Page 72 of Savage Beauty

It’s the discipline of muscle building that I love. The concerted effort fuels the meditative quality of reps. Losing yourself in the clink of iron. Witnessing results from the sweat. But bulk takes a hit on cardio. Or maybe it’s the one-two combo of getting old and bulking up.

Shut that fucking voice down. At thirty-eight, I’m hardly old. But I chose a career that does a number on joints. Jumping out of planes, time on the mat, maneuvers in the ocean, hours pounding pavement, it all takes a toll. There’s no denying that.

The screen door slides open with a dull, grating sound. I look down and realize I’m about to track a shit ton of sand through the villa. So I backtrack, leaving the door open, to remove my shoes and socks. Sweat pours down my temples, and I swipe at the salty stream, but not before some burns my eyes.

I slap the sides of my shoes against the deck, but it’s not good enough to get all the sand off. A plastic bag to pack my running shoes in would be ideal. I glance through the open door, searching for Sloane.

I like our new plan. It gives us more time to flesh out what’s happening between us. Knox confirmed the other day he’s relocating. He’s still working out the details with Arrow, but he’ll continue on their payroll one way or another. And, given I’m seriously considering a transition to the tech world, I could work anywhere. Or I could choose security as planned. The options aren’t as open-ended with security, but there are options.

“Sloane,” I call as the cool tile floor meets my sweaty, bright white feet. A tan line caps pale and slightly wrinkled skin. After being ensconced in damp cotton for hours, I imagine my feet smell pretty ripe too.

I carefully place my shoes on the table and turn to head upstairs. The bags and suitcases sitting by the door catch my attention. There’s something off, but I can’t put my finger on it.

An uncomfortable sensation pings in my belly. I ignore it and tug off my soaked shirt, charging up the steps.

“Sloane,” I call again, turning from the landing into her bedroom. My suitcase is open, like I left it. My toiletries are in the bathroom. None of her stuff is here, but she probably packed it all up. But where is she?

“Sloane?” I call, moving into the room across the way. I packed up my gear before heading out on the run.

After one quick loop around the villa, it’s apparent she’s not here. But she said she was going to go for a walk when I went on my run. She must’ve packed and then gone, so she’ll be back soon.

I charge up the stairs once more, shower, pack, and return downstairs.

“Sloane?”

Outside, I scan the beach. There’s no sign of a tall, dark-haired woman with incredible legs.

Inside the house, I go to the computer bag. With my computer, I can check in with the team and also see exactly where Sloane is, maybe meet her out on the beach.

But, as I lift bag after bag, there’s no computer bag to be found. Odd. It was a black messenger bag. I packed my laptop and the laptop we lifted from…

Christ. This is not good.

I find my phone and check it. There’s a missed call from Erik. I return the call, and he answers on the first ring. That uncomfortable gut sensation intensifies.

“Sloane and Dr. Kallio entered Origins Laboratories. Sloane did not appear to be under duress. You know what’s going on?”

A slight dizziness overtakes me, and I back into the wall and rest against it. Has she been playing me this whole time?

“You saw her on video?”

“Forty-five minutes ago. Found out five minutes ago. We got an alert about one of our trackers moving and someone on my team checked it. I’ll be addressing the delay.” He sounds annoyed, and also completely unaware that my emotions are all over the fucking place and I’m having a very hard time following. “Any idea what she’s doing?”

God, I’m such a fool. Not once, but twice. Two fucking goddamned times. Any idea, Max, that she was stepping out? Nope. None, because I am a goddamn motherfucking idiot.

“Max? You still there?”

“I’m here. And no, I don’t know what the fuck is going on. I went for a run. She should’ve been here when I got back.” I run my fingers through my wet hair and pace along the pile of luggage, taking stock. “Her wheeled suitcase is still here. So is her black duffel.” I squint, bending to confirm the luggage tag on the duffel is indeed hers. But her pocketbook isn’t here. That held her identification. She’d need that to fly commercial.

I blink. This is Sloane. Get a hold of yourself. “She really wanted to go back and talk to them about her job. Maybe she decided to do that?” My gut doesn’t settle down with the words. I don’t know what the fuck to believe. “Do you have cameras inside the building?”

He doesn’t. I know exactly where the cameras are. And so does Sloane.

“No. But she hasn’t exited. I’ve got four watching the cameras now. We’ll know the moment she leaves.”

“She took Dr. Kallio’s laptop with her.”

“Doesn’t matter. We already have access within their walls.”

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