She could die.
Could get hypothermia.
Could fall and hurt herself and lie there unable to get help.
Could get lost in the woods and never find her way out.
Could die hating me.
The thought makes my chest so tight I can barely breathe.
No.
I force myself to breathe.
To think. To focus.
Rage won't help me find her.
Fear won't bring her back.
Emotion won't solve anything.
I need to be cold.
Calculating. Strategic.
I need to hunt.
I head back into the conference room.
My CFO looks up, concern written all over his face. "Everything all right?"
"Emergency," I say shortly. "We'll need to reschedule."
"Is it something I can help with? Because if the Singapore deal?—"
"It's personal. And it's handled."
I'm out of the building in five minutes.
In my car in eight.
On the highway toward the estate in ten, pushing the Range Rover well above the speed limit, my mind racing even faster than the engine.
Why did she run?
The question circles in my head like a vulture.
This morning, she said yes.
Looked me in the eye and admitted she wanted more.
Agreed to come to my room tonight.
She was nervous, yes.
Conflicted, absolutely. But she'd made the decision.
