Scandalous - Michael B Jordan

chapter 21

i walked out of the home gym christensen had, marginally less pissed off. dripping with sweat, instinct hit me. i dropped the hand towel and palmed my 9mm as i moved to the kitchen without making a sound.

my senses on high alert, i didn't know what the fuck was different, but something was. i scanned the open plan kitchen and living room, but nothing stood out. the doors were all closed, the lights were still off and the sun had just set.

listening for any movement, i silently made my way down the hall. bypassing the master and third bedroom, i went straight for her room and tried the door handle. locked.

i banged on the door once. "aspen, open up." one second, two, three. no response. shit. i kicked the door right below the handle. wood splintered as it swung open and slammed into the wall.

the second my gaze hit the room, i knew what was wrong. slider door open, the worn suitcase opened on the bed, shit strewn all over—she was gone. i hit the lanai running.

circling the pool, scanning the side yard, i ran toward the beach access and sprinted out to the sand. when i hit the beach, i looked south and north, but i didn't see her. i didn't see anyone except an older couple with a dog a hundred yards south.

i was running back toward the house and the garage when i realised i still had the car keys in my pocket. i checked the garage for the suv anyway and sprinted into the house after i saw it parked where i left it.

i went straight to the security panel and scrolled through the video footage of the back of the house and the pool. a minute later, i saw it. aspen with a backpack jogging around the pool and heading straight for the beach.

my gut constricted as i looked at the time stamp, then at my watch. two hours ago. two motherfucking hours ago. which was a goddamn lifetime when tracking someone.

i pulled my phone out and dialed azul. he answered on the first ring. "this better be good. we lost three celebrity clients today."

fuck. "she's gone." silence. i inhaled, then fessed up to my fucking negligence. "two hours ago."

"jesucristo," azul swore. "what the hell happened?"

"i was pissed. i needed a workout. she was in her room, talking to her lawyer."

"for two hours?" azul practically yelled. "what the fuck, bakari? you do that shit on your own time."

i didn't defend myself, because he was right. i didn't have an excuse. i've crossed every professional line i could think of. fucking her was child's play compared to turning my back on her.

"tell me what you have." he started typing on a keyboard. "i'm bringing up the security feeds there."

"she left through the slider in her room and went toward the beach. the cameras lost her after that."

"shit, i don't have coverage on that property past the yard." he typed some more. "i'm bringing up her phone now. hold on, i'll trace it–mierda. last ping is your location, two hours ago. she either turned it off or left it there."

fuck me. i strode into her room, and sure enough, in the middle of the pile on the bed was her phone. "it's here. she left it."

"damn it, hold on. let's see who she called last." azul clicked away on his computer, and i fucking stewed. rifling through the shit she left behind, i couldn't believe she took off. then again, i could. i've been a dick. she deserved it, but i was still a dick. i should've fucking checked on her before working out.