5
After Musicman logged on at the Earthling Café, the first thing he did was check his mail.
There were two messages from CRZYGRL12@ synerG.net.
Fingers tapping rapidly on the table, he tried to think it through. Hard, because his mind was rushing a mile a minute. Although his rage had not abated one bit, he felt the overwhelming need to know what happened.
Out front, another police car went by, this one from the sheriff’s department.
He tapped his fingers some more and then brought her picture up on the screen. Maybe he could find a clue in her eyes.
The waitress, a scarf-haired girl wearing heavy white linen tied around her waist, set his iced tea down. She glanced at the picture. “That your daughter?”
He lowered the laptop lid so she couldn’t see. “Uh-huh.”
“Pretty girl.”
He nodded, acknowledging but not friendly. She took the hint and threaded her way back through the cramped cafe to the stand-up counter. Only then did he push the laptop’s lid back up.
She smiled out at him—his girl.
Like a tidal wave, the desire—the need—came rumbling up from deep inside him. He could feel it in the trembling of his hands, the prickling saliva in the corners of his mouth. The adrenaline rush, the beating of his heart, the answering chime in his groin.
If she was his girl.
He had to know. No way could he leave it like this—not when he was this close.
He opened the first message.
Where wer u? I waited 1 hr. I thought for sure this was the day and I walked 3 Miles. Did I get the wrong day? Let me know. Luv, Your Muse. PS I looked it up, it’s really cool to be your muse.
He closed the first email without replying and opened the second one.
Y haven’t I heard from u? Write me!
The same. She was the same. Or at least she seemed the same.
Another cop car went by, lights on but silent. That was seven, total, since he’d been here. He poured two packets of sugar into his glass and stirred, having to use a regular teaspoon because they didn’t have the long ones.
Suddenly, he wanted to throw the goddamn spoon across the room.
His girl. Who was he fooling?
He wasn’t stupid—far from it. He knew he couldn’t dismiss what he’d seen. There came a time when you had to trust your instincts. He had always been fully aware of the dangers, and that was why he was so careful. He’d always had a sixth sense for trouble.
Until now.