Page 95 of Kenna's Dragon

The same conversation in which Thompson assured me that nothing from Harrison’s visit was going to negatively impact the Bureau or my future here.

Even that I can hardly dredge up any true annoyance for. Harrison is a symptom of the larger attitudes and forces shaping the future of paranormal folk in this country, and I look forward to finding out what impact I can make on those forces from outside the confines of my position with the Bureau. With Cleo at the organization’s helm, I don’t doubt she’ll give him and the rest of the naysayers in HHS hell in her own right.

But all of that can wait for now. The turning wheels and machinations of government and politics will continue on with or without me.

Today, I’ve got something much more important to focus on.

I haven’t spoken to Kenna since that disastrous day she said goodbye. I’ve avoided common areas and used back entrances rather than the lobby. I’ve tried to give her any space and time she might need, to give myself time to get my life together so I’m in a better position to speak with her.

I have no idea if she’ll even entertain a conversation with me, or tell me to go to hell, but I’m ready to take whatever she wants to throw at me.

Even if it takes me the rest of my existence, I’m going to convince my mate to take me back.

It’s the single purpose pounding in my veins, the force driving me as I leave the Director’s office for the last time and take the elevator down to the fifth floor. I just need to see her. Just for a moment. To look into her beautiful green eyes. To ask her if we can talk when she’s done working. To begin repairing everything I’ve broken.

Only when I get to Kenna’s desk, it’s empty.

I stare at the cleaned-out cubicle for a full ten seconds, not comprehending what I’m seeing.

“Kenna quit.”

Startled, I look up to find Yvette watching me through narrowed eyes.

“When?”

“Last week. Know anything about it?”

I shake my head slowly. She quit? Because of me?

Stomach turning inward on itself, I clear my throat. “Did she say where she was going? If she had another job lined up?”

“No,” Yvette says flatly. “She didn’t.”

With that, she turns and heads back to her own cubicle, clearly done with the conversation. I’m still rooted to the spot, staring at Kenna’s empty desk.

Fuck.

She’s supposed to be here.

Where is she?

The reasonable, rational part of me that’s been giving her space and time these last couple of weeks has gone strangely silent, and that same damned instinct pushes to the fore.

Where is she?

Before I know what I’m doing, I turn and head for the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator to take me back down to the ground floor. As soon as I’m through the lobby and out the front door, I pull my phone from my pocket.

I call her cell, and it rings three times before going to her voicemail. Cursing, I hang up and try again. This time, it only rings once.

Not trusting myself enough to leave a coherent voicemail, I hang up again and start typing out a text.

Ember… I start, then erase the word when I remember how badly she reacted the last time I tried to use that name with her.

Kenna, I’d like to speak to you. Can you give me a call?

I hit ‘send’ and wait with held breath for a few seconds.

The message comes back as undeliverable.

---