I put on an act.
CHAPTER 18
FORD
As the crowd applauds,one of The Yardley staff members nudges me from behind. “Excuse me, sir. I need this space for the next presenters.”
I shoot a look down the stairwell, noting two waiting celebrities at his back before I nod my apologies and quickly descend. It isn’t until the applause ceases that I realize Emmy’s not following me, and I grab a passing event worker.
“Do the presenters not return here once they’re finished?”
She shrugs, pointing across the stage. “They can exit either stage right or stage left. Ushers will see them back to their designated seats from whichever side the talent uses. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
As she walks away, I quickly confer with the men in my ear. “Zane, any sign of Miss Hart and Mr. Wilde?”
“No, not yet— Oh, no, wait, I see Mr. Wilde.” Silence follows for a beat as my man clearly searches for Emmy, but my stomach bottoms out when he speaks once more. “He’s alone. Says he got separated from Miss Hart backstage.”
A bone-deep sense of foreboding swarms my chest cavity, and sweat forming at my nape, inherently knowing that something is very, very wrong here.
As I bark down the line, my feet immediately take me up the stairwell. “This is an all-hands-on-deck situation. I repeat,all hands on deck. Secure Miss Hart.Now.”
I barely register the hand of an event security employee on my chest who tries to stop me from cresting the staircase before I grab the offending digits and twist sharply. The inimitable sound of bones crunching follows, and he falls away with a cry, holding his injured hand with a pained expression as I march past him to stride onto the stage. A commotion breaks out in the audience, but I ignore it all, intent on crossing over to stage left in search of Emmy.
As I descend the stairwell, Kyle greets me with a frown. “She’s nowhere between here and the event entry point, Boss Man.”
I glance around the area, quickly noting two things of value. “Get the security footage from that camera.” I point at a device directly facing the stairwell. “Now.”
He rushes off to do as I bid while I speak to everyone on the earpiece. “There are only two other routes she could have taken from where I’m standing. All staff within the building will converge here and fan out. The staff surrounding the perimeter must block all exits and await further instruction.”
Then I’m rushing down the nearest route on my right, bringing me around the back of the stage. I check inside several doors, finding only storage closets, a rest room, and a small office space, but no sign of Emmy.
Anxiety roils in my gut as panic tightens my chest, my head thumping dangerously when I keep coming up empty.
“Where are you, Tink?” I murmur to no one in particular, but it’s like the universe herself answers me when I hear Emmy’s voice.
“And do you have a favorite, Dave?”
I edge closer on stealthy feet as a male voice responds. His tone is eager and engaging and, for a moment, my anxiety takes a breather, thinking that perhaps I’ve overreacted.
“Well, it started when I saw you as Éponine. Your portrayal was soreal. I saw you perform weekly, and every single time, you nailed it.”
There’s a smile in Emmy’s voice when she replies softly, “Thank you. That character is particularly special to me. She got me through a dark time.”
“Me too. My wife had left me for my best friend. She’d taken our kids. The house. Everything of value.” He sighs before his tone takes on a triumphant edge. “But then I foundyou. And you were alone, too. I could see it in your eyes. We’re the same, you and I.”
“How so, Dave?” There’s a hesitance in her voice that makes me frown, edging closer to hear her companion’s low response.
“The eyes are the windows to the soul, are they not? And a broken soul recognizes a broken soul.”
Silence ensues for a beat until she speaks again. “Can I ask you something important?”
“You can ask me anything, Miss Hart. I wouldn’t ever lie to you.”
“I appreciate that.” I nudge the door open a snippet, just enough to place Emmy in my line of sight. A man’s broad back blocks half of her face as she watches him. “Did you break into my house, Dave?”
The man, Dave, fidgets for a moment, running his fingers through his salt and pepper hair before declaring, “He gave me a key, Miss Hart. I don’t think it’s considered breaking in if you’ve used a key, right?”
“Well…if the homeowner didn’t invite you, then it’s a little more complex than that.” There’s a hint of reproach in hervoice, and Dave looks at his feet, shuffling awkwardly as Emmy continues. “So since I didn’t invite you, then who?—”
