Somehow Finding Us (Second Chance Sinners #2) - Claudia Y. Burgoa Page 0,3

again to make sure that I’m looking at the right person. I confirm that the guy in front of me is not— “He’s not Zeke Hutchence.”

I sigh with relief, but then I ask, “Where’s Zeke?”

“This is the guy. I gave you his belongings,” she claims.

I drop them on the floor, squat, and go through everything. “This is his wallet,” I state, going through it and verifying that his cards and his ID are in there. There’s no cash, which is strange since he always carries some with him. I slide my finger along the screen of his phone, press his passcode and say, “This is his phone. I don’t recognize the rest.”

“These are the belongings they found at the hotel, along with the used needles,” The officer says.

“That’s not him,” I insist, knowing that Zeke would never stick a needle in his arm. Not even to get high.

With the open envelope, I push the pocketknife closer to her feet, thankful I didn’t touch it. “You might want to examine that,” I suggest.

He might be the last person who saw Zeke, but if he’s here, where is my guy? “When I asked you to find Zeke, you grabbed the first man you found dead and made the call. I should sue, but I won’t if you tell me where he is right now.”

She gives me a look that says, it’s-not-my-problem.

“How about the other freezers?” I ask, pulling out my phone and showing her a picture of Zeke. Then, I show it to the other person who I assume is a doctor. “Have. You. Seen. Him?”

The guy in the coat almost squirms as my voice echoes. He shakes his head. “Check every spot. What if you tagged the wrong person?”

Every time he opens a door, I brace myself and release a sigh of relief when Z is not under the white sheet.

“He’s not here,” I confirm after we uncover each and every corpse. “How can you just decide that was Mr. Hutchence?”

“His wallet said so,” The officer says defensively.

I laugh. “So, you find a wallet and you just assume? You should be fired.”

I look at Zeke’s ID, and I can see why they said he looks like him. Z gestured weirdly in his license. The picture is from when we were still playing in the band. His hair is long and a blue-green color—like the dead guy. It looks more like a picture of a teenager playing in a photo booth and not from the DMV.

Without a word, I march outside the building. As upset as I am by the fucking confusion, I’m relieved too. The weight pushing me down lifts as I breathe the fresh air. There are several things I can do, starting with finding Zeke.

Tucker might have access to his uncle’s software. When I call him, the call goes to voice mail after the third ring. I send him a text. He doesn’t respond.

I call a few more times until he finally picks up and groans, “This better be important.”

Who the hell sleeps at two o’clock in the afternoon? Unless he’s not at home. “Where are you?”

“Thailand, on business,” he yawns.

“You just started the company.”

I hear some rustling on the other side of the phone, and then he says, “I want to get this off the ground fast. What do you need?”

Him, but he’s too far away. The guy has his own set of problems, brought on by himself but also Zeke. Instead of interrupting his life and giving him yet another headache, I ask, “If I need help locating a missing person?”

“What is this for?”

“A favor for a friend,” I respond.

“Can it wait?”

I run a hand through my hair. It’d be easier if I tell him the truth, but then he’s going to freak out and fly back. He might hate Zeke even more because he just can’t take anything seriously—even after the mess that happened a month ago.

“No. Do you know anyone? I need someone discreet.”

He huffs. “Byron Langdon,” he answers with the name of a music manager. What the fuck, Tucker? “He does some undercover work for my uncle, and he’s the tech guy of his unit. His team goes rogue sometimes. I’ll text you his number.”

“I have his number,” I say baffled at his suggestions.

Why would a celebrity’s agent work for a high intelligence agency? He’s friends with Grace, Tuck’s cousin. Is that why he’s working for him? The why he works for them doesn’t matter. His showbiz experience is what’s convenient. He’ll understand the