Page 79 of Wrecked By a Devil

When she doesn’t answer on the third call, I decide to call her roommate. “Hello?”

“Hey, Camila,” I speak. “It’s Riley.”

“Oh, hi! What’s up?”

“I’m calling because I was supposed to meet Mia after my shift ended,” I start explaining. “She’s not picking up her phone.”

“That’s strange,” I can hear the surprise in Camila’s voice. “It’s unlike her to not pick up the phone.”

“So you didn’t hear from her either?”

“No,” she answers. “We last talked when she left to meet with that guy for the job interview. She was really excited, but we haven’t talked since.”

“What time did she leave?” It takes all of my willpower not to panic.

“At 11:00, the meeting was at 11:30.”

I glance at my new watch. It’s almost 1 pm now. “Damn it.”

“Is everything okay? You sound worried?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But if you hear from her, please tell her to get in touch with me, or call me yourself.”

“I will,” she replies. “You too, let me know that she’s safe.”

“I will, thanks.”

I don’t like this.

I don’t want to rush to any conclusion and I hope I’m wrong. But from the moment Mia told me about her and Cohen, I couldn’t shake this feeling that he’s bad news. And the whole job interview in this neighborhood was the last straw.

The coffee shop where she was supposed to meet with this mysterious boss is only a few minutes from the hospital, so I decide to walk over there and see if anyone might have seen her. Before I leave, I send her a message, hoping that maybe I’ll have more luck with a text and she somehow miraculously responds.

“Hello,” The coffee shop is filled with people on their lunch break grabbing a quick snack. I scan the room for Mia but she’s nowhere to be seen. “Hi,” I approach the long bar, climbing into the tall stool. “I was supposed to meet with my best friend, she was here earlier …”

“Hi.” The bartender, a guy that doesn’t look much older than me, turns his attention from the coffee machine to me. “There are always a lot of people coming in and out of this place, I can’t really say if she’s here. You can look around.”

I raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore his offensive tone. “She’s not here,” I speak, keeping it cool. “And she’s not answering her phone.”

“Sorry,” he shrugs. “I can’t really help you, we don’t keep tabs on our customers.”

“Could you maybe take a look at her picture and see if you might recognize her?”

The bartender exchanges a look with someone behind me, and the next thing I know, a waiter in his early forties is leaning on the counter next to me with a polite and entirely fake smile on his face. “I’m the manager here. Maybe I can take a look at the picture?”

“Sure,” I pull out my phone and quickly find a photo of Mia in my gallery. “This is her, her name is Mia and she was supposed to meet with a guy for a job interview here. Have you seen her?”

Both men take their turns looking at the picture. A heartbeat later, the bartender shakes his head, while the manager is the one to speak. “I’m really sorry, we didn’t see this girl come in here today.”

“Are you sure?” I insist.

“One hundred percent,” The manager-slash-waiter continues. “Our usual crowd is much older, she would stand out in here.”

“We didn’t see her,” The bartender adds.

“Maybe you can take another look?—”

“Miss,” the manager interrupts me before I get to finish the sentence. “We have not seen your friend, she never came through this door. I’m sorry, we can’t help you.”