I panted through my nose, heart racing. If he tried anything else, I was going to fight. Forget about the knife, forget about the fucking video. Steven could take the car, but he wasn’t taking anything else from me. Maybe he sensed my resolve. After staring in my eyes for a long second, he shrugged.
“You’re not worth the trouble. Not for a fat chick.” He turned for the back door and said over his shoulder, “You’ll get yourself loose eventually. Don’t even think about calling Kane or anyone else.”
I didn’t respond, just stared at my knees and waited for him to leave. He hesitated, as if thinking of saying something else, then he was gone, sliding the glass door to the deck closed behind him. I sat there, taped to the chair, fighting tears. I wanted to let go, to sob out my frustration. Crying wasn’t going to help me. My wrist was bleeding, and I was pretty sure it needed stitches. Since I didn’t have a car, I’d have to call a cab to take me to the ER. At least I had my health insurance, though the ER co-pay was going to cost way more than an office visit. But I didn’t think this could wait until Monday.
Before I could get to the hospital, I had to get out of this chair. Wiggling back and forth, I eased the chair back toward my kitchen cabinets. One thing at a time. First, I had to get my wrists free, then get a cab to the hospital. After that, I could worry about the rest of my life.
4
Dylan
I rolled over and stretched, my arm extended for Leigha. I’d been dreaming of her. Of taking her from behind at the end of the bed while she wore nothing more than those gold heels. I reached out my hand and met cold sheets. My eyes flashed open, and I scanned the bed. No Leigha.
Sitting up, I looked to the bathroom. Dark and empty, the door hanging open. Aside from the startled rasp of my own breath, the penthouse was silent. It felt empty. Swearing under my breath, I leaned over and flicked on the light beside the bed and checked the clock. Three seventeen am. Getting out of bed, I took a quick walk through the rooms of the penthouse. Nothing. But then, I already knew. I felt her absence in the quiet, cool air. Leigha was gone.
I was not an emotional guy. In business and in my personal life, I was all about logic. At the realization that Leigha had walked out on me, logic went out the window. Anger hit me first.
What the fuck was wrong with this girl? Had she seen an old lipstick in the bottom of a drawer and decided I was hiding a secret wife? Was I not good enough for her? I was Dylan fucking Kane for fucks sake. Women panted to get in my bed and this one little accountant, who lived in a bungalow and drove a beige sedan, thought she could walk out on me? Fuck that. Fuck her.
I paced my bedroom in a fury, dragging on discarded clothes as I went. I may have knocked over a lamp in the process. I know I threw our champagne glasses at the fireplace. Not my most mature moment. Fumbling with a button down the shirt I’d worn that afternoon, I caught a whiff of her perfume. This was the shirt she’d been wearing while we’d eaten lunch. While we’d talked all afternoon. That girl wouldn’t have walked out on me without a word. She’d gotten nervous that morning, but everything had changed between us. Hadn’t it?
Taking a steadying breath, I went to the second bedroom and opened the hidden storage closet in the back corner of the room. Her suitcase was still there, her purse and car keys sitting right on top. I could see her walking out on me. No, I couldn’t. But I could accept that it had possibly happened. But even if she’d decided to sneak out in the middle of the night, what woman would take off without her purse? Or her house keys? Something here wasn’t right. Forcing myself to stop and think, I ran through the options in my mind.
Then I went to my desk. Opening my laptop, I picked up the phone and dialed the number of the security office. As I listened to the phone ring, I clicked on my email and pulled up the preliminary report Axel had sent me on Leigha. I’d had him look into her, that Steven guy, and her new boss. The report was nothing in depth, Axel hadn’t had time for that. But it had the basics: home address, social, license plate as well as make and model on her car, and employment history. It was a start. On the other end of the line, I heard, “Delecta Security, this is Randall.”
“Randall, it’s Dylan. I have a situation. I’m on my way down, but I want you to get started right away. I need footage of anyone leaving the penthouse floor after midnight tonight. And I need you to locate a vehicle in our garage. A Honda Accord EX-L, beige, Nevada plate NGT947. If the car isn’t in the garage, find footage of it leaving the garage. And last, have someone check the entrance for an individual getting picked up or getting into a taxi. I’m sending a picture to your email.”