Page 41 of Lost and Found

He stretched his arms and completed the exercises his physical therapist assigned to keep his shoulder in good condition. The tight muscles weren’t just where he’d been shot. His chest ached. Wes crossed one arm over the other, then raised one arm overhead and tugged his elbow down. He did the same with the other arm. The tension in his chest remained even as he slipped into bed.

The next morning, the sun sliced around the blackout curtains and pulled him awake seconds before his alarm sounded. Wes ran a hand over his bare chest and massaged the knot of muscle and scar tissue in his upper arm. The hollow feeling that had bothered him last night had mostly faded. Though not entirely.

He reached for the hotel room phone to order breakfast. Just eggs and bacon. He’d skip the pancakes and grab an extra croissant at the bakery near Bailey’s office when he grabbed her one. With that plan and a cup of crappy hotel coffee, he was feeling better by the minute.

The quick commute made him anxious to get there, and after leaving the bakery with two croissants, Wes was more than ready to walk into Bailey’s office and have a real cup of coffee. His phone vibrated with a text message.

Dean: The bio major was missing his glasses. Call me.

Wes moved his laptop bag to his good shoulder, shifted the bakery bag into the other hand, and called before climbing the stairs to her office.

“Glasses aren’t the same thing as watches. Am I missing something?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Something you don’t know. Another gay man was strangled in his apartment several years later. The only thing missing…? Got any guesses?”

“Glasses?”

“Bingo.”

“Then what the hell does that mean for Caitie Flanagan?”

“Nothing as far as I can tell. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t stumble upon something else. Cases have been solved from weirder coincidences.”

“We’ll look into it.” Wes ended the call and reached Bailey’s office. He stared at the nameplate on the door. The Missing Piece. That’s all they needed to find. Sometimes it was as simple as someone noticing a pattern. Three distinct watches might not be a pattern; gay men missing glasses might not be either, but Wes wouldn’t ignore information even if it wasn’t what he and Bailey were hoping to find.

The door was locked. He grinned and knocked. Bailey appeared in the narrow window beside the door, smiling as she waved and unlocked it. His chest tightened, semi-reminiscent of the heavy feeling from last night, and Wes held up the bakery bag. “I come bearing gifts.”

“You’re so good to me,” she crooned, reaching for it.

Wes snagged it overhead. “Coffee?”

“As if I’d leave you in the lurch like that.” She jumped for the bag.

He lowered his hand just enough for her to snag it the second time she leaped.

“Thank you, Wes.”

Her singsong voice ran down his spine. “It’s only fair.”

She handed him his coffee. He followed her to the conference table and noticed that she’d been there for a while. “What time do you drop Matt off at camp?”

“Seven forty-five. I’m here by eight.”

Why did he think she arrived after nine? “I’ll be here by eight, too.”

“You don’t have to do that—what are you doing?”

He’d picked up her coffee cup. His was significantly hotter than hers. She’d made a separate trip for him. Wes set her cup down. “Nothing.”

The lightest pink hue colored her cheeks. Bailey twisted away from his stare and heaved up a banker box labeled Natalie O’Malley. That was one of the boxes from their earlier research. Wes stepped back. “What are you doing with that?”

She popped the lid and selected a folder from the top of the stack. “Natalie was found behind a dumpster in an alley—”

“I know where Natalie was found.” His molars clamped. The case triggered him. He had no problem admitting that. “That’s not what we’re dealing with, and I’m not going back there.”

“Sexually assaulted. Strangled with her stockings.”

“I know.”