Famished - Meghan O'Flynn (learn to read books TXT) 📗

Petrosky knocked before he could change his mind. Biting, midnight wind whistled from the lake and around the monstrous concrete building. There were no sounds coming from inside the house.

Either these walls are really thick, or no one’s home.

“Wait for me, Boss!” Morrison ran up the steps.

“I thought you were waiting in the car before you got fired.”

“I figured you could use the moral support. Plus, there’s always Cali.”

“You mean California?”

The door opened. A tall, dark-haired man, presumably Dominic Harwick, looked the detectives up and down. He wore only a pair of silk pajama pants, his bare, washboard abs glinting in the porch light. Another gym rat, like Morrison. Petrosky sighed.

“Can I help you?” Harwick stifled a yawn.

Petrosky showed his badge. “I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, but we’re looking for a man who works for your company.”

“Officers, I have thousands of employees. Surely you don’t think I can keep track of—”

“We believe Hannah Montgomery knows him personally, and this was the forwarding address given at her apartment. Is she available?”

“She’s resting.” Harwick paused, then opened the door wider. “Come in, and I will get her.” He glanced down at their shoes, thick with snow.

Petrosky knocked the snow off on the stoop, Morrison followed suit, and they squeaked into the biggest living room Petrosky had ever seen.

“Can I offer you gentlemen something? Coffee, perhaps?”

“No thank you, sir.”

Harwick gestured to a set of enormous leather couches. “Make yourselves comfortable. I will be right back.” He walked to the back of the room and disappeared through an archway at the far corner.

Morrison goggled. “Holy shit, this place is crazy!”

“Looks like Hannah is moving up. A few months ago she was dating our suspect and now—”

Petrosky stopped talking as a striking blonde in a blue silk robe emerged from the back hallway. She strode to the couch and sat across from them, posture erect.

“Evening, ma’am,” Morrison said.

“Evening.”

Petrosky did a double take. “Ms. Montgomery?” Some detective he was. His head swam. Maybe it was the shot of Jack he’d had when Morrison got out of the car to piss, but he didn’t think so. This wasn’t normal. She wasn’t normal. People don’t just change, not like that. If there was a magic formula to boost someone’s self-esteem and quell anxiety overnight, McCallum would be out of a fucking job.

“Oh, yeah.” She touched a blond curl. Her face shone. “I changed my hair.” She looked at Petrosky. “What can I do for you?”

“James Clark is wanted for questioning. Do you have any idea where he might be?”

Now her face paled. “Is this about the murders? Jake?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She twisted the hem of her robe in her fist. “I…oh my god, no, I mean, I haven’t seen him. Jesus.”

“Is everything okay here?” Harwick marched toward them, and Petrosky’s hackles rose.

“Yes, sir,” Morrison said.

“When was the last time you spoke to him?” Petrosky asked her. “If you have any idea where he might be, any information at all…it’s important that we locate him.”

She twisted her robe harder, the fabric tightening against her thigh like a coiled snake. Harwick sat beside her and put his hand on her knee, gently stroking her with his thumb until she dropped the hem of her robe. Her shoulders relaxed. “I have no idea where he is.” Her voice was soft, but crisp, without a trace of the anxiety they had just witnessed.

Harwick must be one hell of a goddamn guy. Not that it took much to be more stable than her ex. Montgomery looked at Harwick, expectant, as if waiting for him to make everything all better. Petrosky’s eyes narrowed. Then again, being too dependent was how abusive relationships got started. And she was vulnerable to that abusive bullshit if her relationship with Campbell was any indication.

Petrosky eyed Harwick. Harwick watched Montgomery, hand still on her leg.

Protective, or possessive?

Montgomery shot to her feet, and Petrosky reared back on the couch. “Wait! Noelle might know. She was going out with Thomas tonight.”

She padded into the kitchen and returned with her cell phone at her ear. “—it’s really important. Okay, bye.” She sat and leaned against Harwick, phone in hand. “I had to leave a message.”

Petrosky held out his business card as he and Morrison stood. “If you think of anything else—”

Harwick took the card. “Detectives, if he shows up for work on Monday, I will have security bring him down and detain him. Do you have any reason to think he would show up here?”

Petrosky hesitated.

“No, sir,” Morrison said.

Montgomery put her head against Harwick’s shoulder.

It’s more than happiness, Petrosky thought. She knows she’s safe.

If only I could have given Julie that kind of security.

But feeling safe doesn’t actually mean you are safe.

Petrosky’s stomach churned, acid rising until it felt like it was burning a hole straight through to his heart.

Harwick led them to the front door. “Thank you for your diligence. I hope you find him soon.”

Suave motherfucker. “I hope so too, sir.”

The door clicked shut. Petrosky paused on the porch, listening for anything amiss—a scream from inside or a subtle thud. But there was only the wind, howling around his ears. Maybe Harwick really was a decent guy. Maybe she really was secure and comfortable and happy.

Morrison snickered as they climbed into the car. “It really is amazing what a rich guy can do for a woman.”

Petrosky jerked his cigarette pack from the console. “No wonder my ex-wife left.”

“I thought she married a construction worker.”

“Thanks a lot, dude.”