Chapter 11
11
CLARK
M om always makes me swear to keep my phone close by when I’m working, in case I ever injured myself. It’s usually in the charger by the door, but today I keep it right near me just in case Elena needs something.
Then I fall completely into the zone. The scent of fresh cut wood is calming, as is the feeling of the soft, fresh planks under my rough skin. The way the pieces fit together perfectly. Like me and Elena.
Jeez. There I go with the mushy again.
Several hours later, my head jerks up and checks the clock. Damn. I’ve gotten a lot done.
Checking my phone, there’s no message from Elena. Just as I began to send her a text asking how her day is going, the phone rings.
It’s Barrett – a local woodsman and occasional beer buddy. “Hey, what’s up?”
“I hate to bother you when you’re probably working, Clark, but this might be important.”
“Go on.”
“I was just downtown, and there were three guys searching for a woman named Elena. Isn’t that the name of the new server at Jim’s? I heard someone say they saw the two of you together at Betty’s Bistro the other night.”
“Three guys?” I ask, shutting down the power tools.
“Yeah. One of them was that Lawney guy – you know him? I’m not even sure what town he’s from, maybe Pinesley, but he often seems to be floating around when there’s trouble.”
“Yeah, I know him,” I growl. Striding toward the house, I’m already roughing out a plan to take Elena to my parents’ cottage for a week to get her out of here. “And the other two?”
“Didn’t recognize them. One of them was quite a bit older.”
“Shit. Thanks. I have to go.”
“Need help? I could turn around and meet you downtown.”
“No, I’ve got it. Thanks.”
I burst into the house, remembering in the nick of time to not raise my voice when I call out. “Elena? Where are you, baby?”
Silence.
Then I find her note in the kitchen. My hand is shaking as I clutch the paper, I’m so upset. I understand her not wanting to interrupt my work, but to leave the property alone?
My truck is tearing down the driveway in seconds. My sweet girl is so innocent. Too trusting. I don’t think she realizes how ruthless some men can be when they want something.
I’ve never been one to ask for help. Always self-sufficient. My life, my property, my business. Just me.
But this time, right after I pass the familiar house with the police car in the driveway, I make a call.
“Hey, Clark. That you tearing by just now like a bat out of hell?”
“Yeah. The girl I’m…” How the hell do I explain the situation quickly? Doesn’t matter. “Pretty sure my girlfriend’s asshole father is slinking around downtown looking for her. If I find him, I’ll need him booked for stalking – or you might have to call an ambulance, by the time I’m done with him. Don’t know yet.”
I hear a shuffle, probably him grabbing his jacket. “Got it. On my way.”
After a few curving stretches of the road where I, thankfully, don’t encounter a slow-moving tractor, my foot flattens the gas pedal on the next straightaway.
If that bastard makes my precious girl nervous for even a split-second, I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold it together.