Right now all that mattered anyway was Wallace.
I gripped the wheel tightly, trying not to think dark thoughts. This was my last chance. If we couldn't find him — if I never found out what happened to the man I loved — I didn't know how I could keep going. I had to, of course. You can't just give up even when the worst happens, not if you have a kid dependent on you. But I didn't know what I would do. I honestly didn't.
"You smell really sad," said Quinn quietly. I didn't reply. I had nothing positive to say, nothing helpful or informative. I fucking loved Wallace, and he was missing and probably hurt. How the hell was I supposed to smell?
We finally reached the closed-up club. I showed my badge to the cop on guard, and he nodded for us to go through. Quinn stepped cautiously around glass that had gotten broken and not swept up during the raid. Looked like cracked whiskey glass. It crunched under our feet.
The building felt spooky in the way empty places do, even though it had been busy not so long ago. It felt haunted and long empty, like something in a disaster movie. There were a few techs still working here and there, but not many. We moved around them without disturbing the dusting for fingerprints, bagging and tagging.
There lay the stage up ahead, where I'd been reliably informed (and in detail) that Wallace did some very sexy dances, including making out with another fox shifter. He'd been up on the stage multiple times. Seemed like a real pro, they'd said.
They'd definitely taken joy in letting me know, and implying my boyfriend was a slut. It had made my blood burn to think of them watching, smirking, judging — and other people watching with less critical eyes, jerking off to his beautiful body, calling explicit things.
I could never be happy that he'd agree to this. Even if he got out of it unscathed. He probably wouldn't like me getting possessive and bossy — would probably narrow his eyes at me, defy me, and do precisely what he wanted — but I was not giving in the next time he decided to do something dangerous. I would rather have a huge fight and try my best to stop him than just silently endure this kind of thing again.
He thought he was tough enough to handle anything. Well, he wasn't. He was only human. And fox. And my boyfriend.
I didn't want to see him get broken. If I got him back, I was going to take a hell of a lot better care of him, even if it meant pissing him off royally.If…
Quinn Green wrinkled his nose at whatever he smelled in the club. Couldn't blame him there, to be honest. "He was definitely here," he said.
Wait, was he turning his nose up atWallace'sscent?
"We'll check in the back," I muttered, stepping around a chair lying on its side. He followed me with a sniff of distaste.
Behind the scenes it was a rather depressing waiting area: a battered table, some chairs, a sagging couch. Half a donut sat in a box growing slowly stale. There was a weird blue stain on the ugly rug.
Quinn sniffed several times, swiveling his head to look around the room. He stood awkwardly with his hands jammed into the pockets of his ragged jeans, uncomfortable and edgy. "Lots of shifters here," he commented. "Bear. Foxes. Squirrel. Possum. Birds."
"Wallace?"
"Oh yes, him, too." He spoke in a distracted, unhappy voice, and moved away, wandering along the walls of the ugly room. He ran a hand along the fake wood paneling thoughtfully, stopping to sniff closely at a couple of boards.
"There are other rooms in the back," I told him. "You want to check them, too."
"Not particularly," he said, but he followed me. There were several grungy little back rooms well supplied with beds. One was almost bare. Another had sex toys, condoms, and lube. A third was outfitted with fetish gear and handcuffs.
"Blech. Someone should clean these rooms," he said, waving a hand in front of his face.
"Smells pretty strong, huh?" I agreed. "Not like Wallace, right?"
"No, not like him. More rooms in the back?" he said, heading back out into the hallway from the last room, sniffing the air cautiously.
"I don't think so. Just the back exit."
"Let me check."
I followed him, my heart beating madly. If he was going to find my dear partner stuffed in a cupboard lifeless somewhere...it would probably happen soon. Of course I didn't think that was going to happen; of course not. After all, they'd had a police dog go through already and it would have pointed out anything as obvious as a dead body.
But the thought still tormented my imagination: Wallace was here, somewhere, dead, and we'd never find him. Never know what happened or why.
"I do smell him here faintly," observed Quinn. "Sweat and fear. It ends at the door. They must've taken him out."
"So he's not buried dead in the walls."
I didn't realize I'd said it till he cast me a concerned look. "Come on. I'll check the parking lot in the back." I followed him out the door and wished for hope. I needed that, at least for now.
He strode around the parking lot, head down, taking deep breaths and looking intent. I let him work, trying to stay near enough to be some use without making him trip over me. Obviously I was anxious for answers, but crowding the rabbit wasn't going to find them for me.
