Click.
With great love, the tumblers release, the key holder’s hand shaking in exaltation as love turns, turns, turns and releases, Declan’s soul unlocking my own, reuniting what was once whole but has spent lifetimes seeking reunion.
Our eyes meet and our bodies fall away as he presses into me, affixing me in place, planting himself in the fertile ground of us.
We dissolve.
We merge.
We join.
And they shall become one flesh.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“She’s not answering her phone.”
“Neither is he.”
“We can’t leave without saying good-bye.”
“And I don’t want to leave without grinding it in a little more with Andrew.” Declan takes a sip of the latte he had delivered earlier and laughs, a loose sound of joy and victory. “Grind it in. Get it? And you’re right. This coffee is the best I’ve ever tasted.”
I groan. Now that he owns the damn company, of course it’s the World’s Greatest Coffee. Declan’s never met a superlative that could be applied to his own business that he didn’t love.
In this case, it’s true.
We’ve been up, showered, dressed and packed for the past half hour, already late for a flight to Hawaii, but when you fly in a private corporate jet, the pilot waits for you. We decided on Hawaii and Japan for our honeymoon, but I don’t want to leave without my good-byes. We’d like to get Amanda and Andrew in first, because I don’t know what we’re going to find with Mom and Dad and the seven-hundred-thousand-dollar-giveaway fiasco.
“I’m worried, Dec. Amanda was supposed to meet me for coffee. She’s not answering. What’s their room number?”
Instead of answering, he walks to the phone and dials. I hear the phone ring and ring and ring, until he puts the receiver in the cradle.
“Nothing. They’re not answering.” He shrugs. “Maybe they’re out?”
“They partied long after we went to bed. Didn’t you get the crazy texts? Amanda’s became increasingly less readable until finally they looked like Chuckles was typing for her. And that was an improvement. I can’t imagine they went anywhere this morning.”
“Maybe we should give them some peace.” He frowns. “Though I’m surprised I haven’t heard from Andrew.”
“But I want to see her! She’s my bestie!”
Declan’s sigh could warm the arctic. “Fine.” He picks up his smartphone and taps, then looks at me. “Let’s meet Jed at their door.”
“Their door?” I ask stupidly.
“If something’s wrong, he can open the door and we can check on them.” A chill runs through me, taking all the loveliness of last night with it. Declan can tell, lacing his fingers through mine, his thumb rubbing the back of my hand.
“I’m sure they’re fine. Probably just drunk and passed out.”
“Both of them? Andrew’s not the type to ignore his phone for this long, either. I know from Amanda. She feels like it’s his other girlfriend.”
Declan’s laugh makes something in me unclench. “Mistress Siri?”
“Something like that.”
Bzzzzz.
“Is it Andrew? Amanda?” I leap up and practically rip the phone from Declan’s hands. He just holds it up in the air, like a guy with a lighter at a concert.
Tap tap tap.
“It’s Jed,” the voice behind the door says.
Declan gives me a withering look and opens the door. Jed stands there, tense like a Secret Service agent, his Bluetooth earpiece yammering in tinny intervals.
We leave our suite and walk to the elevator in silence, wending our way through the enormous resort to Andrew’s private room. He and Amanda didn’t even bother with the pretense of giving her a separate room.
Tap tap tap.
Nothing.
Jed tries again. Tap tap tap.
Nothing.
“Mr. McCormick?” Jed says in sotto voce against the door.
Nothing.
Jed and Declan share a look, and Dec nods.
“Go ahead. Enter the room. I’ll take full responsibility.”
Using a special keycard on a cord, Jed waves it in front of the electronic door reader, and the lock opens. Dec slowly inches the door in, me behind him, Jed tastefully waiting in the hall, but at the ready should we need him.
The first sign that something’s wrong is the scent. Dear God, did they paint the walls with alcohol in here?
“Ugh,” Declan grunts, covering his face with his palm, breathing through his mouth. “What the hell did they do—move the tequila fountain from downstairs in here?”
“Andrew’s the CEO. Who knows?” We walk about eight feet into the suite, the bathroom door on the left, the living room directly ahead, bedroom door closed, on the right.
While the living room isn’t exactly clean, and is littered with alcohol bottles, half-full glasses of mixed drinks, and what looks like Amanda’s infamous Cheeto-marshmallow treat crumbs, no one’s dead in here.
I hope.
Tap tap tap.
Declan knocks on the bedroom door. No answer.
He pulls out his phone and texts someone.
Bzzzz.
We can hear the phone buzz behind the bedroom door.
My eyes fly wide open. So do Declan’s. The buzzing is loud. Why isn’t Andrew answering?
Panic fills my chest. “Open the door!” I urge. “Amanda!” I start knocking.
“You sure?” Dec’s hand goes to the doorknob, but he pauses. “He could be naked.”
“So what?”
Declan makes a face. “I don’t want you to see my brother’s junk.”