I turned to him with wide eyes. He laughed and lifted his hands.
"Relax. I'm kidding."
The jerk was laughing like it was nothing. I punched his chest, and his shoulders shook even harder. Watching him with a scowl, I snapped.
"Very funny, Hotshot. I'm here dying of worry over what I'd do if you said yes, and you're messing with me."
His laughter faded into a softer smile as he took my hand in his.
"Believe me, I have nothing to do with what was in that house, or with the man we saw. I haven't done anything that should make you worry."
He looked sincere, holding my gaze as he spoke.
"Okay. Fine. I believe you."
He picked up his glass and leaned back, still shaking his head in disbelief.
"I'll admit it all looks suspicious, but drugs? Seriously…" He sighed. "You need to rein in that imagination of yours a little, sweetheart."
"Try putting yourself in my place," I said. "Not because I think you're a bad person, but when I barely know you and all I have to go on is what I've seen and heard while we've been together, what conclusion was I supposed to reach?" I hesitated, then added, "And more than anything else, what really scares me is whatever could be important enough for you to risk your life without blinking."
He stayed silent for a long moment, staring at me like he was fighting something inside himself. Finally, he let out a tired breath.
"I don't know the man either. A few weeks ago, he reached out and asked to meet. Because of some setbacks, we kept postponing it. Then, like you know, he disappeared. What he has to say is tied to something very sensitive for me. No matter what, I need to find him and learn what he knows. That's all I can say for now."
I nodded without pushing further. It was obvious pressing him wouldn't help. His earlier lightness was gone. Whatever this was, even thinking about it weighed heavily on him.
A loud growl from my stomach broke the silence. I looked away and muttered,
"Perfect timing."
He probably thought I was a food-obsessed chubby girl who couldn't stop thinking about eating, even during serious moments. Why did embarrassing things always happen to me around him?
"I think we need to feed you, Sunshine. What do you want?" he asked, a grin tugging at his lips.
I glanced at him and saw he was watching me with open amusement. Apparently, I'd managed to lighten the mood again.
It was too late to pretend otherwise. When he picked up his phone, I answered, trying not to sound eager.
"How about Chinese?"
"Why not."
After placing the order, he said he had something to take care of and went upstairs. I turned on the TV and stretched out on the couch. I picked a random movie and leaned back, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't focus. My thoughts were still stuck in that man's house.
Something told me the people who'd trashed that place were connected to the information Kerem was chasing. Which meant the homeowner, Kerem, and the intruders all shared a common point.
But what was it?
I exhaled in frustration and tugged at my hair. To even guess, I needed to know what that "sensitive matter" was. Since that clearly wasn't coming anytime soon, I forced myself to focus on something else.
Like what had happened to the man who wanted to meet Kerem.
I grabbed the notepad and pen beside the TV unit and sat on the floor in front of the coffee table. First, I poured my questions onto the page. Then I replayed every detail from the house in my head, important or not.
That destruction couldn't have been the result of a fight. No one carefully smashes every object and rips up floorboards while struggling. They'd been searching for something—thoroughly. And judging by the man who attacked us, it was safe to assume they hadn't found it yet.
That left two solid theories about what happened to the man Kerem was looking for. Either the intruders killed him after failing to get what they wanted, which seemed horrifyingly plausible… or he'd somehow managed to escape.
I wrapped one of my curls around my finger and focused on the second possibility. The image of the bathroom replayed in my mind, and I frowned. After all the movies I'd watched and books I'd read, my instincts refused to believe that scene had to mean someone was injured or dead.
Trusting that instinct, I grabbed my phone and did a quick search.
I was right.
Unlike the images online, that bathroom looked less like a crime scene and more like one of those abstract paintings where paint is poured and smeared everywhere.
A spark lit up in my mind.
Maybe the one who made that mess was the man we were looking for. It wasn't brilliant, but it was a decent way to confuse his pursuers and buy time.
If I was right, then the homeowner was still alive.
The doorbell rang, announcing our food, and moments later I heard footsteps on the stairs. Kerem entered the living room with the bags. Before he could even sit down, I blurted out,
"I have an idea about what happened to your man."
He sighed, looking from the scattered notes on the table to me.
"This wasn't supposed to be like this."
"Huh? What are you talking about?"
He shook his head and started setting the containers down.
"Forget it. Go on."
"I think I figured out what happened to the guy you're looking for."
As he opened the boxes, I slid onto the couch beside him and laid out the possible scenarios. Up to that point, his comments showed we were on the same page.
Encouraged, I set my chopsticks aside and moved to the final step. Using the images I'd saved on my phone, I explained how I'd reached my conclusion.
Then I smiled and delivered it.
"He's alive, Hotshot. I'm sure of it."