Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
They exchange glances, bemused. One of the men shrugs. “Sorry, buddy. There are a lot of black dresses and navy suits here. Maybe try the bar?”
I bite back a curse. “Thanks,” I mutter, pivoting away. The bar’s the first place I started. Time’s ticking, and every second feels like a further risk that Isabel is in danger.
Blood pounds in my ears as I make my way to the next group—a cluster of older couples perched on a set of tufted armchairs. I plaster on a polite smile that feels painfully fake. “Excuse me,” I begin, “I’m looking for my wife. Black dress, dark hair, with a woman named Vera in gold. Or possibly a guy named Trey. Ring any bells?”
An elegant woman with silver-streaked hair purses her lips. “Hmm. We did see a blonde in gold heading toward the back corridors earlier, but we were a bit… preoccupied.” She glances coyly at the couple next to her, who exchange knowing smirks.
I quell the urge to snap at them and instead press, “Which way?”
She points a bejeweled hand toward a door draped with a velvet curtain, which presumably leads to some discreet area for more exclusive gatherings—or, as I now suspect, more nefarious doings. “There,” she says. “But she wasn’t alone. I think there were a few others, though I didn’t see who exactly.”
Without waiting, I offer a terse “Thanks,” and hurry in the direction she indicated. My heart’s beating like a war drum as I slip behind the velvet curtain. The music muffles a bit, replaced by a hush that’s abruptly colder, emptier. Low lights line a narrow corridor, though there’s a faint murmur of voices deeper within.
I pass two doors. One is locked when I test the handle, and from the other, soft laughter spills out. Could be anyone. I grit my teeth, trying to decide which route to take first, when the door behind me abruptly opens and a couple stumbles out, giggling, their clothes slightly disheveled. They barely spare me a glance before wandering off. That leads me to wonder if every door here opens to some private little hideaway.
I move further down, determined to check each and every one if I have to. At the end, there’s a T-junction: left or right. I’m about to turn left when something in me warns to be systematic. I phone Dean again, pulling the device to my ear as I stand there. He picks up quickly—like he was expecting me.
“Any news?” Dean asks, his voice taut with tension.
“Not yet.” My pulse roars. “I’m in a back corridor behind a curtained doorway. This place is a damn labyrinth. Are you close?”
“Just arrived,” Dean says, and I can hear background noise—likely the commotion at the club’s main entrance. “I’ve got two guys with me from our security detail. Where exactly are you?”
I glance around, frustrated. “I’m near the main lounge, behind a velvet curtain that leads to some private area. Head in, keep an eye out for a corridor with low lights. That’s me.”
“All right, I see a guard up ahead,” Dean says, presumably to someone else on his side. Then into the phone: “We’ll find you. Don’t do anything stupid.”
I almost laugh at the irony. “No promises. Just hurry.” I end the call and slip the phone into my pocket, tension still raking through every muscle.
Time is not on my side. If Isabel is in danger, every passing moment could be critical. I half expect Trey or Vera to pop out, wearing that smug grin, telling me this was all a game. But the corridor remains ominously silent.
Choosing the left corridor, I walk briskly, trying handles as I go. The second door I test actually creaks open, revealing a small lounge area with plush couches, deserted except for the pungent aroma of incense. A flickering candle throws dancing shadows on the walls, giving the space a haunted feel. No one inside, definitely not Isabel.
I close it softly and keep moving. My mind replays the last glimpses I had of her—her gray eyes lit by caution, the gentle parting of her lips as she said she’d be right back. Guilt gnaws at me. I should never have let her out of my sight. But there was no reason to suspect Vera was leading her into a trap… until now.
A sudden shuffle of footsteps behind me jerks me around. Dean appears, flanked by two men from Maddox Security. Ranger and Orion. Relief hits me so hard my knees almost buckle. Dean’s dressed in a dark suit, his expression carved with worry and anger.
“Lincoln,” he mutters, crossing the distance in a few strides. “Any sign of her?”
“Not yet,” I say, voice rough. “I’m checking these back rooms. The staff or someone might have seen her, but I’ve been coming up empty.”
Dean rakes a hand through his short hair. “Devereaux claims he doesn’t know anything. He was surprised when I told him you two were invited tonight. He’s checking cameras now.”