Bone Secrets 03 - Buried

exposing soft parts that he’d suspected were under that principal shell. And sexy, hot, roaring parts that a guy could only dream about.
    Jamie Jacobs was a keeper.
    Chuck waved at him, and Michael tossed back a greeting as he strode through the lobby and pounded up the creaking wood stairs. He didn’t want to stop to chat. He had one thing on his mind. Well, food and then one thing. Mouth watering, he fumbled to get his room key out of his shorts pocket and balance the food in one hand.
    The door swung inward as he pushed his key into the keyhole.
    Every sensor in his brain shot to high alert as he shoved the door completely open and stepped into the room. The empty room. He tossed the to-go boxes on the bed, scanning the small room. “Jamie?” The door to the bathroom was open. He checked the quiet shower.
    “Jamie?”
    Sweat started on the small of his back.
She just stepped out for a minute.
    He pushed aside the lace curtains of their window and scanned the hedged backyard. The rear gate in the hedge was open from the yard to the back alley, but the tables and chairs on the patio were empty. No tall women with long hair. All quiet.
    Too quiet.
    Michael thundered back down the stairs and into the lobby.
    “You seen Jamie?” He shot the question at Chuck, who was straightening a shelf of books. Michael’s chest heaved like he’d run a sprint. He slowed his breathing.
Christ. Keep your head on straight.
    Chuck stiffly turned his head. “No, she hasn’t come down that I’ve seen. She got a phone call a while back. I put it through to her room, and it didn’t ring back, so I assume someone answered up there.”
    “A call? Who was it? How long ago?” Michael barked.
    Chuck looked thoughtful. “Maybe twenty minutes. Maybe a little more. I can only tell you that it was a male voice, and he asked specifically for Jamie Jacobs.”
    “Young voice? Old?” Michael’s heart was doing flip-flops.
    Chuck shrugged. “Neither?”
    “Where’s your phone system? It’ll show the number of who called.” Michael started for the man’s office.
    Chuck chortled. “I ain’t got one of those fancy phone systems. Just the basics.”
    Michael froze. “No caller ID?”
Seriously?
    “Nope. None of that call-waiting stuff either. Always thought that was kinda rude.”
    Michael exhaled. “And she hasn’t been downstairs?”
    “I’ve been in and out of the back. I mighta missed her if she went through.”
    “You were here when I left twenty minutes ago.”
    Chuck nodded. “I’ve been doing some paperwork in the office. I try to keep an ear out for people coming through, but I don’t hear footsteps so well these days. That’s why I’ve got the bell on the desk.”
    Michael swallowed hard and scanned the room. The lobby was the old living room and dining room of the former house, with the reception desk tucked in the corner farthest from the front door. A small kitchen and Chuck’s office were through the swinging door across the room. Horses could have prancedthrough the lobby and Chuck would have missed it if he’d been in the office.
    “Mind if I look in the kitchen?” Michael pushed through the swinging door before Chuck could reply. A quick look in the adjacent office and the neat kitchen confirmed no Jamie. Sure enough, Chuck’s phone looked straight out of the 1970s. Michael strode out the front door and stood on the wide wraparound porch, seeking any sign of her. Nothing. He stepped back inside and nearly ran over Chuck.
    “What’s wrong, son? You look like you’re ready to strangle a cat.”
    “I can’t find her.”
Understatement.
    “Well. She can’t have gone far. There’s nowhere to go,” Chuck said reasonably.
    Michael shook his head. “No. She was waiting for me. She wouldn’t have left.” He checked the time. “I need to call Sheriff Spencer. This isn’t right.” He left Chuck standing in the lobby and pounded up the stairs. “Would you ask your first-floor guests if they’ve seen her?” he shouted back to Chuck.
    Michael’s bedroom door was still open. He looked inside again, hoping…still empty. He whirled around, moved into the hallway, and pounded on the other three doors in the hall, not waiting for someone to answer each one. One door opened and a middle-aged woman with thick eyeglasses glanced out. She reminded Michael of an owl.
    “Chuck?” she asked.
    “Chuck’s downstairs.” Michael gestured at his open door. “I’m staying next door, and I’m looking