Page 24 of Have To Be Mine

“You’re certain you supervised the packing in New York?” I asked Annika again.

“I’m certain.”

“So the pieces existed. They were packed. They shipped. They arrived.”

Her expression tightened. “But they’re not here.”

That didn’t sit right. Delivered didn’t just mean gone. Delivered meant somewhere.

I turned without another word and headed toward the makeshift operations area, where a cluster of laptops and tangled cords sat on folding tables. People were talking over each other into headsets, no one actually listening.

It was quickly devolving into chaos. I pulled out my phone and dialed Adrian directly. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Tell me you have good news,” he said without preamble.

“I don’t.” I pressed my fingers to my temple, feeling the beginning of a headache forming. “We need to postpone the shoot.”

Silence. “Postpone.”

The man could have a future in the military with that tone. I found my shoulders going back and my chin rising just hearing it.

“The pieces aren’t here, Adrian. We’ve torn apart every box, checked every square inch of this site. I’ve personally searched.”

“No.” His voice was flat. Firm. “That’s not an option.”

“I understand the stakes, but without the actual swimwear⁠—”

“The media is already there. The influencers are there. Do you know what it would do to our reputation if we postponed? The speculation alone would tank the campaign before it even launches.”

I closed my eyes. He was right, and I hated it.

“Then what do you suggest?” I asked, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice.

“Check the shipping. All of it. Every manifest, every tracking number, every goddamn email. If those pieces were packed, they went somewhere. Find them.”

“I’ve been checking.”

“Not hard enough.” He paused. “Where’s Dash?”

My one job. “He’s dealing with some set issues.” Somewhere. I hoped like hell he hadn’t made off with a model. Or two.

“I’m sending you a security key to access Dash’s email. He clearly hasn’t been monitoring it properly. Maybe there’s something he missed. He probably hasn’t opened an email in days.”

My phone buzzed with a text. A long string of numbers and letters. The security key.

“Got it,” I said.

“Find them, Krista. Whatever it takes.” He hung up.

I walked to the tech table and snatched an open laptop. I got a couple of looks but they were too busy dealing with their own stuff. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I logged into the email system using the credentials Adrian had provided.

Dash’s inbox was a nightmare. Hundreds of unread emails. Some flagged, most not. No organization whatsoever. My military mind recoiled at the sheer amount of unread messages.

I started with keyword searches. “Swimwear.” “Delivery.” “Customs.” “Athens.”

The results were overwhelming. Too many hits, most of them irrelevant. Meeting notes. Vendor confirmations. Random requests that had nothing to do with this specific shipment.

I refined my search. Added “barcode.” Added “storage.”