Page 4 of Lost and Found

“You’re a sadist.” That was the only explanation for why she asked him to do this.

“Oh, look at you complimenting me. Thanks, Wes.”

“Knock, knock,” Gage said as he walked by Wes. “You ready to roll?”

Vivian looked from Gage to Wes and back again. “Guess that depends on whether Wes will talk to Bailey Cosgrove and give the situation a chance.”

Gage snorted. “I see the conversation is going about as well as you expected.”

She pushed a piece of paper across her desk.

Jaw tight, Wes picked it up and read the address. “Northern Virginia?”

Vivian nodded. “It’ll take a couple hours to get there. Just enough time to turn that handsome frown upside down.”

Gage snickered.

Wes gave Gage a pointed look. “If Viv’s a sadist, then what does that make you?” Then pushed out of his chair. “Fine. I’ll track down Bailey.” And straighten everything out. By the end of the day, Bailey and Vivian would agree someone else should take this assignment.

Wes pulled into the shopping center parking lot and double-checked the address. He’d expected a home address. The last time they’d worked together, it had been in an office and recording studio in Bailey’s basement.

He parked between two minivans. Fast-casual and sit-down restaurants, a gym, a grocery store, and a bank anchored the suburban strip mall. He killed the ignition and jumped out of his truck, scanning the busy lot as he crossed. A glass door sandwiched between a nail salon and a pet groomer displayed the street number. The door swung open easily. No intercom. No security keypad. Nothing but the entryway into a generic commercial space. Clean but dingy. A path was worn into the tile floor, leading up the stairs to the next level.

He perused the list of office tenants and, amid insurance agents and chiropractors, found The Missing Piece Media, Bailey’s company named after her podcast, in a second-floor suite.

She’d outgrown her home office setup. He’d known she’d been successful. Try as he might to forget her, Wes still looked up true crime podcasts now and then. She often topped the list of well-recommended suggestions.

Again, he assessed the security. Or the lack thereof. The hallways were empty and accessible. No hiding spots for this simple, second-floor walk-up. He trudged up the stairs. Her office was the first door on the right. An insurance office sat to the left, with a welcome mat and a sign inviting you inside. Bailey had none of that, and other than the narrow strip of glass in the solid door, he couldn’t tell the unit was occupied.

Wes knocked. No one answered. The space couldn’t have been that large. Maybe he should’ve called, but Vivian hadn’t given him a phone number. Probably to keep him from trying to handle this with a quick call. Wes would wait for a ten count before bailing. If she didn’t answer, it was a sign from above to haul ass back to headquarters and announce they couldn’t meet. The door opened when he reached six, and there she was, Bailey Cosgrove, utterly surprised, beautiful, and a pain in his ass.

God, he didn’t want to see this woman. But his chest constricted as her light-blue eyes widened. Her long sundress swayed around the curve of her hips and danced around her legs. The fabric and his thudding heart were the only things that moved as they froze like statues, the past colliding with the present.

“Bailey.” He heard the gruffness in her name as though he didn’t want to say it. As though her name could build a wall between the motions she’d set off that had destroyed his life and the life he’d rebuilt from the rubble.

“I didn’t expect you,” she said, like he made her nervous. Like he made her think.

They’d been colleagues. Essentially coworkers. And then, boom, never to be seen again. Seeing her was like trying to situate an out-of-place memory. Like when a kid saw their teacher at the grocery store, or an ex from another time crossed paths in the present.

He towered over her. The flecks of hazel in her blue eyes were the same. Just as he remembered the caramel streaks in her brown hair, it didn’t feel like six years had slipped by, and this reunion didn’t feel the way he thought it would, but he didn’t know why. “Surprise.”

That one little word seemed to knock the air back into her lungs, and her lips curved. Not quite a smile, as if she wasn’t sure whether to let him in, but half-daring him to retreat. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Reasonable assumption. My options were limited.”

Again, the corners of her mouth tipped up, but this time with more humor than uncertainty. “In a way, I don’t really have a choice either, if it makes you feel better.”

“In a way?”

“You’re the guy. No one better to ask for help than you.”

“Flattery isn’t going to make up for what happened.” Maybe she was more beautiful than he remembered, and she’d been a knockout to start. A married knockout. So, he hadn’t really looked. Not that he was looking now. Sure as hell not noticing the ultra-feminine rise of her full breasts and her curvy body that a man would crawl over burning embers to grab onto. Fuck.

Wes cleared his throat. The way she looked wasn’t what he needed to focus on. He simply needed Bailey to agree with him: they shouldn’t work together.

Bailey didn’t invite him in, and as much as he hoped, she didn’t slam the door shut; instead, she hung onto it as a divider. Her lips pinched as she assessed whether to let him in.

“If you don’t want me here, Bailey, all you have to do is say the word, and I’m gone faster than you can say the Cosgrove family got me fired from the FBI.”