My knees almost give way, my mouth going bone dry.
Focus.
Focus.
I have to find her.
I’m burning so hot with grief that it takes me a moment to realize where we are. I own several of the high rises on this street. Does Shelby live in one of these? No. No, thinking back to the conversation, didn’t she say I postponed the eviction of her family? I’ve only done that once in my career in real estate.
“Carter Avenue,” I bark at my driver, throwing myself into the back seat. “The tenements.”
As soon as the vehicle starts moving, I call the building manager and demand the details of Shelby’s family. Who are they? What ages? How many of them? What is the apartment number? And as I find out more about the Bishops, the lesson Shelby taught me becomes painfully obvious.
I was going to throw these people out on the street without knowing a single thing about them. I could have made my future wife homeless and never batted an eyelash about it. These tenants of mine are people. People who make huge mistakes, sure, but if Shelby loves them, they can’t be all bad. As a fellow human being, I owe them a chance. I’ve owed a lot of people a chance they never got.
My head falls back against the seat, eyes gritty and raw.
And I start to pray.
Please God, if you let me have her back, I won’t forget the lessons she taught me. I’ll be a better person. I’ll be more like her. Please.
When I lift my head again, we are turning down Carter Avenue and I see the block through fresh eyes. It’s not just a low-rent neighborhood, it’s the place where Shelby lives. Is this where I will find her?
Frantically, I search the street for some sign of her, hoping like hell she ran home instead of going somewhere I’ll never pinpoint. I need to hold her in my arms so badly, they’re shaking, an apology jammed in my throat.
My driver pulls over and I waste no time getting out, marching straight into the building where Shelby lives and scaling the stairs to her apartment. Just knowing she walks these halls makes me miss her so much, I’m all but hunched over by the time I bang on the door.
A woman answers, looking terrified.
“Oh, Lord, is the eviction happening now? We weren’t notified—”
“No.” I brace a hand on the doorjamb. “You’re not being evicted. You’re never paying me rent again. Just help me find your daughter.”
The color drains from her face. “Is she lost? Last time I spoke to her, she was leaving for Paris. With you. She said…”
“What?”
Shelby’s mother only shakes her head, shame dancing across her features.
“I know about the plan to trade leniency for her virginity. She told me.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I regretted my decision as soon as she left, but it was too late. I should never have sent her to do that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” When tears fill her eyes, I soften my harsh tone and it’s all Shelby’s influence. She’s turned me human, hasn’t she? “But it brought her into my life,” I say gruffly, my heart squeezing. “I could never be angry about that. She’s my angel. She’s everything to me.”
The woman nods, as if she knows exactly how special her daughter is. “When she called me to tell me about Paris, she told me the plan was off. That she’d given herself to you freely because…she loves you.”
A pitiful sound leaves me and I nearly rip off the doorjamb. The plan was off. She’d taken her one bargaining tool and given it to me out of trust, affection, and I turned on her at the first opportunity. God, I don’t deserve her, do I? “I love her, too. I love her so much it hurts. But we argued and…and I just need your help bringing her back to me. Please. Where would she go?”
Shelby’s mother pushes the door open wider and allows me inside, my misery multiplying when I see they’ve already packed boxes, probably just in case I threw them out on the streets. Pictures of Shelby at all stages of her life remain on the wall, however, shooting my heart up into my mouth.
We walk into a room at the back of the three-bedroom apartment and the woman points to a small twin bed in the corner of the room, a shelf built into the headboard, packed with books. Simple and small. Unworthy of my angel. I’ve never been so determined to lay the world at her feet.
“I doubt there is anything in here that will tell us where she’s gone,” says her mother. “There might be a clue in her diary, but it’s locked.”
I look over to find the woman turning a small book over in her hand—and I take it. Hesitating only a second before bashing the lock against the headboard and cracking the diary wide open. “Once a devil, always a devil,” I mutter, letting the diary flip open to a page near the middle and…I see my name.