by Taylor Hart
If she’d turned on the do not disturb mode, he would go to voicemail. If the phone was dead or she simply swiped his call aside, it would go to voicemail. Good thing he’d enabled the tracker—which, now that he thought about it, he should have tried first. Cyrus navigated to the app on his own phone and frowned.
“It looks like she’s at that coffee shop she likes so much.”
Rayan craned to see. “Ah. Yes. It isn’t far. Perhaps she is meeting her friend there.”
But why wasn’t his call going through? “Make sure Louis is still here. Tell him I need a ride.”
“Yes, sir,” Rayan said.
In the entry hall, he found Floria sitting next to Anna, trying to get her to focus.
When Anna saw Cyrus, she got to her feet and wobbled toward him. “Where are you going?”
No need to worry Anna, not when she was like this. “She’s at the coffee shop. Probably hanging out with her friends. I’m going to go embarrass her.” He forced a grin.
“Oh. Okay.”
Cyrus gave Floria a pleading look and she nodded. She would get Anna up to bed. He grabbed his coat and his laptop bag and headed for the front door where Louis was waiting with the car.
Louis held the door for Cyrus, then jumped inside. “Coffee shop?”
“Yes, please.”
“Of course, sir.”
Cyrus fiddled with his phone as Louis drove them down a couple streets. The setting sun cast long shadows and left Cyrus feeling even more unsettled. Anything could be lurking in the dark.
He shook his head. What was he worried about? She probably spilled coffee on her phone when she was telling a story. It had happened before.
However, a dark voice at the back of his mind said it was more than that. Practically screamed it.
The narrow streets of the city wound together like the drawing of a madman, and half of them were one-way only, which made the trip five minutes longer than it should have been. Cyrus could literally see the picturesque coffee shop, but they would have to go around an entire block to get there. He squinted and frowned. Small groups of young people occupied several tables. No one looked like Marcella, but he couldn’t be sure in the waning light.
A buzzing started in his mind, and he opened the car door.
“Sir?” Louis asked.
“I’ll meet you there,” Cyrus said as he jumped out. Paris traffic was notoriously dangerous, but Cyrus had spent plenty of time in big cities. He knew how to handle himself.
He ran across the square and past the first lane of traffic when he heard the motorcycle. Cyrus withdrew his foot a moment before the motorcycle whooshed between two small cargo trucks.
Heart pounding, Cyrus looked again, and as soon as he deemed it clear, he wove between the cars—ignoring the honks—and made it to the sidewalk.
A few patrons of the row of cafés and coffee shops gave him a quizzical look. Cyrus ignored them and moved to his daughter’s favorite haunt.
He’d only been here a few times, but she’d bought a few bits of memorabilia from the shop, so he knew which one it was.
The group closest to the road consisted of three young men and two young women wearing casual clothes and large back packs. Tourists. The next group was much older than his daughter. Several locals sat alone.
Cyrus’ heart sped up when he saw that the last group was all men.
A short woman with an apron on came outside and smiled at Cyrus. “Can I get you something?” she asked in accented English.
Cyrus looked around again.
Had he missed his daughter? He pulled his phone out and found that he should be right on top of her.
“Sir?” the woman asked.
“Have you seen this girl?” Cyrus flipped to a picture of Marcella and held it up.
She looked at the photo and shook her head. “No.”
Cyrus gritted his teeth and swiped back to the tracking app. He was literally standing within ten feet of his daughter’s phone. “Have you had any lost cell phones turned in?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
A quick sweep of the area didn’t reveal anything. Louis finally pulled up next to the curb. Cyrus’ eyes moved from the car to the garbage can just in front of it.
A cold hand reached into his chest cavity and grabbed his heart.
“No,” he whispered. For a moment his feet stayed riveted in place. His whole body felt so heavy he couldn’t move. Or didn’t want to.
“Sir?” Louis got out. He must have seen Cyrus’ gaze. The driver moved to the garbage can and peered inside.
Cyrus held his breath. Louis slowly reached his hand into the gaping maw of the can. The weight on Cyrus doubled, but he forced himself to walk forward. One step. Two. Three.
Louis drew his hand out.
Cyrus prayed it would be empty.
Instead, Louis held a cell phone in his fingers.
Chapter 7
Marcella
The walk to the Eiffel Tower felt like a dream. They talked and kissed. James picked a flower for her and put it in her hair. She told him about her dad and he told her about school. They’d communicated so much over the internet that it felt perfectly natural to chat about their everyday lives.
As they approached the Wall for Peace and the long section of grass that afforded the best view of the tower, James stopped.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I want to remember this moment.” His eyes studied hers. He took both of her hands and rubbed the back of her knuckles with his thumbs. “I have never felt this way about anyone.”
“Me either.” Marcella’s breathing sped up.
“How can I be parted from you again?” James leaned in for another kiss. This one longer and deeper than the others. It stole the air from Marcella’s lungs and left her legs feeling like jelly.
She hadn’t anticipated feeling this attached to him. But now that she was here, she didn’t want to be without him ever again. “Let’s not think about that right now.” She grinned. “We have a tower to look at.”
“A tower?” he cocked his head to one side.
“Stop it.” Marcella playfully slapped his arm and then turned him toward the Eiffel Tower.
It stood tall and majestic, silhouetted by the drooping sun, the iron spike piercing the sky. Marcella sighed. She never got tired of looking at it. “Did you know that the people of Paris hated the Eiffel Tower when it was built?”
“They did?”
“Yes, but I guess it’s grown on them.” She felt a prickle on the back of her neck, and glanced at James, who was staring at her. “Hey, the tower is that way.”
James smiled again. “I can’t stop looking at you.”
She snorted. “We need to document this momentous occasion.” Marcella reached into her purse for her phone. When her fingers didn’t brush the edge of it, she frowned and looked down.
“What is it?” James moved behind her and pulled her to him.
“My phone is missing.”
“Are you sure you brought it?”
“Of course.” She’d never lost a phone before. “I know I had it when I left the house.” A feeling of unease rippled through Marcella as she looked through her small purse. It wasn’t there. Her dad was going to kill her.
“Hmmm.” James teased her ear with his lips again. “Maybe it fell out when you were running to meet me.”
“I wasn’t running.” She had to repress a giggle. James was making it very hard to care about her phone.
“Yes, you were.”
“Fine, I was running.” Marcella pulled herself out of James’ grip. “I have to find that phone.”
“Of course.” He looked a little crestfallen, but reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’ll call the cafe and have them look for it. Then we can retrace our steps.”
“Thank you.” She took a breath. “That would be great.”
James kissed her...again...then smiled and moved away to make the call.
Marcella turned to look at
the tower. Her eyes traced the edges and the swooping curves. The crowd around her, which she’d hardly noticed until now, all spoke excitedly and pointed.
James’ voice carried on the slight breeze, but he talked fast and too low for Marcella to hear. After a few minutes, he returned.
“Good news, they have your phone. It must have fallen out when you hugged me.”
Marcella breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”
“Now, for our selfie.” He held up his phone.
“You think of everything, don’t you?”
James put an arm around her, then turned them so the tower was behind them. He held the phone up and they both smiled. He took several pictures, then kissed her on the top of the head. “I try to think of everything, sweetheart. Now, let’s go get your phone.”
“Thank you.”
“Anything for you. I love you, Marcella.”
A thrill raced through her. Here was proof that he’d fallen in love with her, too!
Marcella stopped and drew him close. Right before their lips met, she said, “I love you, too.”
Chapter 8
Cyrus
An hour later, Cyrus, Louis, and two detectives from the Paris Police Department had gathered in his dining room.
Cyrus sat with his hands folded staring at the phone that Louis had pulled from the garbage can at the café. It was definitely Marcella’s phone, but the cover had been stripped off and the SIM card removed. The tracker still worked, but that had only helped them find the phone, not Marcella.
Why had it been in the garbage can?
Two of the three most likey scenariors looming before him did nothing to release the increasing pressure around his heart. Either she’d been mugged and the phone had been stolen, she’d done this herself and had run away, or she’d been kidnapped.
A mugging seemed unlikely because the phone itself was worth more than the SIM card, but if they knew who she was—who he was—they might have been after her personal information. In that case, there would be a ransom note soon.
The fact that she wasn’t anywhere near the café only tightened the noose inside Cyrus.
His phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket. A sigh of relief escaped when he saw the number. He rose and went into the hall before answering. “Hey, Doug.”
“Cyrus? What’s happening?” Cyrus’ friend and old college buddy, Doug Rawlins, worked for the director of the FBI. Now Cyrus hoped Doug could do something to help him.
“We’re in Paris and my daughter is missing.” Cyrus pushed the words out as fast as he could. “We found her phone, minus the SIM card, in a garbage can near one of her favorite coffee shops. She might have run away, but that’s not the vibe I’m getting.”
“Have you called local authorities?”
Cyrus caught one of the detectives watching him, so he stepped farther down the hall. “They’re here now.”
“They’re going to be your best source of help.”
Cyrus sighed. “Is there anything you can do? I’ve got my guys working data, but we obviously don’t have the ins that you do.”
A long silence followed, and for a second Cyrus thought the call had dropped. Then Doug spoke again. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you,” Cyrus said.
“Hey,” Doug said before he hung up. “The best thing you can do is keep calm and try to remember anything you can about her friends and the places she likes to go in Paris.”
“Right.” The detectives had told him the same thing.
“I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”
“Thanks, Doug.”
“Just hang in there.”
Cyrus sighed and hung up.
“What’s going on?” Anna’s slurred voice came from the stairs. Floria had just gotten her to bed when Cyrus had returned. The police had already spoken to the staff and Cyrus had given them copies of the security camera films. The final thing the police needed to do was talk to Anna.
Cyrus rose to his feet and steeled himself. This was not going to be pretty.
Anna, who now wore a thin nightgown and an even thinner robe, walked in with Floria holding on to her arm. Anna stopped in her tracks when she saw the detectives. Her eyes began to clear and she looked at Cyrus. “What is this?” she asked in a dangerous voice.
A thousand deep breaths wouldn’t make this easier, so Cyrus took Anna by the elbow and led her to the couch in the siting room. “You need to sit down.”
“Why?” Anna sat, her back ramrod straight, and glared at him.
The words caught in Cyrus’ throat. He swallowed and tried again. “Marcella is missing.”
“Missing?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were tracking her phone.”
“I did.” Cyrus pointed at the table. “We found it in a garbage can by that coffee shop she likes so much.”
The other detective stepped forward. “Ma’am, can you tell us when you last saw your daughter?”
Anna’s eyes darted to the detective and back to Cyrus. “What do you mean, missing?” Her voice came out shrill.
Cyrus reached out and took her hand. “Anna, I need you to focus. Please answer the detective’s questions. You were with Marcella all day. Maybe she said something that will help us find her.”
The detective sat next to Anna. “Mrs. Black, can you tell us when you last saw your daughter?”
“I—I saw her a few hours ago. She went up to her room. She was on her phone.”
“Did she talk about meeting anyone?”
Anna shook her head. “No. She was waiting here for Cyrus to get home with her present. It’s her birthday.”
“Has she been talking to anyone in particular?”
Another head shake.
Cyrus had told them all of this, but they wanted to hear it from Anna as well.
“Do you know anyone she might have wanted to meet? Perhaps she planned a rendezvous with someone?”
“She just turned fifteen,” Anna said. “She’s still into shopping and avoiding boys.”
The detective exchanged a look with her partner. “Predators often target young ladies.”
Anna’s expression hardened. “A predator?”
The detective nodded.
Cyrus braced himself for the impact of Anna’s anger. “You,” she growled. “You were supposed to be here. She was waiting for you.” Her voice rose into a shrill scream. “You said you would be here!”
He’d told the detectives that as well, but hearing Anna say it felt like a dagger being driven into his already strangled heart.
“If Marcella is gone, it’s his fault!” Anna rose and pointed down at Cyrus. The lady detective also rose to her feet. She used a calm voice and motioned with her hands. “Ma’am, I understand you are upset, but it would be better for everyone if you could remain calm and answer our questions.”
“Remain calm?” Anna’s face looked truly frightening with the make up smeared over the rage. She pushed past the detective and came to Cyrus, who stood. “How can I remain calm when you drove her away?” Anna poked Cyrus in the chest.
“Me?” He growled. “You were here with her. What were you doing? Drinking? You obviously weren’t paying attention to her. What kind of mother doesn’t even know their child has left!”
“She was upset that you were late! That her father was late again!” Anna was now screaming at the top of her lungs. “You! This is your fault!”
Floria took Anna by the arm and tried to drag her away.
“No!” Anna shook herself free and moved to stand chest to chest with Cyrus. Her blue eyes bore into his with a hatred beyond anything he’d seen from her before. “I hope you’re happy. I hope your company can keep you happy, because now you don’t have a family left. Not even a daughter.”
His own anger rose to the surface, and Cyrus grabbed her by the shoulders. “And whose fault is that? Huh? Who left who?”
Anna shoved at his chest, and C
yrus pushed her away. Tears streamed down her face, and she blubbered as she spoke. “You left a long time ago! Your fault. This is all your fault.”
Floria finally got a hold on Anna’s wrist, and Anna let the woman lead her away.
Cyrus’ legs gave out. He stumbled to the nearest chair.
No one spoke as he put his face in his shaking hands.
What could he say? It was his fault. Anna didn’t have to tell him that. He knew it all too well.
He’d felt the urgency to get home, and he’d pushed it aside because of a stupid business problem. If he’d come straight here, his daughter would be safe.
It was his fault.
And he still needed to find her.
Chapter 9
Marcella
James squeezed Marcella’s hand. “Stop worrying. The cafe has your phone. Enjoy the moment.” He’d talked her into walking to the base of the Eiffel Tower before heading back to the café. A little alarm at the back of her mind kept going off, but she shoved it away. She wasn’t a child. She could handle a few hours without her phone. Even though her dad had told her to always keep it on her.
But her dad had been late, hadn’t he, so he could live without knowing where she was for a while. He was probably still working on some emergency for his company anyway. Why shouldn’t she enjoy her birthday? Especially since she was on the arm of the guy she loved?
A sigh escaped.
“What’s that for?” James asked.
“Just happy.”
“Me too. Is it too soon to ask if you’ll stay here in Paris with me?”
Marcella laughed. They’d been joking for months about his threats to hold her against her will so they could be together. “Did you build that little room for me?”
“Of course. I even have a chocolate fountain.”
“You’re making it awfully tempting.”
“I hope so.” His eyes gleamed.
