37. Antonio

37

Antonio

I’d spent a fruitless week searching New York. Tessa’s old college classmates, the few boyfriends she’d had...all the same people I’d questioned two years ago. And it had gone just the same as before.

I hated the little bitch. I’d wasted the best years of my life driving her to fucking band practice when I should have been doing real work for the family. Now, finally, she was gone. But just when I was making a name for myself I’d been pulled back to running around after her again.

When I found her, she was going to fucking pay.

There were precious few possibilities left, though. Her parents were dead and she’d been an only child. There was only one surviving relative and she was in a goddamn nursing home. I was almost certain that she would be a dead end, too.

“I’m here to see Abigail Oates,” I told the receptionist. “I’m her nephew.” I wasn’t even related to Tessa, Erico or the rest of the family, but I looked as if I could be.

She handed me the visitor’s book and, just as I’d expected, there were no entries on the preceding pages for Tessa’s grandmother. Just to be sure, I said, “I’m the only one who’s stopped in? My cousin hasn’t been by?”

The receptionist shook her head. “Nope. Mrs. Oates never gets any visitors.”

I sighed. A four hour fucking flight for nothing. I headed for the door.

“Wait—aren’t you visiting?” asked the receptionist.

“I changed my mind.”

I kicked open the door to the parking lot, which drew an angry shout from the receptionist. I was halfway to my rental car when I stopped.

Tessa pissed me off. Always had. Partially because of how I had to follow her around as if she was a fucking princess, partially because of how close she was to Erico—closer than I knew I’d ever get. She was family and I wasn’t. Hell, she’d tried to leave and he’d still taken her back in. If it had been my call, I would have killed her along with her prissy friend.

But however much I hated her, I had to admit she was smart. It takes brains to disappear completely, like she’d done.

I turned around and marched back into the care home.

“What now?” asked the receptionist glaring. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kick our—“

I held up a photo of Tessa. “Has this woman been here?” I demanded.

She balked, then lifted her chin and folded her arms defiantly. “We don’t give out information on visitors,” she sniffed .

I looked left and right. No one else was around. I vaulted the counter and muscled in on her, backing her up against the far wall. She dropped the tough girl act instantly, her eyes going wide with fear. “I—I’ll call the cops!” she bleated.

I grabbed the phone and pulled it out of the wall. Then I showed her the photo again. This time, I caught the recognition in her eyes. “Talk!” I snapped. “When did she come?”

“You’ve got it wrong! That’s Mr. Hanlow’s granddaughter. She comes every few months.”

I frowned. “Hanlow?” Who the fuck was Hanlow?

“He’s a resident,” the receptionist said. “Room 233.”

Then I got it. “And which room is Abigail Oates in?”

She checked. “232.”

Oh, clever, Tessa. Very clever.

I grabbed the visitor’s book. Mr. Hanlow had had a visitor just two days ago.

I jumped back over the counter and marched straight to 232. The receptionist would call security, or maybe the cops, but I had a few minutes before they arrived. And I only needed a few minutes.

The doors to the residents’ rooms were cheap, crappy things. I broke the thing open with one good kick. Tessa’s grandmother was sitting there doing a crossword puzzle.

“Oh my,” she said with a start. “Who are you?”

I frowned. Had there been a second of recognition, when she’d first seen me? Had she guessed who I was and why I was there...or was I just imagining it?

“Tessa,” I snapped. “Where is she?”

“Tessa!” she said happily. “Is she coming? I haven’t seen her in so long.”

“I know she was here! Where is she living?”

She frowned at me. “In New York, of course. Why, she must be starting school, by now.”

I groaned. Senile. Of course she was. She was in her eighties. She probably didn’t even know what day it was.

Unless...

I narrowed my eyes. Unless she was acting.

She smiled happily back at me, quite unafraid. “Would you like some tea?” she asked.

No. Not possible. Not at her age. I sighed and looked around. Tessa had been here, but I wasn’t going to be able to get anything useful out of her grandmother. And I only had a few minutes before the cops showed up.

I checked the wastepaper basket. Empty.

Then I saw something behind it. Someone had tossed a napkin and missed. I unfolded it without much hope.

Printed in the center was a cartoon gold prospector. Coffee or tea or something had blurred the name of some bar or restaurant below it, but I could read the last word of the address: Texas.