Adrenaline pounded through his veins. Shit, had something happened to Cat? Fuck the baggage. He broke into a run toward passenger pick-up and cut in front of at least three people waiting for a taxi. He thrust a wad of bills at the driver.
“I’m in a hurry.”
The cabbie palmed the cash. “Yes sir.”
An eternity later, he jumped out of the cab and bolted into the building. He cursed the elevator’s slowness as he rode it to the top floor. When it opened, he stepped into the apartment and came up short when he saw Logan pacing the floor of the living room, phone to his ear.
“What do you mean you don’t have a record of Catherine Wellesley at your hotel? She has to be there. I’ve called every goddamn hotel in Jamaica.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Rhys demanded.
Logan swiveled around, hurled an expletive to whoever he was talking to on the phone then slapped it shut.
“Catherine is gone,” he said hoarsely.
Rhys blinked as fear crawled up his spine. “Gone. What do you mean gone?”
“Haven’t you tried to call her in the last two days?” Logan asked, his voice angry.
“Yes, I have. I assumed she’d let her cell phone go down again, and you know as well as I do she rarely answers the apartment phone.”
“She’s gone,” Logan said again, and Rhys had to fight the urge to knock the hell out of him and demand that he get to the point.
“Where is she?” Rhys demanded.
“Hell if I know.” Logan ran a hand through his hair then closed his eyes. “We forgot our anniversary,” he said in a quieter voice. “Catherine made plans. Reservations. We were supposed to eat out, come home and spend the evening together then fly out to Jamaica the next morning. Only she ended up spending the night alone, and we cancelled the trip.”
“Where. Is. She. Now,” Rhys gritted out, afraid of what Logan would say next.
Logan rounded him, his eyes furious. “I don’t know! I wish to hell I did. Paige informed me that Catherine left the same night we did and hasn’t been home since. And then Paige told me what assholes we are.”
Rhys shook his head. He didn’t give a shit about Paige right now. He wanted to know where his wife was.
“The only thing missing is her luggage,” Logan said.
Relief settled over Rhys. Maybe she hadn’t left. As in walked out. Maybe she’d just gone on the trip. He couldn’t blame her if she had. He and Logan had treated her like shit.
“I’m going to call the damn pilot,” Logan muttered. “Have him fly us to Jamaica. If I have to personally go into every hotel on the island to find her, I will.”
It was a sad testament that neither of them even had a clue what hotel she’d booked for them. They’d left all the details to her and never expressed any interest in the plans. They were both bastards of the first order.
Rhys sighed. “Let me get some clothes. I left my bags at the airport after I got your message.”
“Make it quick. I’m calling down for the car now.”
Yeah, quick. Suddenly they were fast on the uptake and going after Catherine. Something they should have done a long time ago. They never should have made her feel like she wasn’t the most important thing in the world to them.
They. Hell. Fuck they. He shouldn’t have let things get to this point. His relationship with Cat wasn’t dependent on Logan’s. Yes, they had an unusual arrangement, but it didn’t mean that it gave him any free passes when it came to his responsibility to the woman he loved. It was time to dispense with the they in every statement and make Cat see how much she meant to him.
Chapter Three
Jamaica
Logan watched as his wife gyrated in time to the funky beat of the music. Torches lit the stretch of sand cordoned off into a dance floor. Their flames flickered and cast shadows, dancing in time with the throng of scantily clad partygoers.God damn, he was tired, jet lagged, he hadn’t slept in three days, and now his wife, his woman, damn it, was weaving in and out of his line of vision, strange men touching her, lusting after her.
She looked like a sea nymph, her long blond hair tumbling free over her shoulders. He didn’t even remember the last time he’d seen it free of the loose knot she always shoved it into. Her usually pale skin glowed golden in the light of the torches. And her bikini. Where the fuck had she gotten the tiny scraps of material seemingly glued to strategic parts of her body?
The globes of her ass bounced provocatively, the thin string of her thong sliding seductively between the cheeks. His cock tightened and swelled at the memory of fucking her tight ass. A distant memory, since they hadn’t had sex in months.