The woman smiled. “It’s her.”
“What?” Harlow tried to get her brain firing.
A man came out of another stall to join them.
“Hey, you can’t be in here,” Harlow slurred.
The woman pulled something out of her large bag. A red wig that matched the exact shade of her vibrant hair.
She yanked it on Harlow’s head.
“No. Stop it.”
The man wrapped his arms around Harlow. She tried to push him away, but couldn’t move. All she wanted to do was close her eyes and go to sleep. They wrapped her in a black coat.
The woman pulled on a blonde wig, adjusting it in the mirror. “Ready?”
The man holding Harlow nodded, and then half carried her out. They headed into the bar, the man holding her close, like they were a couple.
Rome or Gia would see them. Harlow’s stomach turned over. They’d spot her.
Then before she knew it, they were outside.
Where was Easton? But Harlow could no longer form any words because darkness closed in, and then there was nothing.
Easton strode back into ONE65, frustrated as hell.
Durant had vanished like the rat he was.
Vander’s cell phone pinged. “Ace with info on Durant.” Vander flicked through his screen, his face darkening. “Scum has several charges against him in France for sexual assault and battery.”
“Fuck.” Another asshole to keep away from Harlow. “I want to get this shit fixed, Vander. Find Charles Carlson.”
“I’m on it. Right now, we have too many damn questions with no fucking answers.”
And Easton knew that Vander liked answers. He kept his finger on the pulse of everything happening in San Francisco—legal, and not so legal.
Back inside the bar, Gia and Haven were still sipping drinks under Rome’s watchful gaze.
“Harlow?” Easton asked.
“Ladies’ room,” Rome rumbled.
Gia frowned. “She’s been gone a while.”
“Haven’t seen her come out,” Rome said.
Shit. What if Hugo Durant was still in the bar? Easton strode to the restrooms, Vander and Rome falling in behind him.
He shoved open the door to the ladies’. A middle-aged woman was refreshing her lipstick. “Hey, just because you boys are hot, doesn’t mean you can just barge into the ladies’ room.”
“There a blonde woman in here?” Easton asked.
The woman shrugged. “Just me, darling.”
Easton strode in and checked each stall.
“I’ll check the men’s room.” Rome disappeared.
A hot rush of panic hit Easton. Shit. Where was she?
They met back in the hall. Rome’s face was thunderous. “I’m sorry, Easton, she isn’t here. I’ve no idea how the fuck someone took her. I was watching, and I didn’t see her come out.”
“Security tapes.” Vander swiveled and strode to the bar.
It took a few menacing looks, and a couple of threats from Easton, but the bar manager agreed to let them watch the tapes.
They squashed into a small office in the back of the bar. Saxon joined them, while Rhys stayed with a worried Gia and Haven.
“Shit quality,” Saxon muttered.
They watched the comings and goings of the bar. The quality wasn’t very clear, but there was a camera right outside the entrance to the restrooms.
Easton felt Rome vibrating with rage. The man was damn good at his job, and Easton knew he’d be enraged that someone had gotten Harlow on his watch.
Easton was just worried about Harlow. If anyone hurt her, he’d burn down the city.
“There.” Vander froze the image.
It was a couple. A woman with bright red hair, leaning heavily against a man.
“I saw them go in just before Harlow,” Rome said.
Of course, Rome would have noted everyone’s movements in the bar.
A moment later, the couple left, and then a blonde sauntered out of the restrooms.
But she wasn’t Harlow.
“Wait.” Easton waved a hand. “Rewind.”
Vander froze the image on the couple again.
“She looks unsteady,” Saxon noted. “Had a few too many drinks.”
“Her shoes. Those are Harlow’s shoes.” Easton had watched her put the damn things on. “The redhead is Harlow.”
“Fuck,” Rome exploded. “And the blonde must be the redhead who went in.”
Vander pulled out his phone and thumbed it. “Ace, I’ve got pics of a man and woman I’m sending your way. Looks like they drugged Harlow, then took her out of the bar. I need you to find them.”
Drugged? Easton stared at the image, at the way the woman had stumbled against the man, and the way the man appeared to be holding her upright. His hands balled into fists, his torn knuckles stinging.
Vander stepped in front of him. “I’ll find her.”
“Shit, Vander—”
“We don’t know who’s got her. There are no signs that she is in immediate danger.”
“There aren’t any signs that she’s safe, either.” Easton turned and punched the wall.
“Do I need to lock you in my office?” Vander asked.
“No. I want to help find her.”
Vander lifted his chin. “Let Ace work his magic. We’ll find these assholes, and then we’ll find Harlow. Meanwhile, I need to make a few calls.”
They headed back into the bar. Gia’s face was pale and pinched. Haven had an arm wrapped around her.
“Harlow?” Gia asked.
“Working on it.”
“Oh, Easton.” His sister hugged him. “She’s tough. I get the impression she could organize a war and not get flustered.”
“Yeah, but I think her entire freaking family leans on her. They let her take care of everything.” He ground his teeth together. “I promised her that I’d keep her safe.”
“She’ll be fine. You have to believe that.”
“Can you get her handbag? Grab her keys and go to her place. I want you to pack her some clothes. Enough for a while. Then drop the stuff at my place.”
Gia smiled. “Is she moving in?”
“Yes.” As soon as they found her. “I’m heading to Vander’s office.”
Vander had bought a warehouse in South Beach to house his business. He’d gutted and renovated it to turn into the Norcross Security offices.
The bottom level was a garage, along with holding rooms and a large gym. The main level consisted of glassed-in offices for his team. The top level with a roof terrace was Vander’s living space.
Easton ruthlessly controlled himself as he drove to the Norcross warehouse. He waited for the garage door to open, drove in and parked, then jogged up the stairs.
He made a beeline to Ace’s office.
The man’s domain was a windowless room covered in computer screens.
Ace Olivera’s long, rangy body was sprawled in a chair. He’d been born in Brazil, but raised in the US. The guru of all things tech had his long, dark hair pulled back in a stubby ponytail. He’d spent several years at the NSA before Vander had lured him away.
“Hey, Easton,” the man said. “Nothing yet, amigo, but I’m working on finding your girl.”