Page 143 of Desperate People

It’s never enough when it comes to her.

The Volkov name. The spotlight. The headlines.

I should’ve taken her home. I should’ve never let her step foot outside today.

What the hell was I thinking?

I reach for my comms unit. “Report.”

Onyx answers immediately. “Perimeter stable. No visual disturbances. Lucy’s still in the tent, far as I know?—”

But his voice falters. Just for a breath. Just for a second.

“Hey, have you seen Ms. Volkov?” I hear an intern ask him over the comm.

“Mrs. Cruz is in the makeup tent,” he corrects her.

“No, she’s not. She stepped out a few minutes ago for some air.”

I freeze.

“Tell me everything you know,” Onyx says, but it’s not enough for me to listen.

Sure, I know my crew. They don’t hesitate, but apparently something’s wrong.

I’m already moving, pushing past techs and gawkers, tearing open the tent flap like it personally offended me—and it fucking has, keeping my wife from my eyes—only to find the intern is right.

She’s not there.

Her makeup chair is empty.

The stylist looks confused. “She said she’d be right back. Just stepped out for air.”

Air?

Panic lashes through me, swift and blinding.

I turn on my heel and bark into my mic.

“I want every camera feed from the last ten minutes. Now.”

She’s not in the tent.

She’s not in my line of sight.

Not in the fucking tent.

Not in the vicinity of Washing Square Arch.

“Lucy,” I whisper.

My world narrows to that name.

This isn’t a drill.

This isn’t a glitch.

This is wrong.

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