Page 48 of Until It Was Real

When she doesn’t answer, I open my eyes to discover she isn’t in the bed. Guessing by how cold the sheets are, she hasn’t been for a while.

“Dakota?” I holler again.

I climb out of bed to search for her. The bathroom door is ajar. I peek inside. She’s not in there. I turn away but notice her bag is missing from the closet. I swear underneath my breath. I can’t believe she fled.

Hold on. We still have a plane to catch. She couldn’t have gone far. A quick call to the airline confirms she switched her reservation to an earlier flight.

I growl. She’s running from me.

I should probably let her go. But my stomach sinks to the floor at the idea. I don’t want to let her go. And, after last night, I don’t need to. Not after I found out what secrets she’s keeping.

But why is she running from me?

I will find out. I pack up all of my things, plus the suitcases with the samples we brought forVelvet Blossomto try. We concluded our business with them a day early. I had planned to spend today showing Dakota Atlanta, but she shot those plans to shit.

I smile at the receptionist when I reach the desk to check out. “I’m checking out a day early.”

The receptionist doesn’t smile in return. She keeps her gaze focused on the computer.

“Here you are.” She slaps the invoice down on the counter.

I don’t bother to review it. “It’s fine,” I say and hand her my credit card.

She swipes it and hands it back to me. “Your payment is successful.”

“Have a nice day.”

She grunts at me. Someone is not in a good mood this morning. I don’t say anything since I’m not a happy camper now either.

“I need help with my bags,” I say when the porter doesn’t come over to assist me.

She motions for him to help. The man scowls at me as he walks over. Is everyone in Atlanta grumpy this morning?

I follow as the porter rolls my bags to a waiting taxi. When I try to tip him for his help, he holds up a hand.

“No, thank you.”

I frown. “Is something wrong?”

“Why don’t you ask the lovely lady you kicked out of your hotel room this morning?”

“I didn’t…” I don’t get a chance to explain before he’s gone.

Damnit. What kind of state was Dakota in when she left?

Time crawls by as I travel to the airport, wait for my flight, and fly back home. Worry for Dakota pounds at me as I drive back to Smuggler’s Hideaway. I phone Eli.

“Is Dakota at the office?” I ask.

“Why would she be at the office? Aren’t you supposed to be in Atlanta for another day?”

“We concluded our business early.”

“Didn’t Dakota fly home with you?”

“She took an earlier flight.”

He groans. “What did you do to her?”

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