Chapter 43 Killian
"Mr. Hart, I understand your concern, but I'm bound by attorney-client privilege. I can't discuss—"
"I don't give a damn about your privilege," I growled. My free hand curled into a fist at my side. "She's missing. She's not answering her phone. She left without telling anyone where she was going. If you know something and you withhold it, and something happens to her—"
"I can't," the lawyer said again. I heard the crack in his voice. The guilt. "I'm sorry. I truly am. But I can't." He paused, then said, “She told me not to tell you. I can tell you that.” It was pointed; it meant something.
The line went dead before I could ask anything else, though I knew he wouldn’t have talked. I threw the phone onto the leather desk. It skidded across the surface and hit the brass lamp with a crack that made Julian flinch.
"Damn it."
Elara stood up from the chair she was occupying. She looked worried. We’d called Chloe so many times, but we knew the police wouldn’t be of any help since she’d only been missing for less than five hours.
"What did the lawyer say to you?" Elara pressed. "Before he hung up. What did he say? Your expression changed."
I ran a hand over my face. The stubble was rough against my palm. I hadn't slept. "He said Chloe told him not to tell me what happened.”
Julian, standing by the window, spoke up. “Whatever happened, she’s probably going looking for her daddy. She’s going to kill him. That’s the only reason I can see for the subterfuge—she doesn’t want anyone to stop her or talk her out of it."
I looked up. "You don't know that—"
"I do. I can feel it. There’s no other reason she would disappear like this," Elara swore. "I wanted to kill my in-laws, and they did a lot less to me than what was done to her."
My phone buzzed. Cartier.
I answered on the first ring. "Tell me you found her."
"Boss, she's in Florida." Cartier's voice was tight. "Her flight landed at Tampa International three hours ago."
My stomach dropped. "Three hours?"
"I wasn't in time to get eyes on her." Frustration bled through Cartier's words.
I pressed my free hand against the desk, knuckles white. "Where's her family?"
"At a beach house in Clearwater. They're all there—the daddy, the uncle, the sister, and the stepmom. They’ve been laying low."
I closed my eyes. “Does she know where they are?”
“I don’t know, boss. Sorry.”
I remembered what she had said about things not working out in her favor. She had said she would kill them; her tone had been so final, so cold.
My grandfather rolled into the living room in his wheelchair, a blanket across his lap. “I called in some favors and found out there will be no charges against her father in her mother's death. The jet is fueled. You need to go get her before she does something she can’t take back.”
I didn't hesitate. I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair, my wallet, and my spare phone—the one with the encrypted line that couldn't be traced.
"Elara, stay here. Keep trying her old number."
Elara nodded.
The jet was already warming up when I arrived. I climbed the steps two at a time, dropped into the leather seat, and pulled out my phone.
Killian: Find her before I land.
Cartier: Working on it.
The jet began to taxi and rise. I watched New Orleans shrink beneath me, feeling another abrupt change about to happen.