Free Thugs and Kisses by Sue Ann Jaffarian Page B

She also understood something about me that the men didn’t, or didn’t want to—that when I was in such an obsessive mindset, I would make up my own mind and do what I felt I should do, contrary to all good and sound advice.
    Maybe Greg was right. Maybe I hadn’t been part of an “us” relationship. Maybe I never could be, after being alone most of my life.
    As I waited for my computer to boot up, I mentally reviewed the situation. I had spent part of Tuesday digging through Steele’s desk, hoping to find a clue to his destination. I also searched the secretary’s desk, hoping he had given even a scant piece of information to Rachel and that she had jotted it down somewhere on a sticky note or scrap of paper. Both times I came up empty-handed. The only trace of his trip was a note on the calendar that he would be out of the office Monday, Tuesday, and possibly Wednesday. Behind closed doors, I even listened to all of his messages, including the saved ones, hoping to find a tidbit of information to grasp, but all related to issues he was handling for the firm. Even his e-mails hadn’t been picked up. All of them, from Saturday on, were marked unread—something else that was uncharacteristic, even when he traveled.
    “Odelia,” someone said to me.
    I turned away from my computer screen and toward my office door to find Carl Yates looking at me. Carl was a man on the brink of sixty, very tall and angular, with thick hair the color of fading flax. He had an easy smile and manner, which belied the tough, take-no-prisoners litigator beneath. His jacket was off, his tie askew, and his shirt sleeves rolled up. His reading glasses were perched on top of his head.
    “Has Mike returned from his trip yet?”
    “I haven’t seen him.” I turned in my chair and gave him my full attention. “In fact, Carl, I’m quite worried. No one has heard from him since he left. That’s not like him. Has he called you?”
    “No, he hasn’t, and I’ve left a half-dozen voice mails for him, both here and at home. The Silhouette matter is heating up, and I need his input.” He started to leave, then stopped. “And you’re right; it’s not like him at all. Hope nothing’s happened to him.”
    “I don’t want to seem panicky, but maybe we should call his emergency contact. He was due back today.”
    “Good idea, Odelia. Take care of that, and keep me posted.”
    Tina Swanson provided me with the emergency contact information from Steele’s personnel sheet. It was for a Karen Meek in Santa Barbara. Tina didn’t write down what Ms. Meek’s relationship was to Steele, just her home and office number.
    Looking at my watch, I noted that it was just about two thirty, so I tried the office number. A woman answered, “Karen Meek’s office.” She sounded young.
    “Is Ms. Meek in?”
    She asked my name and what it was regarding. I gave her my name, the firm’s, and Steele’s, and was put on hold. Shortly, another woman came on the line and identified herself as Karen Meek. Her voice was educated and efficient. I identified myself as Michael Steele’s paralegal and told her we were concerned because he had not returned from a trip. I further explained that she was his contact information.
    “But I saw Mike this weekend,” she told me.
    I sighed in relief. Maybe she was a girlfriend, although she didn’t sound like one of his usual bimbos. Then it occurred to me that perhaps Karen Meek was his sister or some other family member. “Do you know where he is now?”
    “He told me he was going to spend a couple of days at the Inn. Said he needed to think some things through, something about work, a trial or something, and wanted to do it away from the office. He said he needed some downtime.”
    “Downtime? Steele?”
    The voice on the other end laughed, making me realize I probably shouldn’t have been so candid.
    “Yes, even Mike needs downtime every now and then. Hard to believe, isn’t it?”
    I laughed lightly. Whoever