True Love - Love Series
I stalked to the phone on a little writing desk and snatched up the receiver. It would automatically dial the operator if I gave it time, but I punched in the number for the day manager.
When he answered, I growled, “Brian, it’s Diego Sanchez.”
“Si, Mr. Sanchez. Cómo puedo ayudarte?”
“The occupants of this room, where are they?” I replied in Spanish.
“Um, I shouldn't give out—”
“Brian, if you want to keep your job, tell me where the fuck Allison is.” My voice was low and held a thread of steel. I was not messing around, and if that meant throwing my weight around as the new owner, so be it.
“Yes, sir.” He paused, and the sound of clicking filled the silence until a minute later when he said, “They checked out this morning.”
What in the actual fuck? When I got my hands on her again, I was going to blister her ass before I reminded her who she belonged to with a good, hard fuck.
“Flight information?” I barked.
He recited the information they’d provided in order to use the shuttle to the airport, and I filed it away before thanking him curtly and hanging up.
Anger was festering inside me, and I wouldn’t rest easy until my girl was in my arms again, but the corners of my lips tipped up because I had the upper hand. I should have guessed that Allison and Charlie had flown in on a private plane. And, as luck would have it, I happened to own that particular airport.
I hurried back to my room and picked up my cell phone, intent on calling and grounding their plane, but when the screen lit up, I saw at least twenty messages from my family and ten missed calls. I was torn about what to handle first. Allison would always take priority, except I knew, even though I wasn’t there to see to her personally, she would be taken care of and protected by her family. I needed to do the same for mine.
My mother didn’t pick up, so I left her a quick message. “Mamá llámame.”
Next, I tried the oldest of my five sisters. Still nothing. I was about to move on to the next when my phone vibrated with an incoming call from my brother. “Miguel,” I answered. “What’s going on?” I asked him, slipping into Spanish like I always did with my family.
“Papá is in the ICU.”
“What?”
“He had a stroke and fell. When he landed, he broke a rib, and it punctured his lung.” Miguel went on to explain some more, his voice trembling with suppressed tears.
I started running around the room as I listened, gathering everything in sight and throwing it into a suitcase—including the things I’d bought for Allison. Though I noticed she’d taken the nightgown she’d worn last night and the shirt I’d worn to dinner. It gave me a little comfort to know she would have something of mine so close to her.
“I’ll be there in thirty,” I promised while jogging out the door of the bungalow. After I hung up with him, I called the valet to make sure my car was already pulled up when I arrived.
As instructed, my Phantom was idling by the curb, and I put a hundred dollar bill in the valet’s hand as I rushed by him. In minutes, my bag was in the car, and I was racing off to the hospital.
* * *
“Put me through to Jonah Carrington,” I commanded. My tone was harsher than I’d intended, but I was exhausted, worried, and Allison was a country away from me. I didn’t have the energy to be patient or cajoling. “Tell him it’s Diego Sanchez,” I informed the receptionist before she could say anything about appointments or him being busy or whatever the fuck excuse she came up with to put me off.
“But—”
“Do. It.”
She was silent for a beat. “Hold, please.”
Music started playing in my ear, and I ground my teeth together to keep from throwing my phone across the waiting room.
My father was still in critical condition, and my mother and siblings were beside themselves. I’d walked into the hospital, and they had handed the situation over to me. It had taken some throwing my weight around before they got a doctor to come out and give us some real information. Despite being in the ICU, his prognosis, barring any complications, was positive. After grilling the doctor for the better part of half an hour, I sent him scurrying back through the swinging doors that led to patient rooms.
My sisters had gone to the cafeteria to get some lunch, and my brother was holding our mother as she silently wept with her head on his shoulder. I hated that I couldn't fix it. Hated that I couldn't take away her pain. And fuck, I missed my woman. It had been four days since I’d woken up to find her gone.