Page 8 of Wanted

“I can only imagine how awful your hair must look right now. Are you even able to find a proper stylist down there? You’re not letting the color fade, are you?”

On instinct, I peer up into the rearview mirror and smooth down the already smoothed edges of my hair that I’ve styled into a tight high bun.

I run the tips of my fingers over the spot of my hair that’s dyed the same dark-brown color as the rest of my hair. No one who doesn’t know me would ever know this part of my hair is naturally and permanently gray.

Ever since I was a child.

It’s been years since I’ve worn unruly hair in its natural state, though.

My makeup is just the way my mother taught me. Not too heavy but applied well enough to hide any blemishes that mar my skin. Not that I have many of those due to the bi-weekly facials and skin treatments she insists we attend.

“A woman must always look presentable,” she says out loud while I recite her mantra in my head. She’s drilled it into me and Ashley since we were children.

“I know, Mother. I’m making sure to keep up with all of the regimens you taught us.”

“And your iron pills?” she asks yet again.

“Yes, including my iron pills.” I clear my throat. “It’s getting late, and I have to get up early tomorrow for a meeting at the university,” I lie. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow evening.”

“Make sure that you do. I’m sure your father will want to say hello when he gets home from the medical convention.”

“Okay. Bye.”

She hangs up and I push out a relieved sigh. I have to remind myself that my mother only wants the best for me and Ashley. It’s what all mothers want.

That thought brings the memory of my birth mother smiling at me to mind. I was probably no older than two or three years old. In the memory, she mouths that she loves me as she tickles me, which makes me giggle.

I quickly shake that thought from my mind. I don’t think much about my birth parents anymore, so I wonder what that sudden memory is all about.

I shrug it off because there are more important things to worry about. Like, where the heck my sister is.

After doing a scan around my surroundings, my attention lands on the bar behind me. It’s a typical dive bar. People stream in and out. Some are obviously drunk.

“What was Ashley doing here?” I mumble.

It doesn’t make any sense. Before getting out of the car, I opt to listen to the voicemail my sister left for me just over a week ago.

“Hey, big sis. So, don’t be mad at me,”she says.“But I didn’t go on a trip to Mexico like I told you guys.”

Ashley’s spring semester of college trip was supposed to be to Mexico with friends. That’s where she should be right now. I should’ve known something was off when she told me she was going with a group of friends on vacation.

Ashley doesn’t have many friends. Especially not many at the prestigious all-women’s college that our parents sent both of us to.

“I’m in Florida. Don’t be mad!” she says again. “I just had to come. I think I found out something about our past. I met a guy who knew Mom and Dad. I’m meeting him tomorrow night at a bar called Mike’s. After I speak with him, I’ll give you a call and tell you everything. I love you. Bye!”

I never received that call.

I’ve called my sister at least a dozen times and left half as many messages. Eventually, her phone started going straight to voice mail. After three days of no answer, I called the local police department of her last known location. They refused to even start looking for her, saying she was probably just a college student out having a good time.

But I know my sister.

Even if she were out having fun, she would answer my phone calls. She always does.

I get out of the car and straighten out the perfectly pressed khaki pants and button-down top. As I stroll toward the bar’s entrance, I realize I don’t have a clue as to how to go about getting the information I need.

Ashley didn’t even give me the name of the guy she was meeting. There isn’t a bouncer or any type of security at the door, so I breeze right in. As soon as I do, however, it’s like everything stops.

The music that was blaring, turns down a few notches. The yelling dulls to a chatter and it’s as if all eyes shift toward me. Slowly, I look around and yep, out of the fifty or so people in this bar, more than half of them direct their attention my way.