Page 53 of Dangerously Tempting

“Jameson,” she says, and I instantly know from the shake in her voice that something is wrong. Flipping off the burners I move the pans off the heat so I can hold my phone again.

“What’s going on, Kat?”

“Have you heard from Amelia? She never showed up and that’s not like her. Normally she’ll call if she’s running late, but she didn’t and I didn’t get a text or anything.” The words come so quickly that I struggle to follow what she’s saying.

“Slow down,” I say softly. “Did you try to call her?”

“Yes! Dozens of times. The first call went through but now it goes straight to voicemail.”

The hairs on my arms stand on end, a feeling as cold as ice making its way down my spine. She’s always been good at keeping everyone notified if she’s running behind, and she’s also obsessive about making sure her phone stays charged so she’s never left without it.

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m still at the cafe we were supposed to meet at.”

“Okay, stay there. Keep trying her phone, and call anyone you think that she might be with.” I shove my feet into my boots as I give her directions, shoving the laces under the tongue instead of taking the time to tie them. “Call me if you find anything out. I’m going to go to her office and work my way toward you.”

“Okay,” she says softly, and I can hear the worry in her voice.

“We’ll find her,” I say in reassurance.

I don’t want to make her promises I can’t keep, but even I need to hear them right now. I’m really hoping this is something easily explainable and that we’ll all laugh about it later, but right now? A feeling of dread is sitting heavy in my gut that I just can’t shake.

I skip the elevator, hanging up with Kat as I shoulder the door to the stairwell open. I take the steps two at a time until I’m throwing open the door to the parking garage. Even though I know she wouldn’t come in this way, a part of me hopes to find her down here, laughing at the joke they’ve played on me, but there’s no sign of her. I hurry to my bike, throwing my leg over before starting it.

Traffic laws don’t exist to me as I make my way out onto the street. The speed limit is only a suggestion, and the division lines between lanes become a lane all of my own as I whip past cars between me and the possibility of finding her. By the time I reach her office my focus has narrowed to only her, like I have tunnel vision and nothing else exists.

I park my bike and clamor off, making my way to the doorman. I thrust my phone toward him with a photo of her pulled up. “Did you see this woman leave today?” I ask, and he shrugs.

“There’s a lot of people in and out of here in a day.”

“Yes, I know that. Please try to remember. If not her, anything that might be suspicious.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “What is this about?”

“We don’t know where she is and can’t get ahold of her. This is the last place we know for sure she was at. Do you remember anything? Anything at all? Please.” I’m not opposed to begging if that’s what I have to do.

“I really don’t, I’m sorry. Nothing suspicious either. You’re welcome to check and see if she’s still inside.”

I nod and step inside as he opens the door. I bite my tongue to refrain from telling him how shitty he is at his job. I don’t have time to deal with his shit right now anyways. I make the same resultless dance of conversation with the receptionist at the front desk and want to yell by the time I walk away from her.

How the fuck are these people so completely oblivious to what’s going on around them day in and day out?

I mash the button for the elevator angrily, wanting to put my fist through the wall instead. Her office is my last hope. When the doors open I step inside and jab at the button until they slide closed and it begins to climb. I dig my fingers into my hair and yank, trying to reign myself in and tell myself it could be nothing.

It could be, but the absolute panic that’s starting to overtake me says otherwise.

I’m rushing out the doors before they’re even fully open, but the office is dark behind the glass and when I try the door I find it locked. I put my hands up against the glass, blocking the light so I can peer inside and back towards her office. No lights there or anywhere else for that matter. “Fuck,” I growl, and the statement ricochets around in my head.

Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I turn to get back onto the elevator and pause. I’m a fucking idiot. She always takes the stairs, so maybe she’s down there somewhere with a sprained ankle or something, pissed that it’s taken us this long to find her. The voice in my head tells me I’m a fool for even trying to believe she’d just sit around and wait like that, but I squash it down.

I push open the door, scanning over every surface as I make my way down the stairs. If there’s a sign of her here, I’ll damn well find it. I pause at the next landing, hanging my upper body over the railing to look down. No sign of anyone and it’s silent aside from my own panted breaths. I keep looking anyway.

I move towards the next flight of stairs when something on the floor, tucked against the bar holding the railing in place, catches my attention. Bending down, I pick it up. It’s Chapstick and not just any Chapstick. I know immediately it’s hers. She’s the only person I know that will sit there and peel the sticker off the tube, and the little sticky spot she couldn’t quite get, is agonizingly familiar from all the times she’s pulled this exact tube from her purse to apply it.

I jolt back up to my full height and swing my gaze around, looking for something, anything, else. There are drops of something on the floor a few steps away and I squat again, gently prodding the substance with my finger before lifting it up to eye level. My blood runs cold as my eyes lock onto the end of my index finger where the confirmation of the panic that has been building rests against my skin.

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