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I find no evidence that Lana has returned, and a feeling of dread fills me. I text and call her cell, but there is no answer. I phone Todd, and he tells me that she left his office almost three hours ago. Thanking him, I hang up and call Lucian.
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay, but I have a problem. Lana is missing. She won’t answer her phone.
“Shit, you think Declan has something to do with this?”
“That bastard had me attacked; I’m sure it was him.”
“You should call the police.”
“I’d prefer to go to The Plaza and kick that son of a bitch’s ass.”
“You’re in no condition, and he might not even be there.”
“You could be right, but I have to try.”
I hear my call waiting, click in, and put Lucian on hold while I answer.
“Mr. Butler, this is police detective Pearson from the NYPD. There was an incident involving your fiancée, Lana Collins. Can you please come to The Plaza?”
“Is she okay?”
“We’ll explain when you get here.”
“I’m on my way.”
I hang up and click back over to let Lucian know what’s going on. He tells me to let him know what happened and if I need him. I’m grateful for his support. I throw my phone on the bed and pull my shorts off, slip on a pair of boxers and slacks then shove my feet into my running sneakers. I grab my cell, make a quick stop in my office for my wallet, and I’m out the door.
A million things are going through my mind. Traffic is slow, and I bounce my leg in the back of the cab will the driver weaves through to midtown. When I arrive, several police cars with their lights on are in front of the hotel. God knows what happened, but I know it involves Declan.
I rush into the lobby, and police officers stop me as I enter.
“I was called by Detective Pearson. My name is Zane Butler.”
“He’s waiting for you in the hotel manager’s office,” an officer with a salt and pepper crew cut tells me. He points me in the right direction.
I hurry over and tell the officer at the door, my name. They let me in, and I see a man in jeans and a blue oxford shirt consoling Lana. She’s holding a bag of ice on her cheek. I rush over to her and kneel.
“What happened? Are you alright?”
Her stare is vacant. “Declan’s dead.”
My mouth drops open. “What, how?” For a split second, I wonder if she killed him.
“I can shed some light on that. I’m Detective Finley Pearson, call me Fin. Mr. Blair took your wife with the help of a cabbie that we have in custody for aiding in the commission of a crime. He’s given us a full statement. Mr. Blair had her brought here, and she was struggling with him in the lobby. He slapped her face in full view of other patrons and hotel staff. Before anyone could intervene, Mr. Blair clutched his chest and fell to the floor. He had a massive heart attack.”
I turn to Lana, who still has a blank look on her face, “Sweetheart, are you okay?”
“Declan’s dead,” she repeats.
“I know, baby. How are you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, how are you?”
“I don’t know.”
