Ben shook his head. “You still fill in at the bail bond agency. Can’t you track her down?”
“Yeah, well, she knows exactly how to prevent someone from doing that. Even worse, with her gone, my uncles don’t have anyone, including me, who can do more than a standard trace. She’s the one with the talent.”
“Dumb fucks, pushing her into quitting.”
“They’re starting to figure that out.” Travis pulled out his wallet and set a business card on the counter. “If you can think of where she might be, no matter how unlikely, I’d appreciate a call.” A muscle in his cheek jumped. “When she was little, she’d hide in her room when she was hurt, but she’s not home. Or anywhere. She’s never just…left.”
Ben straightened, feeling the need to go search for her himself. Only she wasn’t his problem now, was she? They weren’t together. At all. She’d dumped him for the little shit.
Travis was still waiting and Ben scowled. Yeah, she’d kicked him to the curb, but not until after he’d said he couldn’t take the heat. Total goatfuck. And she’d lost her job and fought with her dad.
He sighed. No one knew better than him how all her toughness sheltered a frighteningly tender heart. Dammit, Anne, dammit. Where are you?
“I’ll call you if I figure something out.” Ben stuck his hand out. “If you’ll promise to let me know if you find her first.”
Travis took his hand. “You’re going to hunt, too?”
“Fuck, yeah.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Trying to keep her mind empty, Anne closed her eyes and let the masseur work the knots out of her shoulders.
Almost a week had gone by as she’d lounged by the pleasantly energetic Atlantic coast, sampled every spa treatment, ignored the alcohol, and indulged in rich desserts. Could a baby be born addicted to caramel?
In between eating and swimming and reading…she moped.
Days had passed, yet her family dinner, then Shadowlands blowup, seemed to have happened last night. She still felt as though she’d just driven across Florida and checked into a St. Augustine hotel.
She’d run away. Hadn’t even packed her phone. No orderly retreat for her—she’d totally fled the field of battle.
Then again, she always had when it came to emotional upheavals. During confrontations, she’d go nose to nose. But afterward…she’d hide out until her emotions settled.
She was getting there. Soon. Really. As soon as she could breathe without hurting, she’d return to her life.
But…she could still see the pain in Ben’s eyes. Hear his anger. “Thanks for the taste.” Her fingers curled into—
“Stop that. Relax,” the masseur murmured. His low voice was as even as a river stone with the edges sanded smooth. Nothing like Ben’s rough voice with the faint New York bite.
I want Ben. When her eyes prickled with tears, she inhaled through her nose, fighting them back.
The masseur sighed, covered her up, and rubbed her shoulder lightly. “Rest and when you’re ready, pull on the robe and enjoy the steam room. I’ll leave a glass of water outside the room for you. Drink it all.”
“Thank you, Marc. Nice massage.”
He huffed. “Hardly. You kept undoing my efforts.” His gaze roamed over her face. “It’s tough to move on from the past sometimes. I’d be happy to help with that as well.”
The offer was polite and careful. And she wasn’t interested in the least. “You’re very kind. But I’m returning home tomorrow.”
He tilted his head in acceptance. “In that case, I’ll simply say, it’s been a pleasure.”
“For me, as well.”
An hour later, lacking any motivation to do…anything…she lingered on the deck outside the hotel restaurant. Her supper dishes had been cleared away, and the cheerful waitress had brought her a cup of herb tea.
Past the lush tropical landscaping was a long expanse of white sandy beach. Waves rolled in, high and foamy, with a grumbling roar never heard on the Gulf. The Atlantic Ocean was so much bigger, so much more powerful. Like the difference between the masseur and Ben.
No. Not going there.
She rested her bare foot on the adjacent chair and studied her pedicure. Her toenails were dark blue with tiny glittering stars, like a night sky.
During her days here, her body had been refreshed, pampered, and decorated. Physically, she felt well enough she had trouble believing she was pregnant. Well, except when she lay down on a massage table and realized her breasts were uncomfortably larger and more tender. Or when some scent would make her want to heave. Or when an emotion would yank her along like a riptide.