But I hadn't.
And now she was gone, her phone dead or turned off, while New York's predators circled like sharks scenting blood in the water.
I pulled out my own phone again, thumb hovering over Cecelia's name. What would one more call accomplish? If she was ignoring me, she'd continue to ignore me. If her phone was dead, it would still be dead. If someone had taken her phone… No. Nausea rose in my throat and I quickly cut that thought off before it could fully form.
I scrolled past her name to Tristan's.
The phone rang three times before he answered with a sleep-heavy groan. “It's past midnight, Rafe. What the hell?”
“Cecelia's gone.” The words scraped my throat raw. “She left four hours ago after a fight, and her phone's off. I need help.”
A rustling sound came through the line and I could picture Tristan sitting up in the bed he shared with Kate.
“Define gone,” he said carefully.
“She went out with Izzy.” I resumed pacing, running my fingers through my hair for the hundredth time. “We had a fight about... about Gabriel.”
The name still stuck in my throat, a jagged stone I had to force past my lips.
Tristan went silent for a moment. He knew about Gabriel, about what had happened. He and Liam were among the few who did. “When was the last time you heard from her?”
“When she left.” I glanced at my watch again. Fours fucking hours. “Her phone's been off for the last hour at least.”
“Did you try Izzy?”
“Don't have her number.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, my frustration mounting. “Look, I wouldn't have called if—”
“I know.” Tristan cut me off, his voice gentler now. More rustling, then the distinct sound of a zipper. He was getting dressed. “I'll ask Kate to call Izzy and I'll call Mac. If anyone can find her quickly, it's him.”
Detective Mackenyu Tanaka wasn't someone you called for everyday problems. He was the kind of man you turned to when the normal channels wouldn't cut it. I'd met him through Tristan during the nightmare with Kate's ward being kidnapped, and the man had left an impression. Dangerous didn't begin to cover it. Mac operated in the gray areas where law and justice didn't always align, and he got results when others couldn't.
Relief washed through me, momentarily dulling the edge of my fear. “Thank you.”
“Don't thank me yet. Just try not to do anything stupid until I call you back.”
The line went dead, and I was alone again with my thoughts and the echo of my footsteps against marble.
The minutes stretched like taffy, each second an eternity as I alternated between checking my phone and staring at the door as if I could will her to walk through it. When my phone finally rang again, I lunged for it with embarrassing desperation.
“We found her,” Tristan said without preamble. “She's still at The Mirage. Mac's there now.”
I closed my eyes, relief making my knees weak. “Is she okay?”
“She's...” Tristan hesitated, and that single pause sent ice through my veins. “She's had a lot to drink, according to Mac's contact.”
I was already moving toward the door, grabbing my keys and jacket from the entry table. “I'm going to get her.”
“Mac's already there. He can bring her home—”
“I'm going.”
Another sigh from Tristan. “Fine. But don't do anything stupid. The last thing we need is you getting arrested for assault.”
I hung up as the elevator doors closed, my reflection in the polished metal a stranger to me—hair wild from running my hands through it, eyes dark with worry. I looked exactly like what I was: a man on the edge.
The garage was eerily quiet at this hour, my footsteps echoing as I strode to my car. The engine roared to life, the sound reverberating off concrete walls as I peeled out of the parking space with enough force to leave rubber on the floor. The night security guard barely had time to raise the gate before I was through it.
I drove like a man possessed, weaving between taxis and late-night delivery trucks with reckless precision. My knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as I ran a yellow light, then another. Each minute that separated me from Cecelia felt like an hour.
