Page 19 of Working for the Runaway Bride

“Maybe she forgot,” Luis says from behind me.

I don’t turn. “She didn’t forget her car.”

“She could’ve gotten busy.”

“So busy she hasn’t looked at her phone in three hours?”

“It’s possible.”

“Not likely.”

I check my phone again. No messages.

“Damn it.”

I find Carter’s name and call. He answers on the fifth ring.

“What?”

Not hello.

Not Hey, Dad.

Just an annoyed question, as though I’m interrupting something more important.

“Molly hasn’t picked up her car.”

There’s a brief pause. “Okay.”

I wait for him to say more. He doesn’t.

“Is she there?”

“No.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

My hand tightens around the phone. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“It means I don’t know where she is.”

“You’re getting married next week, and you don’t know where your fiancée is?”

“She’s a grown woman. I don’t keep a tracking device on her.”

“I’ve called her twice. She isn’t answering.”

“Then she’s probably busy.”

“Doing what?”

“How the hell should I know?”

The careless edge in his voice turns my concern into anger. I walk into the office and close the door, though there’s no one left in the garage to hear me.

“Her car has been ready for hours.”