Page 28 of Knox

“Run?”

She glanced over. Frowned.

“She was in the beer tent last night. Sort of had a weird altercation with this guy who grabbed her—”

She stopped, turned to him, and touched his arm.

Okay, the man really needed a shirt, but, “A strange mangrabbedher?”

“Not…well, she fell, and he sort of caught her.” Tate looked at her hand on his arm, then back to her. Oh, those eyes. She pulled her hand away but let him continue. “But she freaked out and took off. She dropped her wallet, and Knox chased after her to return it.”

Mr. Safe. Interesting.

“So, you think she’s panicked?”

“And maybe she’s hiding in the bus, but if she’s not, we need to find her.”

Tate nodded, as if this might be something normal. “Got it. Let’s go.”

Oh. She liked a man who got on board that easily. She headed toward the bus, noted the dark windows, and unlocked the door.

Climbed aboard. “Kelsey?”

Light from the parking lot filtered in through the privacy curtains, striping the gray velour sofa, the white Formica counter in the mini-kitchen. She glanced at Tate, who climbed up the stairs behind her. “Stay here.”

He cocked his head, argument on his face.

“If she’s here, let’s not freak her out more.”

He nodded then, and she crept into the bunk area. All the bunks came with a curtain to pull, and she noted with dismay that Kelsey’s curtain, on the bottom bunk, was cracked open. She pulled it aside anyway and flicked on the tiny light in the cubby.

No lead singer.

She turned around.

“Check the bathroom,” Tate said, still on the stairs.

Good idea. She knocked, then opened the door to the tiny bathroom/shower room. Empty.

She closed it and came back through the bus, shot a look at Tate standing there, one arm holding the upper grab bar, then turned and moved to the back where they kept their suitcases.Sorry, Elijah. She stole one of his shirts lying on the top of his clean wad of clothing and tossed it to Tate.

He grabbed it with one hand, glanced at her, then said nothing and pulled it over his head.

Oh, Elijah might kill her—it was his well-worn black Rascal Flatts concert tee. But it looked dangerously hot melded against Tate’s physique.

“So, where would she go?” Tate asked as she closed up the bus.

She pulled out her phone, checked her texts, then sent one to Kelsey. Glanced back at Tate.

Now that he wasn’t exuding all that raw maleness, she considered him. Short dark brown hair, a thick five-o’clock shadow, and a scar along his jaw as if he’d been nicked during a fight.

Probably a few fights, the way he held himself, just a little tight and alert. Yeah, the guy had ready-to-protect written all over him.

It eased the knot in her gut she hadn’t realized was there.

“I don’t know. She doesn’t usually leave the bus, so—”

“What about the stock barn?”