Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Roman prowled around the living area like a caged panther, running his fingers through his hair for what seemed like the hundredth time since Rutland and the medic had left ten minutes ago.
The wound on the back of his head had been cleaned, but he had refused to go to the hospital as they had suggested.
He tried to stay out of the way as a few officers milled around the small house, lifting prints and analyzing the scene.
A sick sense of helplessness rose up as his gaze landed once more on the overturned furniture and broken lamp.
Every second that passed without word of Irina was pure agony, and he was ready to scream.
His phone rang, and he snatched it from his back pocket, already sliding his thumb over the screen before the caller’s name registered. “Yeah?” he barked out.
“Sorenson is a no-go,” Knox replied.
Roman let out a swift curse. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Callahan’s got him under surveillance, and he says the guy hasn't left his house all afternoon.”
Who else could it be?
“I've reached out to Phelps to see if he has any new information,” Knox said. “He did tell me that analysis on the handwriting came back, and they've officially ruled out Sorenson writing the three threatening letters.”
Roman's heart hit the floor around his feet. “So we're definitely looking for someone else then.”
“Looks that way,” Knox replied grimly. “His prints were found on the love letters, and all seven of those were postmarked from the same place. The other three letters show no trace of fingerprints, partial or otherwise, and each was postmarked from a different location.”
He thought on that for a second. Someone was definitely trying to cover their tracks.
“We need to figure out who else may have a grudge against her,” Knox continued. “Any ideas?”
Roman frowned at the question. Looking at it objectively, he had to admit that there were probably several people out there who despised Irina on principle, whether they were in the music industry or just part of the general populace.
It was irrational for a normal person to hold that much of a grudge against Irina just for being popular and successful, but stranger things had happened.
Jealousy and inferiority fueled all kinds of negative feelings which could bubble to the surface.
“Not off the top of my head. Anything on social media?” he questioned.
“Nothing out of the ordinary that Taylor has found,” Knox replied. “But that's kind of like searching for a needle in a haystack. Her assistant handles all of her stuff, right?”
Roman nodded. “I believe so.”
“Let's reach out to her and see if she’s seen or heard anything strange and go from there. She may even know someone who might wish Ms. Sterling harm.”
“I can't imagine. I think the police have already questioned her.”
“Never know,” Knox said. “Sometimes people think of things after the fact.”
“Fair enough. I'll try to get a hold of her and get some answers.”
He hoped Aster would be able to help as he clicked over to his contacts and dialed her number.
He waited impatiently as it rang several times, then rolled over to voicemail.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and unease slithered through him.
It wasn't like Aster to not answer her phone.
In fact, he didn't think he'd ever seen her without it in hand.
Unease quickly turned to alarm as his second phone call went unanswered.
He dialed a third time, grimacing as it too went to voicemail. What if something had happened to her, too? Disconnecting the call, he tapped Knox’s number, and Knox answered on the second ring. “What’d you find out?”
“I can’t get a hold of Aster. Can we get someone over there to check on her?”
There was a beat of silence on Knox's end. “Are you sure we should be chasing that right now?”
Anger engulfed Roman. “If someone thought Aster knew where Irina was, what’s to say they didn’t go after her, too?”
“All right, I’ll get someone on it,” Knox promised. “Keep trying her and see if she’s just tied up.”
Roman made a face. It was a poor choice of words, considering the mental images flashing through his brain. “I can’t sit here with nothing to do. Tell me how we can find Irina.”
“I don’t know, Ink.” Knox’s voice was uncharacteristically softened by sympathy.
“Rutland will take care of it. I spoke with him just before you called back. He’s got the island locked down, so no one’s getting in or out without being checked over.
They’ve got guys on patrol, too. They’ll find her. ”
“Right.” Roman ended the call and dropped his chin to his chest. He wished he could be as confident as Knox sounded. But this was Irina they were talking about. His girl was missing, and he needed to find her before that crazy idiot hurt her.
He swore he would find whoever was responsible for this—then he’d bring all kinds of hell down on them.