The Mogul and the Muscle - Claire Kingsley Page 0,81
do it himself, just to get into Cameron’s private space.
Ignoring Nicholas, busy starting dinner in the kitchen, I went to my temporary desk in the breakfast nook.
Still standing, I powered on my laptop. Opened the video. The intruder walked up to the front door, head down, hood up. Dark clothing, down to the shoes. Unlike Bobby, no designer labels.
But even Bobby Spencer had to be smart enough to know Cameron had security cameras. And if he wore something recognizable, he’d get caught.
I clicked through the frames, pausing, looking for the right angle. There had to be a moment when I could see the intruder from head to toe.
Finally, I found it. I isolated a spot and zoomed in.
There it was. The embossed Fendi logo on the toe of his black leather sneakers. The same sneakers he’d been wearing when he’d come into the office after the break-in. The ones that had seemed subdued compared to the rest of his clothes.
That little fucker.
“Cameron,” I shouted, saving the image. “Cameron, are you in your office?”
“She’s not here,” Nicholas said without looking up from the vegetables he was slicing.
I straightened, my back going stiff, a hit of adrenaline racing through my veins. “What?”
“I don’t want to make it weird, but we heard you guys fighting. Inda went upstairs to talk to her and a couple minutes later, they left.”
“Where the fuck did they go?”
“Just down to the village to get a drink. They’re in Cameron’s golf cart. They won’t leave Bluewater.”
“Fuck.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked Cameron’s GPS. Her little dot was right on top of mine. That meant she was in the house. “No, she’s here. Maybe they came back.”
“Maybe,” he said, still slicing.
I pocketed my phone and went to check the garage. I glanced in her office on my way, but it was empty. And regardless of where Nicholas had said she’d gone, my instincts were going crazy. Something was wrong.
“Cameron?”
Her Tesla was parked in its spot. But her golf cart was gone.
My heart thumped hard in my chest. She could have parked it outside. I ran around to check, racing down the porch steps, but the only thing in her driveway was my bike.
I darted back inside and pulled out my phone to call her. It rang once.
“Come on, Cameron.”
Twice. I ran halfway up the curved staircase, willing her to answer. To be upstairs in the shower or out on her balcony.
Three times.
“Cameron, where the fuck are you?”
On the fourth ring I stopped, listening. Held my breath. A faint noise came from the second floor.
Her voicemail picked up and I bolted, taking the rest of the stairs two at a time. Rushed down the hallway to her master bedroom.
And found her phone sitting in a depression in the fluffy white comforter on her bed.
31
Cameron
My cool CEO act lasted all the way to the bottom of the stairs.
Then the stomping started.
The fist clenching.
And when I got to my bedroom, a good old-fashioned door slam.
I took my phone out of my pocket and tossed it on the bed, then paced to the window and back. I was considering doing something I almost never did—letting the tears that stung my eyes fall—when Inda knocked gently, opening my door enough to poke her head inside.
“Hey, you.”
I swiped beneath my eyes in case any wetness had already leaked out. “Hi.”
“Sorry to bother you, but I kind of heard everything. I came up to see if you’re okay.”
“Of course I’m okay,” I said, but ruined my attempt at composure by sniffing hard.
“I know you’re not,” she said. “And it’s okay if you’re not.”
I shook my head. “No, I’m not.”
She came in and sat down on the edge of my bed. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know.” I wandered toward the huge windows.
She was quiet for a long moment while I stared out at the water, a potent mix of emotions swirling through me.
“Come on,” she said, standing. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Down to the village to get a drink.”
I glanced at her. “Tempting, but I’d have to bring the muscle. You know I can’t go anywhere alone.”
“We won’t leave Bluewater,” she said. “And you won’t be alone. You’ll have me.”
Inda had served in the Israel Defense Forces before she’d met and married Nicholas. She was a legitimate badass.
“Okay, well, that means you’re on bodyguard duty,” I said. “But if we get in a high-speed chase with another golf cart, leave the driving to me.”