"Rafe! Help me! He's here. The stalk—"
The call cut off.
"Cecelia?" Her name came out strangled. "Cecelia!"
Silence. Dead air. I redialed instantly, my hand shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone. Straight to voicemail.
"Shit. Shit."
Cold sweat broke out across my skin as I bolted upright, knocking over my chair with a crash. I gripped the phone so tightly pain shot through my fingers.
"Sir?" Andrew was staring at me, wide-eyed. "What's happened?"
Ignoring him, I pulled up the security app on my phone. The feeds from the penthouse cameras should show me what was happening. I could dispatch security, call the police, do something other than stand here helplessly while Cecelia was—
The screen loaded. Connection Failed flashed in red letters where the video feeds should be. All of them—living room, kitchen, hallway, foyer—offline.
"Sir, should I call someone or—"
"Get out of my way," I snarled as I shoved past Andrew, not caring when the papers he'd been holding scattered across the floor. Nothing mattered except getting to Cecelia.
In the outer office, heads turned at my explosive exit, but I registered none of them. My mind had narrowed to a single focus: Cecelia in danger. Cecelia screaming my name. Cecelia cut off mid-word.
I jabbed the elevator button repeatedly, cursing when it didn't immediately appear. "Come on, come on, fucking come on!"
The doors finally slid open, and I nearly collided with an older executive stepping out. I pushed past him without apology and hammered the button for the parking garage. As the doors closed, I pulled up Mac's contact and called, my free hand clenched into a fist so tight I could feel my nails cutting into my palm.
He answered on the second ring. "De Luca."
"It's Cecelia." My voice was clipped. "Someone's in the penthouse. She called me screaming for help before the line went dead. Security feeds are down."
The change in Mac's tone was immediate, all traces of casualness gone. "On it." I could hear movement on his end—drawers opening, keys jangling.
“You'll need the security code for the private elevator," I told him before rattling off said code as I watched the elevator's descent with growing impatience. "Get your ass over there, Mac. Please."
"I'm already moving. Calling for backup now. Stay on the line."
The elevator reached the parking garage, and I exploded into the concrete space, phone pressed to my ear as I sprinted toward my car. I could hear Mac speaking rapidly to someone else, his voice muffled as if he'd pulled the phone away from his mouth.
"I'm fifteen minutes out in this traffic," Mac said, coming back on the line. "Dispatch is sending units that should be there in five. Where are you?"
"Leaving the office. Ten minutes away if traffic cooperates." I reached my Aston Martin and fumbled with the keys, my hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped them. When I finally yanked the car door open. I threw myself into the driver's seat. "Just get there. Please."
"I will. De Luca, listen to me." Mac's voice took on that authoritative tone he used when he needed someone to follow his instructions. "Don't do anything stupid. Wait for backup if you get there first."
I barked out a harsh laugh as I peeled out of the parking space. "Not a chance in hell."
"Rafe—"
I hung up and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, needing both hands on the wheel as I navigated the tight turns of the garage. I nearly collided with a concrete pillar as I took the final turn too sharply.
Bursting out of the garage onto the street, I immediately hit a wall of midday Manhattan traffic. "Move!" I shouted uselessly atthe sea of yellow cabs and delivery trucks clogging the avenue. I laid on the horn, drawing angry glares from pedestrians on the sidewalk.
My mind raced with images of Cecelia in danger. Was she hurt? Scared? Had that fucker touched her? The thought made bile rise in my throat.
I spotted a narrow gap between a taxi and a town car and gunned the engine, cutting them off with inches to spare. Horns blared around me, but the sound barely registered. I reached for my phone again, trying to call Cecelia. Maybe the first call had been a fluke, a bad connection. Maybe she was fine and I was overreacting.
Voicemail again.
