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Callie mumbled some kind of reply and bolted from the ballroom. It seemed to take the bellhop forever to flag down a taxi. Eventually, she slid into the backseat of one and gave the driver Dylan’s address.
Her first instinct was to go straight to Penn Station. Catch the first train home. However, the haze cleared in her head long enough to recognize she couldn’t ride the train in an evening gown.
Thankfully, Dylan had given her a key earlier when he’d been forced to go into the office, so she could go out and sightsee alone. Out of habit, she threw the key into her purse before they left that night.
After entering the penthouse, Callie changed into shorts and a tank top. Then she stuffed the rest of her belongings into her overnight bag. Finally, she jotted the words ‘Went Home’ on a piece of paper and left the note and dress on Dylan’s bed. She didn’t know why she even bothered with a note. He’d never care where she went anyway as long as she kept her secret away from the media.
Without a backward glance, Callie turned off the lights and closed the door behind her.
Dylan wanted to get away from this conversation and Marty Phillips. The longer he sat there, the more uncomfortable he became. Yes, he’d agreed to keep an eye on Callie, but when they were together, his agreement with Phillips was the furthest thing from his mind. Still, he felt guilty because he’d gone along with it at all.
It’s time to end this conversation. Dylan pushed back his chair. “Listen, Phillips, I’ll talk with Callie, but I’m not going to force her. She’s a grown woman who makes her own decisions. If she wants to give Warren the green light, that’s up to her.”
“Do what you can.”
Dylan left the other man and their conversation behind. He had only one goal in mind: Finding Callie and seeing if she wanted to leave. Earlier, he’d caught a glimpse of a sapphire gown, and he’d thought she had come looking for him. When she hadn’t materialized, he’d assumed it was someone else.
When she wasn’t at their table, he walked the perimeter of the ballroom. Occasionally, someone would stop him. In no mood for small talk, he kept all his conversations short.
Bloody hell, where is she? He’d walked all the way around the room. Yet he hadn’t seen her. She wasn’t with Warren. From where Dylan stood, he could see his stepfather talking to the mayor.
She has to be here somewhere. She wouldn’t leave.
With a frown, Dylan plowed through the crowd, not even stopping when someone he knew called out to him. His mother sat at her table chatting with Senator Greenwood’s wife. Dylan stopped at their table. “Excuse, me ladies. Have you seen Callie recently?”
His mother’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “She didn’t tell you she was leaving?”
“She left?”
Nodding, his mother continued. “About fifteen minutes ago. She said she was getting a migraine. I assumed you went with her.”
Dread coiled in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to believe Callie was back at his place resting. She wasn’t the type to lie. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to disturb him, so she decided to leave a message with his mom, knowing he would come looking for her.
Yet something told him it wasn’t true. She hadn’t left because of a migraine. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
“Why don’t you go and check on her,” his mum suggested, sounding concerned. “I’ll let Warren know where you went.”
Dylan wasn’t sure if she was concerned about Callie or him. Regardless of which one, he didn’t need to hear her suggestion twice. “I plan on it.”
All the lights were off and the apartment was silent. Not a good sign. Still, Dylan told himself not to worry. If she did have a migraine, it would make sense that she was lying down in the dark. Whenever a migraine hit him, he preferred his room to be pitch black.
Despite the urge to fling open his bedroom door and flip on the light, Dylan pushed the door open slowly. The light from the hallway provided enough illumination
for him to see that his bed was empty and the gown she’d been wearing was laid neatly across it.
Confused, he yanked off his tie and pulled out his cell phone. He was about to call her when he saw the note.
What the . . .?
He read the note again. The two words stared back at him. Taunting him.
Why?
Dylan dialed her number. He knew she had her cell phone with her. She didn’t answer. Instead, it rang a few times before going to voice mail.
Damn, why isn’t she answering? He replayed the night over in his mind. They’d been having a good time. At least, he thought they were. Then Phillips asked to speak with him. Whatever sent her running must have happened after that.
Dylan didn’t bother wasting time to change. Tossing his tuxedo jacket and tie on the bed, he grabbed his car keys and headed back out. Urgency like none he’d ever experienced before rode him hard. There was no time to waste. She had at least a forty-five minute head start and the train didn’t have to worry about traffic or weather slowing it down. In record time, he pulled out of the parking garage, the same questions taunting him. What could be so awful that she’d take off without a single word to him? It just didn’t make sense. They’d been having a great weekend.
