Page 81 of Long Arm of the Cowboy

He slammed through the door and rushed down the main corridor leading to the hall. Two men were quickly setting up folding chairs in neat rows facing the front of the room for the funeral service. A florist was delivering baskets of flowers to the front.

Wildly, he searched the room for Lark and didn’t see her.

Where was she? He couldn’t lose her.

“Lark!” he snapped into his comms. Several people turned to stare at him, but he ignored them all and hurried to a door at the far side of the space.

What would Lark do if she really were in trouble? The woman was fearless.

She’d losteveryone,losteverything.But not her life. She always had a safety net.

Clay sucked in a searing breath.I’m her safety net. I have to save Lark.

His senses were blaring. She was in trouble. But where was she?

Practically running now, he searched the hall and rooms beyond, finding only an empty space decorated in feminine hues that was probably a bride’s dressing room. He located one for grooms and then restrooms. He ducked to make a sweep of the stalls, searching for feet underneath.

No Lark.

“Goddammit! I could use some backup here, Quaide,” he ground out. “I can’t find her.”

“No one’s coming out either, only going in for the funeral. I’ll check the east exit.”

Clay’s heart alternately slammed and squeezed until the change of oxygen in his system started to affect his brain.

Focus! Stop letting your emotions get the better of you and find her!

But I fucking love that woman like no one else.

He shoved through another exit and stumbled to a halt. A parking lot spread out before him. A hearse was parked nearby and a group of guys dressed in black were hanging out smoking cigarettes.

They looked up at his explosive exit, expressions grim.

Clay ducked back into the building, letting the door slam hard behind him. “Quaide, what’s your position?”

A loud echo of shattering glass came from Clay’s left.

“Hear that? That’s me.”

“Fuck, what did you do?”

“I barreled around a corner and ran right into a guy carrying vases of flowers.”

Clay didn’t have a moment to respond because his phone buzzed.

He snapped it to his ear but the call cut off before he could even identify the caller. He swiped to look at the caller ID, but it just said call failed, no contact information. He attempted to call it back, but it wouldn’t connect.

His gut told him it was Lark. Something happened. She lost her phone.

No, a woman who carried around enough junk to survive an apocalypse would never lose something as important as her phone, especially during this op. That could only mean it was taken from her by force.

Rage spread through his limbs, a pulsating heat that built and swelled until he couldn’t see straight.

When he rounded a corner and spotted Quaide, Clay’s boots crunched the broken glass from the vases.

“Something is very wrong,” Clay ground out. “I just got a call that ended and I can’t reach her at all.”

Quaide picked his way across the glass, grinding it into the floor underfoot. A few feet away, the florist was picking up what flowers he could salvage from the disaster.

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