Vic started, “When I find Matt—”
“Oh, we’ll find him,” she promised.
* * * *
Her resolve seemed to crumble when Vic opened thegate and the creak of rusty hinges filled the air. “This istrespassing, you know,” she informed him.
“I don’t see a sign,” Vic countered. He entered theyard without hesitation and started up the walk.
She hurried to keep up with him as they headed forthe front door of the house. “This is private property,” she said.“The purpose of the fence is to keep people out. The citizendoesn’t have to post—”
“So write me a ticket already,” Vic growled. “Juststop going on about it.”
The sidewalk cut a straight path from the roadthrough the trim grass to the broad concrete stoop that served as aporch. Ignoring the handful of stairs leading to the door, Vicjumped onto the stoop, but the officer’s heels clicked as she tookeach step. This close, an air of anticipation hung over them like ameniscus, as if the whole house held its breath, waiting to seewhat Vic would do. Officer Jones watched him warily, wondering thesame thing.
Vic tried the front door—locked. He wasn’t surprised.Three small windows sat up high near the top of the door; Vicraised himself up on his toes to peer inside. The hallway was darkand deserted, and looked as it had in his head when he’d probed thehouse with his mind. Though he knew it’d do no good, he stilltwisted the door knob in his fist, aware of how fragile the metalfelt in his grip. One good jerk would break open the lock, get himinside, but if Matt wasn’t even there, why bother?
Where the hell else could he be?
The answer lay inside the house, Vic just knewit. But he couldn’t tear off the front door and storm theplace—what if a neighbor were watching? Or if Jordan came back, sawthe door ajar, and kept on going? Vic would never know he’d losthis chance…
With a start, he remembered the garage. Following hislead, Officer Jones leapt off the stoop after him and troopedthrough the grass. Her hand never left her hip, where her holsterwas unsnapped, her gun ready to be drawn. “Look, Mr. Braunson—”
“Vic.” He stopped at the garage door and squatteddown to fit his hands into the space where the metal didn’t quitemeet the pavement. The door had been closed improperly, perhaps ina hurry, and had jumped its track.
“Vic,” she conceded, “look. This is breaking andentering. If you’re sure your boyfriend’s not in mortaldanger—”
“I never said he wasn’t.” The gap was narrower thanit appeared; Vic had to wiggle his fingers to work them beneath thedoor.
“But he’s not here,” Officer Jones triedagain. “Let’s go back to the station and file the necessarypaperwork for a search warrant, and I’ll put out an APB on yourfriend, and…”
Metal screamed out as Vic stood, arms strainingbeneath the weight of the door. He pushed past the resistance inhis own body, fighting against the human limitations that wanted tostrangle the lingering strength that came from Matt. For the firsttime in a long while, he was all too aware of his own weakness andjust how much he relied on what powers his lover imbued in him. Afamiliar energy surged through him, reinforcing the muscles thatstood out like cords in his biceps, his forearms, his neck.
He raised his arms, higher, higher, and themetal garage door crumpled like a tin can beneath his strength.
Beside him, Officer Jones stared, mouth open. Whenshe found her voice, it was tiny, awed. “You know this is breakingand entering.”
Vic flexed his hands, feeling the strength diffusethroughout his body. “We haven’t entered yet.”
Then he saw just why the door had been so hastilyclosed, and he knew he was close to finding Matt, becausehis lover’s black Jaguar sat parked in the darkness of Jordan’sgarage.
* * * *
Chapter 25
The door that led from the garage to the house wasalso locked. Vic hadn’t expected that. Six rectangular windows satin the top half of the door, through which he could see an emptykitchen as still and silent as the hallway beyond. Copper pots hungabove an island countertop, and a small bistro-style table took upone corner, hemmed in by four tall, high-back wooden chairs. Thesink was stainless steel and devoid of dishes, though a washclothhung over the spigot as if to dry. On the refrigerator were amyriad of sticky notes, and more were tacked to a corkboard by thedoorway that led to the rest of the house. Any one of those notesmight contain a number or an address, a clue to where he would findMatt. Seizing an old dirty rag from a nearby workbench, Vic toldOfficer Jones, “Stand clear.”
She obliged, then took a few extra steps back whenshe saw him wrap the rag around his fist. “I don’t think we shouldtouch anything…”
With a controlled swing of his arm, Vic punched outthe window closest to the door knob. The sound of shattering glassinterrupted her lecture.
She lowered her voice to an angry hiss. “Youshouldn’t have done that!”
“Oh,” Vic countered as he picked the larger pieces ofglass out of the wooden frame, “you had something else inmind?”
“I think we should leave,” she said. When Vic ignoredher and stuck his arm through the empty window to unlock the door,she sighed in disgust. “You’re going to slice off your hand.”
Vic groaned. Why had he brought her again? “Yes,mother.”
Beneath the rag, his fingers fumbled blindly over thedeadbolt, but when he twisted the bolt, it turned in his hand andthe door swung open beneath Vic’s weight. He stumbled into thekitchen, his shoes crunching over the glass, and felt somethingscrape along the inside of his wrist as he extracted his arm fromthe window frame. A sharp shard, stuck in the wood, sliced him likea razor. Before he could even feel the wound, blood welled up alongthe scrape. This was just what he needed—for her to be right.
When Officer
