Turn Over

Mason

I looked at the phone in my hand. The calls went straight to voicemail. Damn it.

“Mark, what were you thinking taking her to PR?” I yelled. “I told her to stay in my office.”

“She’s on the PR team, sir.”

I threw my hands in the air. I should have told her. “Find out where she went, damn it!” I knew I was yelling and screaming like a dictator, but I felt all the control I had was lost.

“How am I supposed to do that?” Mark was plastered to the wall next to the door.

I sat in the chair. She was gone. No one had seen her in the building, and Jackie and Chelsea said she ran out of their offices like she was being chased.

I didn’t know whether I should stay in the office or go out on the street to search for her. She could be at the airport. She could be in a coffee shop. Hell, she could be anywhere. I picked up the note she had scribbled on my desk. She signed it with three X’s. She had told me once they stood for more than kisses. They were kisses laced with fire.

“I need James Booker on the phone now.” I glared at him.

“Got it.” Mark raced out of the office.

It had been a long time since I had used his services, but this was urgent. Sydney could be anywhere in the city. I couldn’t stay if she had left, and I couldn’t go if she had stayed. I felt caged. Worse, I felt helpless.

The intercom crackled. “Mr. Booker’s on line one.”

I yanked the phone in my hand. “James.”

“Sounds li

ke you have something urgent.” The retired detective had a slow drawl.

“I do.”

“What can I do for you, Mason?”

“Can you meet me at my place? I’m headed over there now.”

“Sure can. See you in twenty minutes.”

I barged past Mark and the rest of the staff. I turned to face him. “If you see her, call me immediately.”

“I will, sir.” Mark shrank against the potted palm next to his desk.

I flipped the lights on in my penthouse, and threw the keys on a side table. I was going to show all of this to Sydney. I wanted her to see where I lived. See the view I coveted from this floor. It felt stuffy even with the air conditioner running. These windows didn’t open. It wasn’t like the condo in Padre, always circulating with salt air.

I looked around, it wasn’t anything like Padre. This place was cold and unfeeling.

I opened the bedroom closet and stared at the two racks of white shirts. Some had been monogrammed with my initials on the cuffs. Others were designed with a close fit by my tailor.

I shut the door when I heard a strong knock. I crossed the hardwood floors to get to the door.

“James, come in.” I showed the tall man into the penthouse.

“You sounded out of sorts, Mason.” He took the Stetson from his head and placed it next to him on the couch.

“I am. I need you to find someone for me.”

“Another missing family member?”

I shook my head. I had used James’s services last year when I wanted to make sure Grey was Dad’s grandson. James had done all of the investigative work for me. I could trust him.