“Fair,” he chuckled. “Anyway, figured if they’re both sleep, I might as well be here.”
Wrangler thought about the phone in his pocket, still silent. He said he’d give her an hour—but a half hour was close enough.
“If you’re here, I don’t need to be, right?”
Phoenix turned to face him, folding her arms across her chest. “Alright. Who is she?”
“What’s she talkin’ about?” asked Mustang, nodding toward his bar manager.
Wrangler looked from the redhead to his brother then back again. “Who says there’s a she?”
“You’ve been checking your phone all night, and now you’re itching to get out of here. So, I repeat, who is she?”
He wasn’t in the mood for sharing. The prospect of leaving meant he didn’t have to use his phone at all. He could do a drive-by. Almost three hours earlier, Alexia was prepping for the morning. She was at the office when she sent her last message. He asked if she planned on being there all night, and she hadn’t responded. It could have been nothing—but he wanted to check for himself.
He looked to Mustang and said, “Need to check on somethin’. If it’s nothin’, I’ll be back.”
His brother studied him for a moment, then jerked his chin. “Go.”
Wrangler didn’t need any further encouragement. He turned, headed for the exit.
As he went, he heard Phoenix say, “There istotallya woman. You let him off too easy.”
He didn’t bother listening for Mustang’s response as he hurried for his black Harley Davidson Street Glide. After he mounted the hog, he pressed a few buttons, and the engine roared to life. He took off, the cool, evening air blowing through his hair as he went. It didn’t take him long to reach the building where the firm was located. He parked out front, in a vacant visitor spot, and looked up toward the windows on the second floor. The lights were still on, and he frowned at the sight.
He wondered if Alexia often worked this late.
Wrangler pulled out his phone and brought up her number before initiating a call. Maybe he was being paranoid, but her silence didn’t add up for him. She seemed like the kind of woman who dotted every I and crossed every T. She wouldn’t ignore a client’s text. When her phone rang through to voicemail, his gut told him he was right to be paranoid.
He dismounted his hog and walked to the front entrance. It was nearly nine o’clock, but the doors hadn’t yet locked. He rode the elevator to the second floor, and it wasn’t until he reached for the handle of the firm’s door that he met resistance. It was locked, but somebody was inside. The light coming from overhead was too bright for emergency purposes.
Wrangler banged on the door and peered through the glass, searching for movement.
He pounded a second time, and someone came into view, frowning in confusion.
It was a member of the cleaning crew. The guy was young and had his earbuds in, likely listening to music while he worked.
Wrangler waved him over. He hesitated, his eyes taking in Wrangler’s size and bulk. He then looked from side to side, as if he needed the reminder he was in there by himself. When he looked back through the glass, Wrangler lifted his brow expectantly. Reluctantly, the young guy came and opened the door. He didn’t even ask Wrangler what he was doing there. He merely skirted out of the way, as if he thought Wrangler might hurt him.
Good thing he’s not security, he thought as he made his way toward Alexia’s office.
Her door was still open, and her light was on, which was how he spotted her phone abandoned on her desk.
“Alexia,” he called, turning toward the bullpen.
There was no answer, only the sound of a running vacuum.
“Alexia,” he called again, continuing his search on foot.
Less than sixty seconds passed before he found a single, beige, patent leather, high heeled shoe.
That’s when he knew.
Borrero had been back.
And this time, he hadn’t left empty handed.
Wrangler pulled out his phone and hunted for Twister’s number. As soon as he had it, he initiated a call. “Can it wait?” his VP answered, sounding breathless.
