“She’s not answering.”
We make our way to the main entrance, going against the flow of everyone heading to the after-party. If Delilah went out to get some fresh air, we will at least cross paths.
The minute we exit the double doors, I only see a few people smoking cigarettes near the railing to my right. Jackson heads to the left of the building toward the valet booth and I see him questioning a young man. He turns to look up at me and with pursed lips, he shakes his head.
Where the hell is she?
Jackson pulls out his phone when it jingles in his pocket. “No, babe. We haven’t found her yet . . . I see . . . mm-hmm . . . We will keep looking for her . . . yes, I’ll call you as soon as we find her, and you do the same . . . Love you too.” He hangs up and turns to me. “She’s not up there. Catherine said security hadn’t let anyone in until Avery got there.”
“Fuck!” I say through clenched teeth.
“Calm down. What’s got you so worried?”
“When I picked her up today, something felt off. I asked her what was bothering her, and she pawned it off as not seeing each other all week. Then I thought she was nervous about meeting Avery for the first time and . . .”
“And you didn’t believe her.”
“I don’t know what to think. She does this thing with her necklace . . . plays with the charm between her fingers when she’s worried or nervous . . . Have you ever just had that feeling?” I ask, running my hand through my hair. “The only other time I have ever felt this way was when Matt left me with the reporters when I should have been his six. Then he goes and dies on me.”
I shake my head, knowing this situation is different and we aren’t in a war zone. We walk the perimeter of the building to where the limos and town cars are parked.
“She’s probably fine. Maybe she got tired and went to the car,” he says, trying to reassure me.
“You’re probably right. Let me call her one more time.” I dial her number and I hear a cell phone in the distance. It’s my special ring tone she programmed when I call her, Follow the Yellow Brick Road. “That’s her phone ringing,” I tell Jackson and follow the music to an alley.
Jackson picks up the phone next to the dumpster and the screen is shattered. “Is this Delilah’s phone?” he asks, handing it to me.
I take it from him, and I nod, staring at the phone case with a sun on it. “Something’s wrong, Jackson.” I look up and down the alley to see if there is anything else that belongs to Dee. “What’s that over there?”
We take a few more steps and see Delilah's purse and the contents scattered on the ground. Her lipstick, compact, credit cards, and a few dollar bills.
“Whoever took her, wanted her, not her money. Brody, what are you not telling me? Is Delilah in some kind of trouble?”
“No . . . I don’t know.”
My imagination is running wild. Where could she be? Who took her? Is she hurt?
Then pictures from the police investigation creep into my thoughts. A déjà vu of dirt smudged on Delilah’s face, her brunette hair mangled and she’s lying in a ditch, pierces my thoughts.
“Brody,” Jackson calls me back to the here and now. “I’m calling the police.” Jackson steps a few feet away and his voice echoes through the dark alley as he speaks to dispatch. He slips his cell phone in his pocket and walks back to me. “They’re on their way. I need you to stay here. I’m going to make sure Catherine gets home safely. And in the meantime, I will check with security to see if this building has any cameras.”
It’s as if time has completely stopped. Panic sets in. I need to put my logic and knowledge front and center even though my heart is warring with my brain.
Moments later, red and blue lights illuminate the street, the cackling of two-way radios echo, and yellow tape surrounds the area. Two officers are scoping the scene and the detective asks me questions I have no answers for.
When was the last time you saw her?
Did you get into a fight before she took off?
Why would she take off?
Do you know what she was doing in this alley?
Do you know if she got into an argument with anyone?
I scrub my face with my hands. “I don’t fucking know!” I yell at the detective who doesn’t deserve my temper, but I don’t care. Right now, Delilah is the only one who can answer them. It’s been over an hour since I last saw Delilah and my worry over her well-being just keeps intensifying.
“Mr. Reinhardt, I know this is a lot to handle. But I need to ask these questions.”
“Detective, one minute we were having a good time backstage after my sister’s show, then the next Delilah was gone. My friend and I came out here and found her phone and all her shit on the ground—”
“Hey, Solis,” the female officer calls out to the detective, interrupting me. “I think we got something.” We both make our way over to the officer as she points to a camera in both a dry cleaner and a bakery on either side of the street.
“Get in contact with the business owners and see if we can get some footage from the surveillance cameras,” Detective Solis instructs as he writes in his small notebook.
I push my hair back and let out a breath. “Detective, too much time has passed. We need to—” Just then my wristwatch chimes. How did I fucking forget the drone? I look up to the starry night, press the icon on the small screen, and the plane lands just a few feet from me.
“What the hell is that?” the detective asks just when Jackson approaches from around the corner of the building.
“It’s a drone.”
“A drone?” the officer asks. “What is a drone doing out here in the middle of Los Angeles at nighttime?”
“It’s mine,” Jackson answers and levels a glare at me. “We’re testing it for the military.” Jackson picks up the drone and hands the detective his business card. “Detective, keep us posted on what you find.”
Detective Solis nods and crosses the street to meet up with his partner who’s questioning a few witnesses.
I hate wondering as much as I hate the thought of Dee being hurt. And this piece of equipment may be the only way to know what happened to her.
“The tablet is at my house. And it’s clear across town . . . and the second tablet is with Mark.”
“Wake Dixon’s ass up,” Jackson instructs. “He needs to power it up while we head to your place.”
“You’re coming to my house? What about Catherine?”
“She’s safe. Xavier is with her and will drive Catherine home. He will stay until I arrive.”
I call Carl, my driver, to meet Jackson and me at the front of the building.
“Yes, sir,” he answers, but his voice sounds off, almost condescending, but I ignore it.
“Carl, I need you to pick me up at the front.”
“And why would I do that, Saint Clair?” Sarcasm drips from his voice.
“Carl?” I say his name as I straighten my shoulders, my instincts go on high alert, and Jackson levels his stare at me knowing something is wrong. “What’s going on?” I feign innocence as I try to figure out Carl’s angle. I put the cell on speaker so Jackson can also hear.