Page 169 of Serving the Mogul

“James,breathe.”

A hard, rapid breath exploded from me.

Awhoop-whoopsound caught my attention, and I jerked my head to the left. A black and white cruiser of a Dallas County sheriff pulled up behind the red car.

“Gianni?”

“It’s okay, James,” she said. “We’re running the car’s plates…my guy is close enough to see the driver. It’s not Cecil or Simone—what? Okay, okay…got it, Rubens. James, that was my tech guy. He ran the plate…”

Her words jumbled together as I stared at the car and caught sight of the driver. I could see a grizzled face and a dark baseball cap.

It wasn’t Cecil. But the sheriff’s cruiser could scare Cecil and Simone away.

“If you stare at that sheriff any harder, people are going to notice.”

That wasn’t from Gianni.

The woman wearing a faded t-shirt and jeans was a far cry from the detective I’d met the past day, but the quick look she sent me was pure cop.

Taking the hint, I looked away.

“That’s better.” She stabbed a discarded paper cup with the tool she carried and moved on. Over her shoulder, she said, “Hold it together.”

I gritted my teeth.

Just how relaxed should I look when my girlfriend was fucking missing? With a snarl, I let go of the briefcase and jerked at my tie. It didn’t make breathing any easier.

Minutes ticked by. Cars pulled into the old truck stop’s parking lot. Others left. A station wagon turned into the lot, belching smoke as it came to a stuttering stop. The driver climbed out, swearing. He slammed the driver’s side door as I averted my eyes.

Kids clambered out, along with a big, shaggy dog who made a beeline for the grassy patch a few yards from where I stood.

A kid came rushing up, calling for the dog.

The canine pricked up his ears as he finished his business.

Once the kid and dog returned to the car, I went back to scanning the area. No more new cars.

The sheriff’s car was long gone, as was the red sedan.

And still no fucking sign of Cecil, Simone, or Tina.

“How fucking long have we been waiting?” Grabbing my phone, I checked the time.

A pounding settled in the base of my skull, the numbers glaring up at me.

“They’re late,” I growled.

“I know,” Gianni said.

Gianni’s voice came over the earpiece, but the words were muffled as if speaking to somebody else. Other voices joined in, but I couldn’t distinguish one from the other.

Behind me, I heard Joyner talking.

Abruptly, the conversation went quiet.

The back doors of a plain, dirty-looking van burst open and Gianni appeared, glancing over her shoulder with a wide grin on her face before turning to me.

I pushed off the table and started toward her. With my heart pounding, I met Gianni on the crumbling edge of the pavement, where the parking lot gave way to spotty grass.

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