Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 164263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 821(@200wpm)___ 657(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 821(@200wpm)___ 657(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
I look in the bathroom and in her bedside drawers, I walk from room to room trying to locate it. My eyes scan every nook and cranny and still I can’t find the diamond bracelet. I walk back to the kitchen and get on my hands and knees and look around, did I miss anything down here?
Thump.
Thump.
Thump…goes my heart.
“Babe, where are you?” I whisper in a panic. “Are you okay?” I get up and take out my phone. I concentrate to try and read the screen, I dial the number.
“Thomas Stone.”
“Thomas.” I pause, what the fuck even is this conversation? “It’s Edward Prescott.”
“Oh, hey, Edward.”
“Please tell me Alora is with you.”
“No. Why?”
I close my eyes.
“We had a disagreement last night and she came home and now she’s missing.”
“Oh no, that’s my fault you had a fight.”
“What?”
“I texted her to see if she was okay after the story.”
“You fucking idiot,” I snap.
“She said she was fine. She texted me on her way home last night to say that you had fought but she was fine and she wanted to stay at home.”
“What else did she say?”
“That you and her were going to work it out today at lunch, she thought that maybe she was being naïve but her gut told her that the woman had set you up.”
“I thought that too.”
“Have you called her?”
“Her phone is here, her purse with all her cards is here.”
“Check her phone, see if anyone else called her.”
“Good thinking.” I grab her phone, put in the passcode, and scroll through her texts. “I last texted her yesterday morning and then only yours and hers,” I reply as I search. “Let me check the call register.” I scroll through and see her calls to me and my office yesterday that I didn’t answer and my gut twists in disgust, why didn’t I call her back? “It shows my missed calls to her last night but nothing else.”
“Oh my god,” he whispers. “You don’t think…that fucking weirdo ex of hers. I knew he was fucking off.”
“I’ve had people trailing him since Sunday, he was home all night. I’ve had people on Isadora too, just to be safe.” I think out loud. “She was home all night as well. I get notified if either of them leaves their house.”
Hermione….
No….
“Have you tried calling her?” he asks.
“I just told you her phone is here, her purse with all her cards is inside.”
“Shit. That’s fucking weird, nobody leaves the house without a phone and money.”
“Right?”
“Call her dad.”
“I don’t want to worry them.”
“She’s fucking missing, Prescott. They need to be worried.”
I drag my hand down my face. “This is my worst fucking nightmare.”
“Did you call her workers from the store? Helene, try Helene.”
“No.”
“Do that. I’m on my way.”
I nod, cortisol stealing my ability to reply.
“It’s okay, Edward. We’ll find her.”
“What if something has happened?”
“How? She’s guarded like a fucking treasure.” He thinks for a moment. “Look, I think maybe she’s just pissed and has taken off to cool down.”
I nod, hoping that’s true.
“I’ll see you soon.”
I hang up and go back to walking around the yard. “Anything?” I call.
“Nothing came in or out all night,” Philippe calls as he stares at his phone.
“Check again, she didn’t just vanish.”
They keep searching and I go to the side fence and look up at the top, nobody could get up there. I walk to the back of the garden to the cliff and that’s when I see it, a set of footprints leading to the cliff, and I kneel down beside them. “Down here,” I cry.
They come running out and fall to the ground beside me. “Are these your footprints?” I ask. “Were either of you at this cliff overnight?”
They exchange glances and both shake their heads. “No.”
“That’s a man-sized shoe,” I murmur as I stare at it in the dirt, adrenaline is surging though my bloodstream. “Call the police.”
“And what happened then?” the policeman asks as he sits opposite me on the couch.
“I….” I pause. “She was going to bed so I did too.” I throw up my hands. “I had men out the front….” I shrug as I struggle to push words past my lips.
“Has she ever taken off before?” he asks.
“She hasn’t taken off,” I snap. “She’s been taken. There are fucking male footprints in the back garden.”
He gives me a condescending smile. “With all due respect, Mr. Prescott. There has been no indication that this is the scene of a crime, they could be a gardener’s or anyone’s. She hasn’t even been gone for twenty-four hours; she may have just left under the cloak of privacy to get away from your guards.”
“She wouldn’t do that.” I shake my head. “And if this isn’t the scene of a crime, why was her phone under the fridge?”
His eyes hold mine.
“Why were things knocked over in the fridge as if there was a struggle?”