Series: Lee Savino
Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
I won’t win a hand-to-hand fight against the nearly forty security guards I’ve clocked around the premises. I need to bide my time, find where they took Paloma, and bust her out of the horror that appears to be her life.
I force myself to turn and give Thom a bland smile. “Fantastic party. Too bad your security team keeps making a spectacle.”
“I suppose I am overprotective of the ones in my care. It’s my biggest flaw.” He drops his tone like he’s confiding in me. I need to get away from him before I punch his throat. Paloma’s scent is fading, and my bear is urging me to follow her before I lose the trail. But then he says something that makes me and my bear focus. “Paloma is…not well.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” That might explain the bitter quality to her scent. A medicine perhaps? “Can anything be done?”
“Already handled, my boy. It’s nothing the doctors can’t deal with.” He pats my shoulder again, looking past me. “Ah, I see I’m needed elsewhere.”
At the opposite end of the room, a bunch of geriatric billionaires are exiting the ballroom, along with their sons. Thom walks to join them.
I fall into step beside him. “Is there a meeting?”
“Just a bit of personal business. Nothing for you to concern yourself with.” He waves a hand, and two burly bodyguards block my way. “Enjoy the party.” He leaves the room with his friends.
I step forward but stop when the guards don’t move. “Private party?” I ask, pointing. The last remaining Chinless Chad gets roped by his father and disappears behind closed double doors.
“Invite only. You’re not invited.”
I could crack these goons’ heads together and chase down Thom, but I don’t need to. I already know what’s happening behind those closed doors. The auction. Thom’s selling off his foster daughter like she’s a medieval princess.
I hope the bidding takes a long time. I’ll need it to get to Paloma.
I shrug like the bodyguards have won and drift back across the ballroom in the direction that the security team took Paloma. I clock a few more thugs in suits standing at that exit, barring the way. Two of them glare at me, and I resist the urge to give them a cheeky salute.
I grab another glass of champagne and sip it. A few models stand around in a circle, looking bored, and I saunter over to them.
“You ladies ever been here before?”
Two of them shake their heads.
“Would you like a tour?”
Ten minutes later, I traipse around the garden with a group of giggling party-goers. A bunch of normal guests followed me and the models. Everyone’s a bit more raucous than usual, probably because I invited them to take shots before we went on the ‘tour’.
“This way.” I step up to a door that’s near the west wing of the house and block everyone’s view with my body, so I can break the lock. “The best paintings are in here.” I lead the group inside.
“Is that a Picasso?” a few people cluster around a cubist painting of a woman.
“Indeed,” I say. “It’s probably worth close to one hundred million dollars.”
Since there’s no sign or scent of Paloma, I stay near the door as the others crowd in.
I catch her scent.
Go, my bear urges. I clamp down on my urge to go roaring down the hall.
“Are you on something?” A model close to me frowns, peering at my face. “Your eyes are…weird.”
“Jaundice,” I tell her, and she looks at me askance. She’s too smart to buy my lie. I wink to make her think it’s all a joke. “I’ve got eye drops in my room. I’ll be right back. I think there’s a Monet further down and around the corner,” I toss over my shoulder as I walk out, prompting squeals of delight.
I follow Paloma’s scent down the corridor. I’m trailed by a dozen party-goers who still see me as their pied piper.
“Hey! What are you doing in here?” a guard shouts as we round a corner. He’s caught the back of the group. “You’re not supposed to be back here.” I’m out of sight, but from the sound of it, he and the other guards are trying to herd guests back to the ballroom. The entitled, inebriated guests turn belligerent, talking back, leaving me free to continue my search.
I follow Paloma’s fresh scent down the hall. I’m deep in the west wing now. I haven’t seen any guards, but I can hear them murmuring to each other somewhere up ahead.
I stride, full steam ahead, and pass a door that smells wrong. I stop and turn the handle. Inside is a small, dark room that looks like a medical examination room at a doctor’s office. There’s an exam table and no other furniture besides a white wall cabinet and freezer unit with a glass door.