Page 73 of Auctioned Surrender

“No, but man, is she fine, Dereck! And that outfit she was wearing last night, hot, man, hot!”

My jaw tightens with annoyance at his boyish exuberance, but it’s not his fault. He has no idea why I’m calling, and I can’t blame him for being wowed by Layla’s looks. “I need a favor. If she calls you to get her car, can you let me know before you give it to her?”

“Sure can.”

“Thanks. I’ll be back to the condo shortly, but in the meantime, the number I’m calling from is where you can reach me.”

“Got it. I’ll keep a watch for your lady,” Ramon says before I disconnect and head for the highway that will take me to the condo the quickest, accelerating faster than usual.

I pull in less than twenty minutes later, and Ramon comes out to greet me. “Hey, Dereck. No sign of your girl,” he says.

I’m about to correct his assessment of our relationship when I realize it would probably be a reasonably close description if I had my way. “Thanks, Ramon. I’ll be upstairs if you see or hear anything. Oh, and can you get the license plate number and any rental information from inside the car she was driving and text it to me, please?” I ask.

“No problem, Dereck,” he says, as I hand him a hundred dollar bill.

“Whoa, you don’t need to give me this. I’d help you with anything,” Ramon says. I know he suspects I was the anonymous donor who made his college education possible, but I haven’t volunteered the information, and he hasn’t asked, and for now, I’d like to keep it that way.

“Consider it a tip,” I call, passing the bellman on the way to the private elevators of the penthouse where I intend to find out if my spirited beauty planned this before she left or if it was an impulsive decision on her part.

I open the door to the bedroom I gave her when we arrived, and her overnight bag is still on the floor. I unzip it and rummage through the contents, pulling out a ziplock bag of what appears to be a passport and other legal documents. I open the bag and take out one of three small blue folders, opening it to the first page and looking into the eyes of the woman I’ve come to consider mine. I glance at the name and scowl, opening the next passport only to find the same woman but with blonde hair and a different name. In the third passport, the picture shows her with short red hair and yet another name. I suck in a breath. I knew she had secrets, but I certainly wasn’t expecting this.

Something had to have happened. Layla wouldn’t have run and left her passports, which reassures me that she plans to return. Just maybe not today. I don’t know how many changes of clothes she had in her bag before, but it doesn’t appear as though Layla took much as it’s filled to the brim with high-heeled shoes.

I head into the kitchen, make a sandwich, grab a bottle of water, and sign onto my laptop to get the list Murph sent.

It doesn’t take long, eating as I work, beginning with the list of stops the bus heading south has made. I filter all the bars in the area and then search to narrow down the bars' owners, searching for one owned by Sammy, but nothing stands out from the southbound stops. I already know it’s going to take more time to go through the west side list because not only are there four times as many, but many of the ones affiliated with Bernatelli are all within walking distance for a person as fit as Layla.

As soon as I get the list narrowed, I map out all the other bar locations that Marenah has sent for reference. It’s hard to saywhere Layla’s going to start looking for her sister, but instinct tells me that my relentless princess isn’t going to wait until tonight to do something to find her. It’s an hour later when Murph calls back with no news on the credit card search, but he can confirm the bar I’ve found is the right one. The one I now know Layla will be dancing at tomorrow night if I don’t find her sister before then, but that doesn’t help me a damn bit right now.

I settle in, calling every hotel in a two-mile radius of Sammy’s bar because she has to have gone somewhere to stay the night. She hasn’t checked in at any of the hotels, so I extend my search to three miles, then to four, and then to five, but not one of them has a registration for Layla. I pull all the pieces of the elaborate plan together on the table, reviewing the information gathered last evening and what I intended to go over with Layla and for us to finalize together, sending one message after another, and getting everything organized for tomorrow night.

The plan is finally in place, right down to the finest of detail. The team members helping with the operation have been briefed and prepared for tomorrow night. We have a detailed plan for any logical scenario that may present itself. I stand and stretch, glancing at the time. She’s completely capable of taking care of herself, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying, thinking about what she’s doing, or wanting her to be here with me instead.

I walk over to the glass wall overlooking the lights below.Where are you, princess?I know she could be anywhere in this sprawling city, and the chance of locating her if she doesn’t want to be found is doubtful. I start calling all the hotels again, one by one, until I finally receive confirmation that Layla has checked into one of the west side hotels. I throw on an overshirt, grab my gear, and am halfway out the door when my cell phone rings.

I absently pull it from my pocket and answer.

“It’s Layla.” Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.

My chest tightens at the softness of her voice. “Are you okay, princess?”

She stifles a sob on the other end. “I’m not hurt if that’s what you mean, but I’m not okay either.”

“Where are you? Safe?”

“I’m safe and at a hotel not that far away. I’m curled up in bed for the night and felt like talking.”

“You left on your own? Tell me why, Layla?”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone. I’m known for my patience, but not knowing what’s wrong with Layla tests it like nothing ever has before. I breathe in deeply. She’s okay, she said she’s okay, and I need to give her the time she needs. Layla called me, and she’ll tell me when she’s ready and not before. I know that much about my spirited beauty, but I find the wait agonizing, which only further solidifies how much she has come to mean to me in such a short time.

“Are you still there, Dereck?”

“I’m still here, princess,” I say, walking back into the condo and stretching out on the sofa.

“I lied to you, not just once, but twice; maybe even three times.”

Her answer is the first time I’ve smiled since seeing her last. “You left because you lied to me, princess?”

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