Page 98 of Knot your Good Girl

But she was gone.

And as her battered suitcase and most of her clothes weren’t there, I knew she wasn’t out shopping.

I stare at the two photographs I stole from her bedroom wall—Holly and her sister at different stages of life.

How much they resembled each other in their youth. Dressing the same, smiling the same, both had pale blonde hair and green eyes.

In the first image, a Christmas tree occupied the corner of the room, while both girls sported a birthday sash draped over their bodies.

But while one little girl held a doll in her arms, the other held a ball. The tiny difference between them was subtle in the first photo. But I noticed in the photo collage of the two girls of how much they changed.

The second photo I stole showed their own personalities. The two girls were around eighteen years old, but now very different. By this age, one girl had hair that was purple and black lips.

“How did her sister die?” I mutter.

“I don’t know.”

“Then find out. I want to know everything about Holly. Her family… Everything.”

“We know she flew to Los Angeles, but I can’t find her here. It’s like she’s disappeared off the face of the earth.” My private investigator says.

His words slapped me in the face, as sharp as a sliver of porcelain that pricked my finger.

I pull out the splinter and suck on my finger. “Los Angeles?”

My hand curls into a fist, clenching tightly as I blow out deep breaths, trying to relieve the rapid beats of my heart.

“Yeah, and that’s where we think she still is now. And why it’s taken some time. We were so focused on Europe because she lodged her passport with the Omega Council, and she had a flight booked to Paris.”

“Omega Council?”

“Yeah, you know. Omegas have to declare where they’re going if they permanently leave the state they live in, or if they travel overseas. It’s just an online application.”

“How did she get to California?”

“No idea. Someone must have helped her.”

Just when I feel I’m making progress, the rug is yanked out from under me once more. “Wouldn’t she have to declare leaving?”

“Not necessarily. She still filled out the paperwork to travel overseas and that paperwork hasn’t been rescinded.”

“Okay, let me know when you find out more,” I say.

“We’ll find her. We know she’s in Los Angeles and I have people at the airport waiting to let me know once her passport is used.”

“Good.” I feel I’m getting closer to her. Close enough to inhale the aroma of the sunshine in her hair. Smell the citrus on her skin. Plant a gentle kiss on her pouty pink lips before I tell her we are real.

I disconnect my cell and then briskly head towards my door. Swinging it open before I can second guess myself, and stride to my personal assistant.

“Helen.”

She lifts her head up from her computer, brown eyes snapping at me and then to my bloody hand. “Yes, Mr. Ramsay?”

“Call my pilot. I want to leave for Los Angeles today. Oh, and clear my schedule for next week.”

“But sir, you’re booked to fly with the team for their game in Miami.”

“I’ll be there. Call my pilot,” I grunt as blood trickles down my tightly clenched fist as I grip the jagged porcelain shard.

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