Inevitable Detour (7 page)

“I’ll let it go,” I murmur.

“No more questions,” he says.

I nod again. “No more questions.”
Oh, please keep touching me
.

But he lowers his hand from my face, and like a spell that’s been broken, I open my eyes. After a long silence on both our parts, most of which, for me, is spent recovering, Farren says, “So, what about those calls? Do you have any you’d like to make?”

“Um, yeah”—I sigh—“I should call my parents.”

Farren nods an assent, but warns, “Don’t mention anything about Haven being gone.”

I frown. “I wasn’t planning to.”

“And don’t tell your parents how far away you may be traveling.”

My eyes meet his. “You don’t think we’ll find Haven in Indianapolis, do you?”

Pain flashes in eyes as vibrant and green as emeralds, and I have my answer—Indianapolis is just a starting point, a place to search for clues.

I take out my phone and sit on the bottom step. Farren goes outside to give me some privacy, and I then call my parents.

Regardless of his warning, I never intended to disclose all that has happened. But, because I am an adult—like Haven reminded me during our last night spent together—I do finally take a stand.

When I inform my mom I won’t be staying on campus this summer, which means no summer classes, she flips. “What the hell, Essa? Your father and I already told you no to New York City.”

“I’m not going to New York,” I calmly reply. It’s true.

Sounding confused, Mom says, “Where do you plan on spending the summer then, if not at school?”

Like there are no other options
, I think to myself with a roll of my eyes.

My silence results in my mother continuing. “Don’t even think about coming home for the summer.”

I wouldn’t.

“Your father and I are not going to put up with you lazing around the house.”

As if.

“Not when you could be doing something much more productive.”

Productive
? Wonder if searching for my missing best friend qualifies as productive? As far as I’m concerned, it’s sure as hell a lot more meaningful than taking classes I don’t even need. Bottom line, Haven is in danger and rescuing her trumps everything, including my parents’ priorities.

“I’ll be helping out a friend this summer,” I tell my mother. Another truth told.

She doesn’t ask for elaboration. All I get is a sigh and this: “Do what you want, Essa. But know that there will be repercussions come fall.”

The rent is paid up on the apartment until September, but I suspect said repercussions will include a move back to the dorms for me, just like I told Haven.

“Whatever,” I say, sighing. And then I add, “I have to go.” One final truth uttered.

I do have to go. I so very much do.

T
alking with my mom leaves me feeling kind of down, so I don’t have much to say as Farren and I walk to where he parked his car a few blocks away. I spend the time trying to distract myself by imagining what kind of fancy car he may have brought to Oakwood. Haven is always going on and on about how Farren loves expensive sports cars. He supposedly owns more than a few.

When Farren stops next to a white, boring midsized sedan, I am sorely disappointed. He laughs when he catches me frowning. “Expecting something different?” he asks. He turns away and pops open the trunk.

“Yeah,” I admit, hanging back. “I kind of was.”

His muscular body blocks my view of whatever he’s messing with in the trunk’s interior, but I’m cool with that. God, his ass looks amazing in blue jeans. I prefer that view to whatever is in the trunk.

“Like what?” he asks, back still turned, and oblivious to my ogling.

“Um, I don’t know”—I clear my throat and try to focus—“maybe something a little sportier.”

“Sportier?”

“Yeah, you know, like a Ferrari or something.”

Farren coughs out an amused laugh as he places my suitcase in the trunk. With ease, I take note as I watch his rather impressive arms flex.

He slams the trunk shut and turns back to me. “This is just a rental,” he explains, gesturing to the car. “We’ll be changing out vehicles every few hundred miles.” He starts toward the driver’s door and tosses out over his shoulder, “But, hey, I’ll work on getting us that Ferrari.”

I assume he’s joking and roll my eyes. But, damn, I like his witty retorts.

Yeah, you could say Farren is surpassing everything I ever dreamed he’d be. Even when he’s kind of a cocky smartass—which is often—I like him. In fact, I like that he’s not a pushover or some jerky college boy. I like that his face is stunning to look at, and I like that he has a body to drool over. I like his confidence; I like his style. And, truth is, I like that he’s a little dangerous…and a whole lot mysterious.

I just wish the circumstances that have brought us together could be different.

M
y arm is out the window, my hand swishing through the air. It may not be a sports car, but, damn, I’m making the most of the miles Farren and I are covering in the boring white sedan. We’ve been on the road for a few hours and most recently passed a sign indicating we’ve crossed in to the state of Ohio.

“Ooh”—I point to a lush, green field dotted with cattle—“check out those cows. Those two by the big oak tree over there are totally doing it.”

Farren hunches down to squint through the windshield to the spot I’m indicating. “Yep,” he agrees, “they sure are.”

And then, we both burst out laughing at the inanity of it all.

“Get a room,” I yell out the window.

Yeah, it’s stupid and silly, but I’m having fun. So far, I like traveling with Farren. He’s surprisingly easy to be around. Or maybe that’s just how he is with me. We seem to just kind of click. We haven’t said a whole lot, but that’s fine. Farren’s been busy driving, and I’ve been enjoying the sunshine and fresh air coming in through the lowered windows. My arm has been out the passenger-side window more often than not. I now pull it back in and glance down at my black shorts and hot-pink tank top layered over a black bra. I hold my arms out in front of me, side-by-side. My right arm is clearly tanner than my left.

Just for the heck of it, and in the interest of an even tan, I ask Farren, “Do I get to drive at some point?”

Farren shrugs his wide shoulders. “I’ll think about it,” he replies.

His tone is light and teasing, so I mumble “smartass,” and then take a playful swat at his hand on the steering wheel. He’s way too fast, though, and I end up tapping the wheel and not him.

When he laughs, I playfully warn, “I’ll get you next time.”

He replies, “Good luck with that.”

I have a feeling he’s right. His reflexes are fast, far quicker than mine.

A few minutes later, we begin to pass a long line of trucks. The road noise becomes unbearable with the windows down so I hit the control to raise them. Without taking his eyes off the road, Farren turns on the air conditioning. I smile over at him, and when he feels my gaze on him he glances my way and smiles back. It’s too hot in the car when the windows are up, so we’ve devised this synchronized routine—alternating between fresh air and AC, me on window duty, and Farren in charge of interior climate control.

“We have a good system,” I remark, just to see what Farren will say.

He doesn’t look over at me again, but his lips curve up into a grin, and then he replies, “We do.”

A few minutes later, I pull my left knee up, place my foot flat on the seat, and rest my cheek against my knee cap. This position affords me a comfortable, resting view of all the farmland and countryside we’re passing.

“You sure are enjoying yourself, Essa,” Farren says.

I lift my head and turn to him. “I am enjoying myself.” I then explain why. “It’s because I’ve never been anywhere.”

“Not even to Ohio?”

“No, this is the first time I’ve ever left the state of Pennsylvania.”

“You’re kidding me.” Farren sounds surprised. And why wouldn’t he be? I’m a twenty-two-year-old woman, not a child. I’m sure he figured I’d traveled at least a little bit before today.

But I haven’t. This is a first.

I try to explain to Farren, “Yeah, my parents were never into traveling.”

“No family vacations?” he asks.

“Nope.” I sigh. “They were always too busy working, and when they had time off they preferred to stay home.”

“What about you?” Farren asks. “You could always travel with friends, or by yourself even.”

“I guess I’ve always been too afraid to go anywhere by myself,” I admit. “And none of my friends have ever invited me to go anywhere with them.”
Except for when Haven asked me to come to New York City this summer
, I think, but don’t add.

“Well, you’re traveling now,” Farren says quietly.

“True. And I can totally count this as traveling with a friend, right?” I pause, and hurriedly add, “I don’t mean to assume anything, Farren.”

He looks over at me. “Of course I’m your friend, Essa.”

I mark that point in time—this is the moment my friendship with Farren Shaw officially begins.

A little while later the subject of family arises when Farren asks, “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No, it’s just me.”

I almost add that Haven is like a sister, but I’m hesitant to say something so presumptuous to her only sibling. I don’t want to intrude on their relationship. Farren and Haven are exceptionally close, thanks to their rough childhood. I can’t even imagine what it was like, having their father disappear forever. There one day and then gone the next. And then, a few years passed and they lost their mother in a car accident. How terrible. My parents are a pain, yes, but I do love them. Sure, they’re tough on me, but that’s just their way. I know they ultimately want the best for me. Unfortunately, they just don’t always know what that is. Not that I’m all that sure either, but I’m trying to figure it out.

Suddenly, something up ahead catches my attention—a really odd building that’s in the shape of a giant basket. And when I say giant, I mean huge. It dominates the flat surrounding countryside.

“Damn, I wish I had my phone,” I say longingly as we pass the basket building. “That would have been a great pic.”

Farren doesn’t acknowledge my phone comment, but he does smile over at me.

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh, come on,” I urge.

“Okay, okay.” He laughs. “It’s just your enthusiasm is reminding me that I need to try harder to savor the little things when I travel.” He frowns, though he still manages to look gorgeous, even when he adds sourly, “Not that the places I go to are much worth remembering.”

“Is it because those trips are for work?” I venture.

“Yeah,” Farren mutters, “something like that.”

I clear my throat and softly inquire, “Where all have you traveled to?”

“All over,” he says. “You name it, I’ve probably been there.”

“What about recently? Where have you gone?”

“Well,” he says slowly. “I spent some time in South America last month. And before that I was in Thailand.”

I twist in my seat, stretching out the seat belt so I can face Farren more directly. “Wow, I’ve always heard those places are beautiful.”

Staring straight ahead, and in a low tone, he replies, “The parts of those countries I was in were far from pretty, Essalin.”

Hmm
…

I settle back in my seat. If I wasn’t convinced before, I’m convinced now that whatever Farren’s job is, it’s shady. Hell, he’s done nothing to dispel my earlier assertions that his sister’s disappearance is somehow connected to his work. That let-it-go comment was far from reassuring.

Both of us grow quiet, and like the sudden mood in the car, things outside start to cloud up.

“Looks like rain up ahead,” I observe.

“Yeah,” Farren replies, sounding distracted. “It sure does.”

Fat, squishy droplets begin to pelt the windshield, and then it starts to pour.

With the rain ominously pounding in the background, Farren asks, “So, the two men at the bar—Eric and Vincent—how did they approach you and my sister?”

“Um, they didn’t,” I admit. “
We
went to where they were seated.”

Farren’s gaze slides sharply to me, his green eyes flashing. “What made you go to them? You both had to have realized they weren’t students.”

“Um, that was kind of the appeal.” With heated cheeks, and a fair amount of cringing, I explain to Farren how his sister was urging me to “try out” an older man.

“And what would make her encourage you to do something like that?” he wants to know.

“Um, maybe because she’s had experience with one,” I offer.

Farren shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Please tell me this wasn’t something she pursued regularly.”

“Well…” I scrunch up my face. I so don’t want to have this discussion.

But when Farren says “Essa” in a chastising voice, I fess up. “Okay, okay. Haven likes older men. There, I said it. Are you happy now?”

He shakes his head. “Not particularly.”

I hasten to add, “There is a reason, though.”

“A reason for what?” he asks flatly.

“A reason for why she was so willing to approach Eric and Vincent Friday night at the bar.”