Page 3 of A Billionaire Rebel

“I know.” I picked up my things. “Let me guess, Mr. Titan is the one who thinks I had something to do with Heidi’s disappearance.”

The officer nodded, falling into step next to me as I walked out of the office. “He’s saying that you did something to her, and that’s why no one knows where she is.”

“Investigate all you want,” I said, “but make sure you’re looking at Mark too. If anyone was going to hurt Heidi, it would’ve been him.”

“Are you saying you have evidence that he hurt her?”

I stopped just this side of the door. “I’ve seen her come to work with long sleeves in the summer, with bruises that have vague or ridiculous excuses. I wasn’t her confidant, if that’s what you want to know, but I’m not an idiot.”

“But you didn’t call the cops.”

I gave the young man a hard look. “Unless I’m mistaken, the only way Mark would be held accountable would be for Heidi to file a report and follow through on pressing charges. I have resources for all of my employees if they find themselves in those types of situations, but there is only so much I can do, especially if all I have is speculation.”

When he looked away, I opened the door and walked outside. I may have understood the reasoning behind laws regarding who could or couldn’t press charges for certain crimes, but I hated how those laws often limited protections. Like how in most states, stalking wasn’t technically a crime.

“Jude Holden!”

I didn’t even have to turn to know who was yelling my name. I felt the cop step up next to me as I turned. Mark looked like hell…and he looked pissed about it.

“Mark, you shouldn’t be here.” I kept my voice even and calm.

“Where the fuck is my wife?!” He pointed his finger at me, and I could tell he wished it was a gun. “What did you do to her?!”

“Mr. Titan.” The cop stepped in front of me, holding one hand up with his palm out in the universal sign for ‘stop.’ His other hand was at his side, hovering over his gun. “You need to leave. You can’t be here.”

Mark stopped in his tracks, but he didn’t leave. “He did something to my wife! My Heidi! He was fucking her, and now she’s gone!”

“Mr. Titan, you need to go. We’re looking into your wife’s disappearance. You need to trust us to do our job.”

Cursing loudly, Mark turned and stomped away, leaving the cop shaking his head and me wondering how long Mark planned to keep this up. How long would it take for him to realize that he would never see Heidi again?

Two

Damon

For a native Texan,August in Las Vegas felt like home. Weather-wise, at least. Nothing else about this city and the one where I’d grown up were the same.

A trio of women with sequined bikinis and little else smiled at me as they passed, their eyes and bodies promising all sorts of pleasures…for the right price. I smiled back at them and nodded politely, but I wasn’t really interested.

I supposed some people preferred sex to be a business transaction, but I’d personally never gotten it. I wasn’t one of those people who thought sex was only for being in love, but I wasn’t about to pay for it either.

Besides, I didn’t need to.

I paused for a moment, staring up at the billboard in front of me, taking the cowboy hat from my head to wipe away the sweat. Messy dark blond hair, baby blue eyes, tan, dimples, some scruff…yeah, that was me all right. Damon Holden. Lead singer of the country band, Holden. Writer and performer of multi-award-winning hits “Heartbreak Collision” and “Up All Night.”

In the past three years, I’d been to the CMAs, Billboard Music Awards, and the Grammys, and we’d had at least one nomination at each both times. We’d lost a couple and won a couple. Critics liked us for the most part, and we never had any problem selling out stadiums.

According to anyone who was anyone, and everyone else too, Holden was going places.

“Is that you?”

I turned toward the voice, already smiling as I pulled the hat back down on my head. One of the things that had contributed to our success was that we didn’t really have a target audience. People of all ages liked our music. At any one event, I could sign autographs for kids and their grandparents, squealing groupies and people who’d just wanted to try us out.

A kid about ten or eleven was staring up at me in awe. He pointed to the billboard and asked again, “Is that you?”

“Billy, what have we said about talking to strangers?” A harried-looking woman with a sunburn scolded the boy and then looked up at me. “I’m sorry, he…”

Her voice trailed off when she saw where her son had been pointing just over my head. Her eyes darted back and forth between the sign and me.

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