Seek

  Seek

  A Solstice Novel

  Mia Sheridan

  Seek

  Copyright © 2018 by Mia Sheridan.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Permission by the author must be granted before any part of this book can be used for advertising purposes. This includes the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Find

  Prologue - More Than Words

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Karma Montoya.

  PROLOGUE

  "Here," my uncle snapped, shoving a burlap sack with a small weight at the bottom into my arms. "Find somewhere for it."

  It? I folded back a corner of the rough material, looking inside. A pair of round, whiskey-colored eyes peered back at me.

  "Reminds me of you, little half-breed boy," my uncle said, a cruel edge to his tone, a mocking laugh erupting from his barrel-shaped chest.

  "Half-wit," my cousin sneered as he walked past, purposely stirring up dust in his wake. Anger and shame raced through me. I wanted to pound my cousin's pudgy face into the dirt. But I knew what would happen if I did. My uncle would pound me twice as hard and twice as long. Sometimes it was worth it, but today . . . today my hands were full.

  I adjusted the sack in my arms and the burlap fell open, revealing a small puppy. Half his face was brown and half white, a clear line dividing the two sides. Little half-breed boy. I regarded him curiously and he stared back with liquid eyes.

  Squatting, I placed the sack on the ground and the puppy scampered out, his little tail wagging so hard and fast, it was causing his whole backside to shake from side to side. A smile tugged at my mouth.

  The kick came swift and hard, the puppy letting out a yelp of pain as his body flew backward, landing against the side of the toolshed with a soft thump. My stomach dropped but I held my ground instead of taking the instinctive step toward the dog that I'd almost taken.

  "Gonna have to toughen him up," my uncle said, scratching the place where the hem of his shirt rose, revealing a roll of stomach fat, before turning and walking away.

  I moved toward the puppy who was now cowering against the dilapidated structure. He lifted his eyes slowly, his head still hung. He peeked at me cautiously for a moment before his tiny nubbin tail began thumping against the wood of the shed once more, head rising. I hesitated, looking back in the direction my uncle and cousin had gone before scooping the puppy back into my arms. He wiggled against me, licking the underside of my jaw.

  "He's right, you know," I whispered. "You're gonna have to toughen up. Fight or die, that's how it works around here."

  The puppy's tail thumped faster against my chest, his warm, fat body squirming in delight as I held him close.

  "Stop that," I instructed in my sternest voice, looking him in the eye and baring my teeth, letting out a low growl meant to scare him.

  His tail thumped harder, faster, and he barked, a tiny, high-pitched sound of puppy joy. I sighed, screwing up my face as he licked my mouth, my cheek. I considered what to do with him, finally taking him into the shed with me where I lay down on the musty cot in the corner. "Don't get used to this," I muttered, but the puppy's tail only wagged harder.

  Apparently tired from all the rigorous tail wagging, his warm body snuggled against me and he let out a huge yawn. As I watched his eyes fall closed, I frowned, a strange feeling tightening my chest, something that felt warm and unfamiliar, something that felt both good and . . . dangerous.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Olivia

  I didn't think I'd ever felt as out of place in my life. My knee bounced as I took a quick sip of my beer, attempting to appear relaxed, attempting to blend. Yeah right. Because I was nervous, twitchy, the beer sloshed as I drank, dribbling down my chin. Nice. I swiped my finger upward, bringing the drips to my mouth and running my tongue over my lip. God, I don’t even like beer. But I resisted a grimace in reaction to the watery bitterness, stealing a glance around at the ale-swilling clientele. One quick look told me I'd only call more attention to myself by ordering the glass of sauvignon blanc I really wanted.

  He'd told me to wear blue, and I'd chosen a cerulean silk. I'd assumed he had specified the color in order to pick me out of the crowd. But what I should have considered was the fact that this particular shade of blue would make me stick out like a sore thumb in certain locations such as this dive bar where the color of choice seemed to be black and the preferred material, leather. Too late now.

  The glass felt cool in my grip as I wrapped my fingers around it, anchoring myself in some small way. I perused the crowd quickly once more, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to me. Wear a blue shirt, he'd said. Check. And wait at the bar. Check. So where was he? I smoothed my skirt, crossing my legs. How long should I wait before I officially considered myself stood up?

  God, the story of my life. Stood up, jilted, thrown away, left behind. I forced my spine straight, disliking the self-piteous direction of my thoughts.

  The sound of pool balls being broken in the back caught my attention, and as I watched, a man bent over the table and made a shot. When I turned forward again, someone was sitting at the previously empty bar stool next to me wearing a black baseball cap, his face mostly in darkness.

  "Olivia Barton." My heart quickened. I recognized the deep, slightly gravelly voice from the phone call earlier that day.

  "Yes. Are you—?"

  "Yup." He signaled the bartender, who lifted his chin in acknowledgment and began moving our way. The man in the cap reached into the bowl of peanuts on the bar and threw back a handful, chewing slowly.

  I pressed my lips together, annoyed by this stranger's casual—almost bored—demeanor when I was practically coming out of my skin. "I've been waiting. You're late," I accused.

  The bartender approached, and the man ordered a beer and then turned to me, nodding at my glass. "Why don't you order what you really want," he said, completely ignoring my statement about his tardiness.

  I blinked down at my half-full glass and then back at him. "Uh—"

  "White wine?" he guessed.

  "Sauvignon blanc."

  One eyebrow gave the barest hint of a lift. "A glass of your best white wine," he said to the bartender who nodded and turned away. What the heck?

  "Find it okay?"

  "The bar? Yes, I followed my GPS. Is all the cloak and dagger really necessary?" I used my arm to do a small wave around the darkened bar. "The job I'm hiring you for is perfectly legitimate."

  I swore I saw the barest lift of his lips, and I tilted my head, attempting to see him better. The details of his face were lost in the low lighting and the shadows cast by his cap, so I only gained the impression of hard angles and masculine lines. His beer was slid in front of him, a glass of wine placed before me, and the man nodded to the bartender, tossing a twenty on the bar. He took a drink of his beer, his throat moving as he swallowed, and I took a quick sip of my wine. This bar's "
best" white wine was cheap and overly sweet, but better than the beer I'd been drinking previously, and I took another appreciative sip.

  "No cloak and dagger. But in my line of business, you can never be too careful, you understand?" He threw back another handful of nuts.

  "Then you should consider not eating those. Do you know how many dirty hands have probably been in there?" I wrinkled my nose, nodding to the bowl of peanuts.

  He chewed, swallowed. "Ms. Barton, If I'm going to lead you into a ruined, dangerous part of Colombia, you'd better hope I'm not worried about a few germs on peanuts." He took another long drink of his beer before looking at me again. His eyes didn't appear to move, but I had the strange feeling he took me in from head to toe nonetheless. My skin tingled as if responding to the places his gaze had touched.

  I frowned, unsettled by this stranger. "Anyway"—I cleared my throat—"you mentioned on the phone we'd talk in person. What do you need to know?"

  He paused the barest fraction of a moment. "Your fiancé give you any indication he was thinking of skipping out on you?"

  "What? No. Like what?"

  He turned his head, staring ahead again as he shrugged. "You'd be the one with the feminine intuition. Any intuition things were heading south?"

  Heading south. Literally. To Colombia as a matter of fact. I almost laughed because of the nerves bubbling in my blood. I took a deep breath and shook my head though he wasn't looking at me. "No. Things seemed fine. Good. Everything was normal. We had been discussing wedding plans the morning he left . . ." I trailed off, remembering that Monday two months before, picturing Alec shaving as I'd leaned against the sink and asked him if he liked peonies. "Darlin'," he'd said, "if I knew what a peony was, I'd give you my opinion on them." I'd laughed, and he had shot me a boyish grin, white foam still dotting his jaw. My heart stuttered at the memory. That morning now seemed like a distant dream, one you swore was real but woke from to find was nothing more than the sleepy meanderings of your own mind.

  "Where did he tell you he was going?"

  "Miami. He had business meetings there. He was only supposed to be gone a week, and when he didn't return on Sunday night, I started calling his cell phone. When he still hadn't called me back by Tuesday morning, I called the police." My heart felt heavy as I recalled those days—the panic I'd felt when I realized he was missing, the places my mind had gone . . . picturing him in ditches, lying dead in some alley.

  "How many times did you talk to him during that week?"

  "None." I shook my head. I knew he'd consider it unusual that I hadn't talked to my fiancé the entire week he'd been gone. "We rarely spoke when he went away on business trips. His work was his focus, with early mornings and late nights. He texted me when he arrived, letting me know he'd gotten there safely, and I didn't talk to him after that."

  The man paused for a moment, but I didn't fill the silence with an explanation. That wasn't any of his business. Frankly, I'd always liked the times when Alec had been busy with his job and we'd have a small break from each other. I loved the anticipation of seeing him after he'd been away as it spiced things up when he returned.

  "Did you call any of his coworkers to find out if he was really there?"

  "No. Alec is an independent contractor. I didn't ask the name of the people he was meeting with. Something about . . . software design . . . that's all I knew. The police told me he didn’t check in to the hotel he was supposed to be staying at. As far as they’re concerned, he was never in Miami at all. When the police came to a dead end, I hired a private investigator."

  "Who tracked him to Colombia."

  "Yes."

  "Any idea why he might have gone there without telling you?"

  "No." I frowned. I wasn't sure that this man, who I'd hired to help me get to Colombia—to Alec—needed to know all the details I'd garnered from the PI or not. All he really needed to know was where I was going. Then again, I figured he probably knew most of what I was telling him and was simply asking me to verify.

  When the PI I'd hired had tracked Alec to an oceanside town in Colombia that had recently been ravaged by an earthquake, followed closely on the heels by a massive tsunami, I'd asked him to help me find someone to take me there. He'd initially told me he didn't know anyone who took on that sort of job, but that he'd put the word out. I hadn't been overly hopeful, but then I'd received a phone call from this man telling me to meet him at this dimly lit bar in a questionable neighborhood.

  "You sure he wants to be found?"

  My chest tightened, and I picked at the label on the beer bottle next to my glass. "No," I admitted, on a whisper. That was the crux of this risk. No, he might not want to be found. He might be exactly where he wanted to be. But I just . . . I just couldn't believe it. Maybe it was only wishful thinking, maybe I was a complete fool, but what if . . . what if he wanted to get back to me, but couldn't? What if he was injured? What if he thought— I shook my head, forcing myself to stop the aimless questions bouncing around in my head. The same questions that had kept me from a full night's sleep for almost two months now. There was only one way to find the answers, and that's what I needed to do.

  "Anyway, I appreciate your willingness to take this job." I paused. "I can manage it alone if I have to . . . I think . . . but with the damage from the earthquake making travel difficult and being unfamiliar with the area, not knowing the language very well . . . all those things would really slow me down, and I can't afford that."

  The man turned back to me, quiet for a moment. "Truth is, I normally wouldn't take your job, but so happens I've got business in the area where you're wanting to go. I'm fluent in Spanish. And money's money. But we'll have to go over some rules before we leave."

  "Rules?"

  "Yeah, rules. We'll be heading into an area ripe with crime. With the earthquake and tsunami having caused so much devastation, and taking down outside communication, it'll be even more dangerous. When the lights go out, that's when cockroaches appear."

  "Cockroaches? Oh. Well, you're the expert. That's why I need you . . . am hiring you, so whatever you say goes. As long as you get me to Palomino, that's all I care about."

  "And if things don't turn out the way you're hoping they will?"

  Meaning, if Alec dismisses me, tells me he doesn't want me, that I'm an idiot. I gave a shake of my head. "I don't know. Will you be able to take me back if . . . need be?"

  The man glanced at me again just as the door opened and street lights shone in the bar, hitting his face momentarily. The pale gray of his eyes stunned me and my own widened, just as the door slammed shut, casting him in shadows again. But I'd seen enough to know that his face was handsome but harsh, something . . . dangerous looking about the set of his eyes, the slash of his mouth, the lines and hollows of his features. He was sharp edges and steely gray. A blade. Despite myself, I felt a chill move down my spine.

  "No, I won't be able to take you back. You'll be on your own once we get to Palomino."

  Oh. I chewed at my lip. I could only pray that things with Alec were . . . explainable, and if he was there, we'd wait until the airports were open again and fly home together. God, please. That or I'd find a place to stay and then fly home alone once I was able to. Surely there would be a room to rent somewhere close by. It was another risk, but, really, what was one more? "That's okay then. As long as you can get me there, I'll figure out the way home."

  The way home.

  The man gave a quick shrug of his shoulders but didn't comment.

  "Oh," I said, reaching inside my purse in my lap. "I have the money." I took out the envelope I'd placed cash inside and began handing it to him but pulled it back. "How do I know you won't just disappear with this?"

  "You don't," he said smoothly. I chewed at my lip for a moment. God, what was I doing? Hiring a man I knew nothing about, handing over a large sum of money to someone for a job the results of which held no guarantees. I extended my arm again, offering him the envelope. This was the only way. I had
no other options. "The rest my lawyer will wire you upon completion of the job, as soon as I'm able to get word to him. I'll just need your account number and bank information. I'm good for it. You can trust me."

  I looked over at him and he looked amused for a moment before his expression went blank again. I felt heat rise in my neck. Of course he didn't trust me, or he didn't care if he could trust me or not. If I didn't pay him what I owed once the job was done, he'd probably murder me on principle.

  The man took the money, slipping it inside his jacket, and though I looked away, I felt his eyes burning into the side of my face as if his gaze expelled heat somehow. Ridiculous. It was just my blush, spreading, or I was off-kilter because of this whole situation. How had life brought me here?

  He grabbed a napkin and a pen from the edge of the bar, scrawled his account information, and handed the napkin to me. I took it, putting it in my purse. The man drained his beer, pushing the empty bottle away and standing. "I'll be in touch."

  "Wait, when?"

  "Soon. I have to make some arrangements. Your passport up to date?"

  "Yes."

  He nodded. "Good. Just pack light—a backpack and the smallest sleeping bag you can find. And be ready."

  Be ready? Sleeping bag? I opened my mouth to ask for more details. What arrangements? What was soon? But before I could utter a word, he'd turned and was headed for the door. He slipped through it without anyone even turning in his direction, as if he'd been nothing but a ghost only I could see. And I suddenly realized I still didn't know his name.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Thomas

  I watched Olivia Barton drive her white SUV into her garage, the door rolling down behind her vehicle. For a few minutes I sat in my truck down the block, watching the lights come on inside her house as she moved from room to room.

  I rested my foot on the ledge of the door and put my elbow on my raised knee, stroking my jaw as I waited.