1 Chapter 1
“Guys, there’s a woman here to see you.”
“Guys?” Brent shot her a dry look.
“Sorry.” Milly, their receptionist-secretary rolled her eyes. “Mr. and Mr. Collins, there’s a woman here to see you.”
“Did she give you her name, Milly?” Quinn asked. He waited for her to come up with a smartass response when he realized how he’d phrased his words.
Milly grinned before obviously deciding to pass—this time—replying with “Mrs. Constance Taylor. She says it’s about her missing son.” Very quietly, even though the office door was closed, she whispered, “She looks like money.”
“Thank for warning us,” Brent said with a trace of amusement. “Bring her in, please.”
She did. After introducing Mrs. Taylor to Brent and Quinn, Milly left, closing the door behind her.
“If you’d have a seat, Mrs. Taylor,” Brent said, gesturing to one of the armchairs along the wall across from his desk. When she complied, he and Quinn joined her, taking the two remaining chairs. “How may we help you?”
She looked at them, frowning. “You don’t look at all like brothers.” That was true, since Brent was a lean, lanky, six-foot-two man with dark brown hair and a thin face, whereas Quinn was five-eleven, muscular and had a blond crew-cut, a square jaw, and a broad forehead.
“Because we’re not,” Quinn replied.
“But your last names…”
“We’re married.”
“Oh.” She smiled weakly, saying “oh” again. “I’ve never met…”
Brent chuckled. “We’re a rare breed around here. Or have been until fairly recently.”
“I should know that,” she admitted. “My son’s gay.” She chewed her lip. “I think…I’m afraid, that might be why he’s missing.”
She was a handsome woman—Brent put her at around forty-five—with stylishly cut blonde hair. Her dress was definitely something from Garbarini or Hermès, not Ross or Target. At the moment, however, the stress lines on her face made her look closer to fifty.
“How long has he been missing?” Quinn asked. “And why do you think it has to do with his being gay?”
“Let me preface this by saying Andrew is what one might call a free spirit. When I put my foot down about his falling grades—he is, he was a freshman at DU—and told him I would not continue to pay his tuition if they didn’t improve, he moved out and dropped out of school. He got a low-paying job as a waiter in some sleazy restaurant and is sharing an apartment with two other young men.”
“How old is he?”
“Nineteen last month.”
Brent nodded. “So he’s legally of age.”
“Yes,” she replied tightly. “He’s been missing since Friday night when he told his roommates he was going up to Idaho Springs to meet some of his buddies.”
“Since today is Wednesday, it’s been five days. I take it neither you nor his roommates have heard from him since then?” Brent said.
“No.”
“Have you contacted the police?” asked Brent.
“I talked with a detective yesterday. He gave me the impression there wasn’t much they could do since he’s, as you put it, of age.”
“Probably true, unless you have proof he didn’t disappear of his own volition,” Quinn said. “What was he driving?”
“He doesn’t own a car.”
Brent lifted an eyebrow at that. “What young man his age doesn’t have a car?”
“He had one, but about a month before he moved out he was in an accident. His car was totaled, although he escaped with only a few, minor injuries. I refused to buy him a new one, since the accident wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been high.”
“Drunk?”
“No.” Her mouth tightened. “He smokes marijuana. Only recreationally, according to him. He’d been at a party, left, and managed to run his car off the road into a tree.”
“With no car,” Quinn said, “how did he plan on getting up to Idaho Springs?”
“Hitchhiking, I’m sure. He’s been doing that since he left home. When I cautioned him it wasn’t safe, he laughed at me. Told me I was old-fashioned.”
“I take it you and he are still on speaking terms.”
“Yes.”
Quinn nodded. “What about him and his father?”
Mrs. Taylor scowled. “When Andrew was seven, his father and I divorced so he could marry his bimbo of a secretary. The only contact Andrew has had with him since then is the occasional gift or card on his birthday or Christmas.”
“You’re quite certain of that?” Brent asked.
“Yes. Andrew hates his father for leaving us. Thankfully, I have money of my own so we weren’t hurt financially.”
“All right.” Brent checked the notes he was making. “From what you’ve said, as far as you know he left sometime Friday, planning to hitchhike up to Idaho Springs. Do you know who the friends were he was meeting there?”
“No, but his roommates might.”
“You’ve spoken with them?”
“Three times. I called to talk to him Saturday morning. That’s when they told me about his going up to the mountains. I called again Monday morning. They said he hadn’t returned, yet. I tried again that evening and got the same answer. By then I was worried.”
“I presume you tried calling him directly?” Brent said.
