Lover Unleashed - J. R. Ward [20]
“God . . . damn it.”
The set of suitcases lined up on the floor were small, medium, and large—and the middle one was gone. So was a suit, given the bald hanger hanging in between the other jacket-and-slacks pairings.
He was off on a trip. Maybe for the weekend.
Without much hope, she dialed into the hospital’s system and paged him once more—
Her call waiting clicked in, and as she looked at the number, she cursed again.
Taking a deep breath, she answered, “Hey, V.”
“Nothing?”
“Not at the hospital or here at his condo.” The subtle growl coming over the connection amped up her going-nowhere rush. “And I checked the gym on the way up here as well.”
“I hacked into the St. Francis system and got his calendar.”
“Where is he?”
“All it said was that Goldberg is on call, true? Look, the sun’s set. I’ll be out of here in, like, a—”
“No, no . . . you stay with Payne. Ehlena’s great, but I think you should be there.”
There was a big pause, like he knew he was being held off. “Where to next for you?”
She gripped the phone and wondered who she should pray to. God? His mother? “I’m not sure. But I’ve paged him. Twice.”
“When you find him, call me and I’ll come pick you up.”
“I can get us home—”
“I’m not going to hurt him, Jane. I’m not incented to rip him apart.”
Yeah, but going by that cold tone of voice, she had to wonder whether the best-laid plans of mice and vampires, blah, blah, blah . . . She quite believed Manny would live to treat V’s twin. Afterward? She had her reservations—especially if things tanked in the OR.
“I’m going to wait here a little longer. Maybe he’ll show. Or call. If he doesn’t, I’m going to think of something else.”
In the long silence, she could practically feel a cold draft through the phone. Her mate did a lot of things well: fight, make love, deal with anything computer-based. Being forced into immobility? Not a core competency. In fact, it was guaranteed to make him mental.
Still, the fact that he didn’t trust her made her feel distant.
“Stay with your sister, Vishous,” she said in an even tone. “I’ll be in touch.”
Silence.
“Vishous. Hang up on me and go sit with her.”
He didn’t say anything further. Just cut the connection.
As she hit end on the phone, she cursed.
A split second later, she was dialing again, and the instant she heard a deep voice answer, she had to brush away a tear that for all its translucency was very, very real. “Butch,” she croaked. “I need your help.”
As what little was left of the sunset disappeared and night stamped its time card and took over the next shift, Manny’s car was supposed to have gone home. It was supposed to have driven itself straight into Caldwell proper.
Instead, he’d ended up on the southern edge of the city, where the trees were big and the stretches of grass outnumbered the asphalt acres ten to one.
Made sense. Cemeteries had to have good stretches of pliable earth, because it wasn’t like you could plug a coffin into concrete.
Well, guess you could—it was called a mausoleum.
Pine Grove Cemetery was open until ten p.m., its massive iron gates thrown wide and its countless wrought-iron street lamps glowing butter yellow along the maze of lanes. As he entered, he went to the right, the Porsche’s xenon headlights sweeping around and washing over stretches of grave markers and lawn.
The site he was drawn to was a beacon that ultimately signified nothing. There was no body buried at the foot of the granite headstone he was going to—there hadn’t been one to bury. No ashes to put in a canister, either—or at least none that you could be sure weren’t mostly those of an Audi that had caught on fire.
About a half a mile of roping turns later, he eased off the accelerator and let the car glide to a stop. As far as he could tell, he was the only one in the whole cemetery, and that was just fine with him. No reason for an audience.
As he got out, the cool air did nothing to clear his head, but it gave his lungs something to do as he inhaled deeply and walked over the scratchy spring grass. He was careful not to step on any of the