He must have been in a coma, because no way the noise of even the quietest person on earth dressing wouldn’t have woken him up. In the field, he’d heard in his sleep a dislodged rock tumble down a hillside half a klick away, and when the tangoes got to the campsite, they were met by only the embers of a fire and an ambush.
Not to mention the fact that his security system sent off a message to his cell phone each time the front door opened. He’d slept right through that, too.
Everything about the morning was off, askew, after the most fabulous night of sex he’d ever had. At first, he’d stumbled blearily from room to room, foolishly expecting to find her…somewhere. Out on the balcony. In the bathroom. Maybe in the kitchen sipping a cup of coffee.
It had taken him two circuits of his house before it hit him upside the head that her clothes were gone. Together with Nicole.
He’d rubbed his chest when he realized that. It hurt, as if he’d taken a sharp blow.
That was when he’d placed his first phone call, to her house, kicking himself in the ass because he’d been too involved in his dick to think of asking for her cell phone number. Well, a quick search of a semi-legal database took care of that.
The cell phone voicemail message was a canned one, from the company, inviting him to leave a message. Which he did, repeatedly.
At the home phone number he’d gotten his first taste of, “You’ve reached the Pearce household. We can’t come to the phone right now, but please leave a message and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can.”
Rule number one in business—don’t believe a canned announcement. It’s right up there withThe check is in the mail. But man, he’d believed it and left a long, rambling message, the basic tenor of which had beenCome back to me. While stumbling to the shower, he’d kept a cordless by his side so he wouldn’t miss her call.
Because of course, she’d make the call as soon as she could. She wasn’t calling right now because she was…in the bathroom or something. Or maybe tending to her father.
So he’d called again five minutes later, timing it to the second. Because, well, hanging up and calling again right away would be a tad…obsessive. Wouldn’t it?
It wasn’t until the tenth time he’d called, while he was driving in to the office, that it occurred to him that it wasn’t that she wasn’t answering because she was busy.
She wasn’t answering because she didn’t want to talk to him.
Jesus.
She was avoiding him.
She’d also switched her cell phone off.
The last ten calls to her house had been from the office. Each one answered by “You’ve reached the Pearce household…”
Sam stared at the phone, drumming his fingers.
He had an estimate to get out, for a client who was very rich, as dumb as a rock, and would doubtless provide a good revenue stream over many years to come.
He had some security equipment catalogues to go through.
He had e-mail to answer.
He had next year’s budget to go over.
He had to call his accountant.
He drummed his fingers again and blew out a frustrated breath.
Fuck.
Sam picked up his cell phone and called Mike.
“Yo.” Mike’s deep, calm bass settled him a little. Mike was always cool, but he was especially cool with the ladies. He’d never get in a sweat or a panic because a woman disappeared after a night of hot sex. Nights of hot sex were Mike’s specialty.
Not that Sam was in a sweat or a panic. No, no.
“Hey.” Sam’s voice was scratchy. He cleared his throat. “Listen, I’ve got a favor to ask you.”
“Shoot.” It was one of Mike’s favorite expressions—ironic, coming from a sniper.
