Keys.
I twist around and snatch the keys out of the backseat foot well, where they landed when Mick and I started kissing. Moving fast as I can, I slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine, trying desperately to remember the last time I was in a car. How it was operated. God, I hate being helpless. I can’t even drive.
I’m propelled into motion when Mick walks out of the bar. His stride breaks when he sees me in the driver’s seat, the engine running. Or maybe it’s my expression that makes the color drain from his face. Whatever the reason, I have no time to dwell on the wrenching pain in my chest. I operate in survival mode, moving the stick into drive and hitting the pedal, speeding away from the curb.
“Hailey!”
I’m surprised Mick’s bellow doesn’t shatter the glass. As I turn the corner at the end of the street, I see him running after me and begin to sob. But I keep driving. I keep driving, because I have no choice.
CHAPTER THREE
Mick
I’m going out of my fucking mind.
Where the hell are you, Hailey?
It takes everything inside me not to roar that question over my panoramic view of Los Angeles. I haven’t slept in a week. Not since I tasted the girl of my dreams, held her in my arms, made promises to her…and then lost it all. I lost everything when I’d barely started to believe she was real.
I pace back and forth on the balcony, my fists aching to smash the glass railing into a million pieces. It’s my fault she took off. There’s no question about that. When I walked out of the bar, she looked so scared. What kind of man speaks to a virgin the way I spoke to Hailey? Even being held prisoner by her father was more appealing than a man three times her size wanting to get inside of her. Why couldn’t I have been more patient?
Yeah, I made her come. Made her twist around and whimper, her eyes wide like she had no idea what was happening. And that’s part of the problem. I introduced her to sex way too fast. Christ, I didn’t even let her finish her drink before I dragged her outside the bar to get my hands on her. Worse, if I went back in time, I’m not even sure I could control myself enough to be more patient the second time. She…spelled me. Pulled me under. I’m still under.
And I need her back. Something I don’t have nearly enough time to focus on when the Bureau is breathing down my neck for results on the case.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from breaking the railing, then turn and reenter the house. Ivan Stepanov returned from his overnight trip just under a week ago and the house across the canyon has been pretty silent ever since, apart from the usual vans coming and going, transporting what I know to be forged art and drugs. It’s proof I’m after, though. I need to move soon and it’s becoming more obvious by the day that I won’t get a damn thing on the man unless I get closer.
A lot closer.
I know I’m not thinking clearly right now. I’m the furthest thing from levelheaded when I don’t know how to find Hailey. But if I sit in this stupid mansion for one more day, I’m going to lose my mind. I need action. Once I get this case wrapped up and Stepanov is extradited back to Russia, I can focus on getting the girl back.
My Mercedes was found a mile from here—dinged up on every side—which gives me a starting point, even if the location of the car creates more questions than answers. I assumed she’d been on foot the night we met. Living in the surrounding neighborhood. It didn’t seem likely that she’d taken a cab to the bar, because I don’t remember a purse, a cell phone or a visible wallet. The fact that she ditched the Mercedes so close to here means she also traveled to the bar that night. But how?
And more importantly, from where?
It’s nightfall before I realize how long I’ve been wearing a hole in the living room rug, trying to come up with answers. It’s dark in the house. When I go to the closest lamp to turn it on, I see the house across the canyon is lit up like a fucking Christmas tree tonight. Action. We’ve got some.
I’m not waiting any longer to move.
After calling in to the Bureau and reporting my plans for the evening, I throw on some black slacks and a button down—the price tag on both making me shake my head. I stop in the wine cellar on the way out to grab yet another overpriced item and head out the front door. I feel naked without my gun and badge, but there’s no way I won’t get searched before entering a house full of professional gangsters. If I’m going to get in tight with Stepanov, he needs to believe I’m his clueless neighbor with too much money and time on his hands.