“They might,” he said as we walked back to where Red stood holding the door open. “But we’ll talk about it later. That’s enough for one night.”
He was right, I thought, as I slid into the back seat beside him. My worry for Amy was fast fading, but as I shifted in my seat to look at Tyler, I couldn’t help but think of Kevin’s allegations—that these guys were into all sorts of shit. And, for better or for worse, I wanted to know if it was true.
We drove in silence for a while—Tyler received some texts that he needed to answer, and I took the opportunity to email Candy and tell her that it was looking more and more like Amy was alive and well and kicking up her heels in Vegas. Then I used the browser on my phone to start searching for Amy Dawsons in the Vegas area. There weren’t many, and I’d start making calls in the morning.
When we finally reached the part of Chicago I recognized—down by the Magnificent Mile—I tucked my phone away and frowned at the scenery. “We’re going the wrong direction,” I said.
Tyler put his phone down and followed my gaze. “No,” he said. “We’re not.”
“This is the way to Pilson?” I asked, mentioning my neighborhood.
“It’s one way,” he said. “But we’re not going to your apartment.”
I raised a brow. “No? What happened to telling Red my address. Me being ready tomorrow. All that big production about putting me in the back of this car?”
“One, it’s now past midnight so it is tomorrow. And two, things have changed,” he said, glancing meaningfully at me. “And I’ve changed my mind.”
Amused, I leaned back. “So where are we going?” I asked, but I didn’t really need to. Red was already maneuvering the Lexus in front of The Drake.
“What if I just want to go home,” I asked, as he opened the door for me.
“I’d say no.”
“Oh.” I considered that. Considered my very visceral reaction to his words. We’d thrown each other off-kilter at Destiny. But now … now Tyler was most definitely the one in control.
He held out his hand for me. I hesitated only the slightest of instants, then took it and allowed him to lead me inside the hotel and up the stairs toward the lobby.
“I hope your room’s close,” I said lightly, determined to steady myself. “It’ll be nice to kick off these heels.”
He glanced down toward the foot I had helpfully extended to show off the seriously uncomfortable strappy sandals and shiny new pedicure. “Lovely. But I might prefer you keep them on,” he added, and there was no mistaking the heat in his voice. “Everything else can go.”
Oh, my. So much for getting steady. He’d very soundly knocked me off balance again. I licked my lips. “Is that a particular fetish, Mr. Sharp?”
“A rather common one, I believe.” We were near the lobby’s plush couches, and he gestured for me to sit. When I did, he took a seat next to me, then lifted one of my legs and rested my ankle on his thigh. My hem hit just above my knee, and I wore no stockings. Fingers of cool air crept under the folds of my dress, soothing my already overheated skin.