Page 54 of Defending What's Mine

I step back. “Not now.”

She pouts. “You’re always on. It’ssoexhausting.”

“Safety never clocks out.” I motion her to stand. “Walk with me. Retrace her steps.”

We exit the decking, moving along the paved loop that skirts landscaping beds of hibiscus and bird-of-paradise. I keep half a step ahead, eyes scanning every shadow.

“Seriously,” Melanie says, “this is overkill. Charlotte’s mother probably dragged her to High Tea.”

“Her mother doesn’t drink tea. She’s allergic to chamomile.”

Melanie snorts. “You keep files on herbal allergies?”

“Anything that helps me spot lies.” I shoot her a look. “And right now, I’m spotting one.”

Her laugh falters. “Excuse me?”

“You said Charlotte went with her mother. Let’s confirm.”

We step inside the lobby as conference-goers swarm between poster boards and continental lunch. I track Margaret Lane’s signature floral pastels at the far end near the concierge. She’s deep in conversation with a banquet manager.

“Stay here,” I instruct Melanie.

I thread through the crowd to Mrs. Lane. “Ma’am, pardon, have you seen Charlotte?”

She smiles, then reads my face and pales. “Not since this morning. Why?”

My gut bottoms. “Thought she was with you.”

“I’m finalizing gala donations.” She grips my forearm. “Asher, where is my daughter?”

“Working on it,” I assure, pulling away.

Melanie is already drifting toward the elevator bank, tapping on her phone. I intercept.

“Why did you tell me Charlotte went shopping with her mother?”

Melanie blinks behind massive lenses. “That’s what I thought she said. Hmm, maybe I misheard. Don’t crucify me.”

“Phone,” I demand.

“What?”

“Your phone. Let me see your last messages.”

She recoils. “Absolutely not. Privacy ring any bells?”

Suspicion flares hot. But I’m wasting seconds. My blood boils, but I know I can’t yank her phone away from her without causing a scene. “Fine. Stay reachable.”

I step aside, dialing Dean on my burner as I stride for the staff hallway.

Dean answers mid-ring. “Hawke.”

“Charlotte’s off-grid. Unanswered texts, phone to voicemail. Last known location is the pool deck at 12:05. Need phone trace.”

“On it.” Keystrokes clatter. “Triangulating… ping returns location inside resort geofence, northeast quadrant—maintenance and logistics.”

“Copy.” I jog toward the back-of-house tunnel. “Send coordinates.”

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