“Fane?” Callie murmured in confusion, following him into the room and gazing at the high-tech equipment in fascination.
It couldn’t compare to the command center at the lowest level of Valhalla, but it was built with steel walls lined with powerful computers, which were linked to satellite feeds that kept track of government agencies. They also ran surveillance monitors.
Including surveillance for Valhalla.
Going to the nearest computer he tapped on the keys to bring up the camera that monitored the hallway outside Serra’s apartment.
“I want to check the tapes,” he muttered, clicking the rewind until he reached the point of Serra’s first entering her apartment.
“Why?” Callie demanded.
“There was something bothering her.”
He watched as she opened her door and then bent down to pick up something off the ground. What was it? He zoomed in. A gift-wrapped package. Was it the locket he’d seen her holding?
She entered the apartment and closed the door. He zoomed past Callie’s visit and his own arrival and abrupt departure. After that there was . . . nothing.
No one entered the hallway. Not until Serra’s door was opened and she walked away from her apartment with a suitcase clutched in her hand.
Once again he zoomed in, a cold trickle of sweat inching down his spine. There was no mistaking the pallor of her skin and the tightness of her features. Twice she reached up to rub her temple, as if she were in pain.
“Goddammit,” he growled, clicking to another camera to watch her progress through Valhalla. “I should have insisted she tell me.”
Callie swore beneath her breath. “Considering you were more than likely what was bothering her, I doubt she would have shared.”
He accepted the familiar pang of guilt, he deserved it, but he gave a shake of his head at the thought this was about his decision to leave.
Watching Serra take a tunnel to the outer garage and halting next to her personal SUV, Fane scowled in confusion.
She walked past a dozen friends who’d all tried to get her attention, her expression unfocused and her movements lacking her usual grace.
That wasn’t like Serra.
Then she opened the back of the SUV and shoved in her vintage Louis Vuitton suitcase that had been a gift from her parents. Callie gasped in disbelief.
“Okay, that’s it. There’s something really, really wrong,” she muttered. “Last year Serra nearly ripped off the head of a bellboy who tried to touch the handle of her bag without gloves on. She would never toss it around like a sack of garbage.”
Fane was moving before he even realized he’d made his decision.
“I’ll find her.”
Chapter Three
The St. Louis penthouse office was exactly what was expected of a successful businessman.
Consuming the twentieth floor, the office had three walls that were decorated with priceless abstract paintings, high-tech computers, and a dozen flat-screen monitors tuned to the stock markets from around the world. The fourth wall was made entirely of glass and offered a stunning view of the Gateway Arch. The furnishings were a sleek black and steel design and arranged over the marble white floor.
It was polished. Discreet. Expensive.
A perfect setting for the elegant CEO of Cavrilo International.
A tall, slender man, Bas Cavrilo had pale, delicately carved features that might have been pretty if not for the hint of ruthlessness in the line of his jaw and the arrogant thrust of his narrow nose. His dark hair was cut short and brushed away from his lean face, emphasizing his light brown eyes and the lush curve of his lips.
Currently attired in a charcoal gray Armani suit, he stood near the window, gazing down at the streets that were nearly empty of traffic.
At five in the morning, most people were still snug in their beds.
At least most normal people were snug in their beds.