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HARRISON
“What do you mean you’ve lost them?” I bark into my phone.
“I gave them a little room,” Raegan’s security detail answers. “They must have slipped out.”
Impossible. My gut knots as I stop halfway across the road that’s been barricaded off for the race.
Beck and Ash are still getting out of their cars, shaking hands and thanking Oliver and his team for the experience, but I’m focused on my conversation.
“You missed my fiancée and her two friends leaving a club. Even in a city filled with beautiful women, even with masks, it would be improbable to not notice those three.” The hairs on my neck lift. “Were they drinking?”
“Yes, Mr. King.”
I click off the call, my breath coming shallowly. Was she kidnapped? Is she hurt?
“Security lost track of the girls,” I inform Tyler when he appears at my shoulder. “They’re gone.”
“‘Gone’ like they skipped town?” Beck asks.
My teeth grind together. “They better not have.”
Not without supervision. They know better.
Rae knows better.
Harry: Where the hell are you?
There’s no answer.
“Let me try Annie.” Tyler dials her number. From his expression, I can tell when her voicemail picks up.
“I’m sure they’re fine,” Beck weighs in.
I pull up the connection between our phones. Raegan always has tracking enabled, and I do the same for her.
But today she’s turned it off.
Dammit.
We get back into our limo, and I order our driver to head to the Strip.
“Somewhere in particular?”
“Just drive.”
We’re the most sober people in this city as the car crawls along the street. It’s the opposite of the blazing speed we enjoyed an hour ago, but the carefree feeling is gone too.
The crowds have thinned out only a little at this hour, with some partiers having committed to a club or a casino for the evening. The odd group of women on high heels or men laughing loudly trip along the sidewalk.
“They could be back at the Wynn,” Beck suggests.
“The concierge would have let me know.”
Beck’s brows lift in surprise. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a little high-strung?”
“Only everyone he’s ever met,” my brother says under his breath.
We get to the other end of the Strip, where designer boutiques give way to less expensive fare. The speed of traffic picks up, destined for the airport or the suburbs. Suddenly, the driver hits the brakes.
