I’m dwarfed by all the people around me and I’m not sure if he realizes I’m standing a few feet away. And here I thought it was over between them.
I can barely breathe as I take a few steps back, not wanting to watch anymore, knowing they share a past. I acknowledge I don’t have a leg to stand on and can’t compete against a woman like her.
No longer can I hear their conversation as the hum of the crowd grows between us, it overwhelms my senses and clouds my vision. With each step I take, distancing myself, my heart shatters.
My self-consciousness mounts, and I fiddle with the charm of my necklace between my fingers. I should be next to him. In his arms. Kissing his cheek. Playing with his buttons. So why aren’t I?
Get a grip, Dee. Go back over there and claim your man.
But I can’t because I’m a chickenshit. I pull out my cell phone and press a few buttons to order an Uber.
I’m clear across the room, near one of the many exits, with a sea of people separating us. With my back against the door, I press the bar and it slowly opens.
I quickly walk down the dimly lit corridor, the red exit sign illuminating my path just ahead. I need to get out, walls surrounding me make me feel claustrophobic. I need the fresh air.
I push another set of handlebars and the door swings open. Shit, I’m in another hallway and I’m completely lost in the maze of this building.
To my right, another exit sign.
I swing the door open and finally I’m outside and can see the street from the alley I have just stepped into.
It smells like urine and garbage as I note the dumpster behind me. Trying to encompass my bearings and where I’m at, I walk down the alleyway and see the valet near the main entrance in the distance.
Someone grabs my elbow, jerking me around and a heavy hand presses against my mouth. My feet stumble as I’m forced back toward the direction I just came from—deeper into the dark alley behind the dumpster, obstructing my view of the few people passing by. Whoever it is, he’s strong and has the front of my body pinned to the cold brick wall.
The feel of cold metal skims against my cheek, down to my neck, and I know it’s a gun.
Fear coats my skin. My throat goes dry. My entire body freezes except for my heart beating erratically.
A whimper escapes from the back of my throat. No one can see me or hear me.
Stay calm, Dee.
I wish I was strong so I can turn around and knee him in the balls. But his body is too heavy as he presses me harder against the wall.
His mouth is near my ear. I hear him breathing heavily. The scent of cigarettes lingers on his breath and fills my nose.
“You are so fucking beautiful.” His words may be flattering but his tone matches the cold steel of the gun. I shiver at the thought of what’s coming as panic and pain radiate throughout my body.
I take a deep breath. My heart is pounding erratically in my chest, and I swallow the bile creeping up my throat. I think of my family, my friends, Brody, and all the memories that give me strength. They are the lifeline I need to grasp onto.
I shake my head, loosening his grip over my mouth. “What do you want from me?” I murmur.
His silence is deafening, and I can’t take it anymore. I bite his fingers still pressed against my mouth.
“Fucking bitch!”
Before I can identify his voice, he spins me around, and the gun in his hand slams against my face and propels me to the ground. I land with a thud on the wet concrete and all I see is white fuzziness and his dark silhouette as he gets closer to me.
The fear is no longer there, it’s overshadowed by the pain from the blow. Although my arms and legs feel weak, I try to scramble away, but he’s on me in a flash, straddling my waist. I take one last look at him as the needle enters my arm and then everything fades to black.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Brody
Women are everywhere. Most of them I recognize from Avery’s selfies she sends me when she’s on location for a photoshoot and a few from Sports Illustrated. It’s kind of hard not to look at them when they’re frolicking past me wearing the little bit of fabric they call swimsuits that barely covers their . . . assets.
I’m a man, not blind. Then again, I know a few women that would argue men are blind too. Like when Mom got her hair cut, it took Dad at least a day to notice. But one thing I am definitely not blind to, is my Delilah. None of these models hold a candle to her. She’s the only woman that has my attention and my heart.
My eyes veer to where she stands talking to Catherine and a smile plays across her face. She’s so damn beautiful.
Was it love at first sight that night at the club? Fuck if I know. But it was something all right. She’s like a damn magnet pulling at me.
On the way home from Virginia, all I thought about was getting to her. Seeing her gorgeous smile, holding her perfect body, tasting those delicious lips, and feeling her flawless skin against mine.
It’s a good thing the company jet has the cabin in the back. It saved me from having to drive through the god-awful LA traffic to get ready at home. The moment the plane landed, the town car was waiting for me on the tarmac and I told the driver to speed all the way to her house.
When she opened the front door, the sight of her paralyzed me and nearly took my breath away. Those special three words I have been holding back to say were on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I took her in my arms, showed her how much I love her and never wanted to let her go.
But something wasn’t right. I felt it when she trembled in my arms, but she blamed it on not seeing each other for a week. I’ll give her that. I know she wasn’t lying, but her telltale sign —playing with the charm on her necklace—told me something else was bothering her too.
Now, I’m getting antsy standing in the middle of these socialites. I plaster on the fake smile and remember I’m here for my sister. But I still don’t want to be here, and I don’t want to go to the after-party. I just want to be with Delilah and get on the helicopter I booked and head to Catalina Island.
I have been planning this trip for the last couple of weeks. I want it to be perfect. To tell her all the things I love about her. The dimple on her right cheek when she smiles. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles with her eyes. Every time she enters a room, she lights it up. And don’t get me started on her intoxicating sweet and unique perfume that drives me absolutely crazy.
I don’t know how the hell I got to this point. But she’s the only woman to make me feel this way. Sappy and cheesy.
“You have some lipstick on your shirt,” Sophia says as she wipes the top button of my shirt.
The smile on my face widens only because it’s Delilah’s lipstick from the make-out session in the back seat of the town car. We were like a couple of teenagers and couldn’t keep our hands off each other. We tried our best to wipe it off, but it was useless.
“Thanks,” I tell her. “So, I did my shopping and made my selection.”
“Which bikini did you like?” she asks.
“She looks amazing in red.” I would have told my sister the selections I wanted, but with Delilah within earshot, it was impossible. Telling Sophia, who’s my sister’s business partner, will make it easier to hide all the swimsuits I want to buy for her. Delilah will never suspect anything.
“I’ll get them delivered to her by next week.”
The corner of my mouth turns up because I have another surprise planned—this time a trip to Hawaii. I love making my woman smile.
“I appreciate that. I can’t wait to see the look on her face.”
“Speaking of, I’d love to meet the woman that’s finally getting you settled down. And I want you to meet Shane. My fiancé.”
“Delilah’s amazing. She’s right over there . . .” I turn to where I last saw her. “She was here just a second ago.” I rise to the balls of my feet and I don’t see her anywhere. “Excuse me, Sophia. I need to find her. I’ll catch you later.”
I move across the room, my eyes volleying from one person to the next, hoping I spot Delilah. When I approach Catherine and Avery, Catherine continues discussing the speech my sister needs to give at the after-party.
“Ladies, I’m sorry to interrupt, but have you seen Delilah?” I ask, my hand goes through my hair as an unnerving feeling seeps under my skin.
“I left her over there,” Catherine says as she points.
“Maybe she went to the ladies’ room,” Avery suggests.
“I hate to ask, but can you just check to see if she’s there?” I plead to my sister.
“I’ll go,” Catherine offers. “I need to go anyway. And, Avery, you need to head up to the fourth floor as people are most likely waiting for your arrival.” Catherine makes her way across the room and disappears in the hallway.
Avery places her hand on my arm. “I’ll see you later?”
“Yes, you will. After I find my girlfriend first.”
Avery gives me a kiss on my cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here, Brody.”
“Me too.” Before she turns, I lightly grip her elbow, and she turns back to face me. “I’m really proud of you, Ave. Thanks for having Sophia take care of the swimsuit order for Delilah.”
“No sweat. And for the record, I really like Delilah. She’s a keeper. Don’t fuck this up, Bro.”
I laugh. “Not a chance. She’s something special.” I watch my sister make her way through the crowd and down the same hallway Catherine disappeared through.
Jackson slaps my shoulder. “You all right, man?”
“Not sure. Something doesn’t feel right.” Chills weigh down my shoulders and I can’t seem to shake the feeling.
“What’s got your Spidey-senses on alert?”
“As soon as Catherine comes back, I’ll let you know,” I tell him anxiously, wanting to burst into the women’s bathroom and find Dee myself.
“You really like her, don’t you?”
Before I can even say another word, Catherine is approaching Jackson’s side.
“Delilah’s not in the restroom. Maybe she went outside to get some fresh air . . . It is a little stuffy in here,” Catherine says as a woman with an earpiece in her ear and holding a clipboard calls for her. “Listen, I still have some work to do here. If I see her, I’ll have her wait upstairs with me.”
“Baby, you go do your thing,” Jackson says to Catherine. “I’ll go with Brody to look for Delilah.” He presses a kiss on her temple.
“Thanks, Catherine,” I say, trying my best to reassure myself that there’s nothing wrong and I’m just being paranoid or overprotective. But why can’t I shake this feeling?
“Call her phone,” Jackson suggests.
I pull out my cell and press her number on my speed dial. It rings several times then goes to voice mail. I shoot off a text and wait for a minute or two. Nothing.
“She’s not answering.”
We make our way to the main entrance, going against the flow of everyone heading to the after-party. If Delilah went out to get some fresh air, we will at least cross paths.
The minute we exit the double doors, I only see a few people smoking cigarettes near the railing to my right. Jackson heads to the left of the building toward the valet booth and I see him questioning a young man. He turns to look up at me and with pursed lips, he shakes his head.
Where the hell is she?
Jackson pulls out his phone when it jingles in his pocket. “No, babe. We haven’t found her yet . . . I see . . . mm-hmm . . . We will keep looking for her . . . yes, I’ll call you as soon as we find her, and you do the same . . . Love you too.” He hangs up and turns to me. “She’s not up there. Catherine said security hadn’t let anyone in until Avery got there.”
“Fuck!” I say through clenched teeth.
“Calm down. What’s got you so worried?”
“When I picked her up today, something felt off. I asked her what was bothering her, and she pawned it off as not seeing each other all week. Then I thought she was nervous about meeting Avery for the first time and . . .”
“And you didn’t believe her.”
“I don’t know what to think. She does this thing with her necklace . . . plays with the charm between her fingers when she’s worried or nervous . . . Have you ever just had that feeling?” I ask, running my hand through my hair. “The only other time I have ever felt this way was when Matt left me with the reporters when I should have been his six. Then he goes and dies on me.”
I shake my head, knowing this situation is different and we aren’t in a war zone. We walk the perimeter of the building to where the limos and town cars are parked.
“She’s probably fine. Maybe she got tired and went to the car,” he says, trying to reassure me.
“You’re probably right. Let me call her one more time.” I dial her number and I hear a cell phone in the distance. It’s my special ring tone she programmed when I call her, Follow the Yellow Brick Road. “That’s her phone ringing,” I tell Jackson and follow the music to an alley.
Jackson picks up the phone next to the dumpster and the screen is shattered. “Is this Delilah’s phone?” he asks, handing it to me.
I take it from him, and I nod, staring at the phone case with a sun on it. “Something’s wrong, Jackson.” I look up and down the alley to see if there is anything else that belongs to Dee. “What’s that over there?”
We take a few more steps and see Delilah's purse and the contents scattered on the ground. Her lipstick, compact, credit cards, and a few dollar bills.
“Whoever took her, wanted her, not her money. Brody, what are you not telling me? Is Delilah in some kind of trouble?”
“No . . . I don’t know.”
My imagination is running wild. Where could she be? Who took her? Is she hurt?
Then pictures from the police investigation creep into my thoughts. A déjà vu of dirt smudged on Delilah’s face, her brunette hair mangled and she’s lying in a ditch, pierces my thoughts.
“Brody,” Jackson calls me back to the here and now. “I’m calling the police.” Jackson steps a few feet away and his voice echoes through the dark alley as he speaks to dispatch. He slips his cell phone in his pocket and walks back to me. “They’re on their way. I need you to stay here. I’m going to make sure Catherine gets home safely. And in the meantime, I will check with security to see if this building has any cameras.”
It’s as if time has completely stopped. Panic sets in. I need to put my logic and knowledge front and center even though my heart is warring with my brain.
Moments later, red and blue lights illuminate the street, the cackling of two-way radios echo, and yellow tape surrounds the area. Two officers are scoping the scene and the detective asks me questions I have no answers for.
When was the last time you saw her?
Did you get into a fight before she took off?
Why would she take off?
Do you know what she was doing in this alley?
Do you know if she got into an argument with anyone?
I scrub my face with my hands. “I don’t fucking know!” I yell at the detective who doesn’t deserve my temper, but I don’t care. Right now, Delilah is the only one who can answer them. It’s been over an hour since I last saw Delilah and my worry over her well-being just keeps intensifying.
“Mr. Reinhardt, I know this is a lot to handle. But I need to ask these questions.”
“Detective, one minute we were having a good time backstage after my sister’s show, then the next Delilah was gone. My friend and I came out here and found her phone and all her shit on the ground—”
“Hey, Solis,” the female officer calls out to the detective, interrupting me. “I think we got something.” We both make our way over to the officer as she points to a camera in both a dry cleaner and a bakery on either side of the street.
“Get in contact with the business owners and see if we can g
et some footage from the surveillance cameras,” Detective Solis instructs as he writes in his small notebook.
I push my hair back and let out a breath. “Detective, too much time has passed. We need to—” Just then my wristwatch chimes. How did I fucking forget the drone? I look up to the starry night, press the icon on the small screen, and the plane lands just a few feet from me.
“What the hell is that?” the detective asks just when Jackson approaches from around the corner of the building.
“It’s a drone.”
“A drone?” the officer asks. “What is a drone doing out here in the middle of Los Angeles at nighttime?”
“It’s mine,” Jackson answers and levels a glare at me. “We’re testing it for the military.” Jackson picks up the drone and hands the detective his business card. “Detective, keep us posted on what you find.”
Detective Solis nods and crosses the street to meet up with his partner who’s questioning a few witnesses.
I hate wondering as much as I hate the thought of Dee being hurt. And this piece of equipment may be the only way to know what happened to her.
“The tablet is at my house. And it’s clear across town . . . and the second tablet is with Mark.”
“Wake Dixon’s ass up,” Jackson instructs. “He needs to power it up while we head to your place.”
“You’re coming to my house? What about Catherine?”
“She’s safe. Xavier is with her and will drive Catherine home. He will stay until I arrive.”
I call Carl, my driver, to meet Jackson and me at the front of the building.
“Yes, sir,” he answers, but his voice sounds off, almost condescending, but I ignore it.
“Carl, I need you to pick me up at the front.”
“And why would I do that, Saint Clair?” Sarcasm drips from his voice.
“Carl?” I say his name as I straighten my shoulders, my instincts go on high alert, and Jackson levels his stare at me knowing something is wrong. “What’s going on?” I feign innocence as I try to figure out Carl’s angle. I put the cell on speaker so Jackson can also hear.
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