“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s get to the bank. Do we know where Hyde is?”

“No. I’ll text Welch.”

“He left a message. Shit—it must have been the news about Hyde.”

The elevator takes forever to descend to the garage. What is Ana playing at? Why can’t she tell me if she’s in trouble? Fear wraps around my heart and my gut, strangling me from the inside. What could be worse than Ana leaving me? The distressing picture from my earlier dream slips into my head, drawing on older—much older—disturbing memories: a woman lifeless on the floor. I screw my eyes shut.

No. Please. No.

“We’ll find her,” Taylor says with grim determination.

“We have to.”

“I’ll track her cell,” he states.

At last the doors open and Taylor tosses me his Q7 keys. He wants me to drive?

Get a grip, Grey. You have to get your wife out of this mess.

Perhaps that fucker is blackmailing her.

We climb into the car and I switch on the ignition. The tires scream as I reverse out of the space and speed up to the garage entrance, only to wait agonizing seconds for the barrier to rise. “Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on!”

Barely clearing the barrier, we roar out onto the street in the direction of the bank.

Taylor puts his phone on the dash, waiting for a signal, cursing impatiently under his breath.

“She’s still at the bank,” he says eventually.

“Good.”

The traffic is heavier than I expected. It’s frustrating.

Come on, come on, come on!

Why does Ana do this? Keep this shit to herself? Doesn’t she trust me?

I think about my behavior over the last couple of days.

Okay, it hasn’t been exemplary, by any means, but she takes all this crap on her shoulders. Why can’t she ask for help?

“Ana Grey,” I shout into the phone’s Bluetooth system. After a few moments her phone starts to ring, and ring, and ring…then it goes to voice mail. My heart sinks.

“Hi, you’ve reached Ana. I can’t take your call right now, but please leave a message after the beep, and I’ll call you right back.”

Christ!

“Ana! What the fuck is going on?” I yell. It feels good to yell. “I’m coming to get you. Call me. Talk to me.” I hang up.

“She’s still at the bank,” Taylor says.

“Sawyer’s still there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call Sawyer!” I shout into the hands-free, and moments later his cell is ringing.

“Mr. Grey?”

“Where’s Ana?”

“She’s just turned around and gone back into one of the offices.”

“Go get her.”

“Sir, I’m armed. I can’t go through the detectors. I’m standing by the entrance watching Anast—Mrs. Grey, and looking very suspicious. If I go back to the car to stow my gun, I may lose her.”

Fucking firearms.

“How the hell did she give you the slip?”

“She’s a very resourceful woman, Mr. Grey.” He sounds like he’s speaking through gritted teeth, and I recognize his frustration. It makes me feel slightly more sympathetic to him; she drives me crazy, too.

“I want a thorough briefing when we have her back. Jack Hyde has been granted bail, and both Taylor and I have a hunch that Ana’s actions have something to do with him.”

“Shit!” Luke says.

“Exactly. We’re about five minutes away. Don’t let her go again, Sawyer.”

“Sir.”

I hang up.

Taylor and I sit in silence as I weave through traffic.

What are you up to, Anastasia Grey?

What am I going to do to you when I get you back?

Various scenarios cross my mind. I shift in my seat.

For fuck’s sake, Grey. Now is not the time.

Taylor startles me. “She’s on the move.”

“What?” My heart jump-starts as adrenaline courses through my body.

“She’s heading south, on Second.”

“Call Sawyer!” I shout. Moments later, his cell rings again.

“Mr. Grey,” he answers immediately.

“She’s on the move!”

“What? She hasn’t come out through the main entrance.” He sounds confused.

“She’s heading south on Second,” Taylor interjects.

“I’m on it. I’ll call from the car.” Sawyer is obviously running. “She’s not in her car. It’s still here.”

“Hell!” I shout.

“Still heading south on Second,” Taylor says. “Wait. She’s turned left onto Yesler.”

We pass my bank. There’s no point stopping. “That’s three blocks?” I ask him.

“Yes, sir.”

For the billionth time I thank God Taylor’s with me. He knows this city like the back of his hand—which is odd, given he’s from some rural town in the middle of nowhere in Texas.

Three minutes later, we’re heading east on Yesler.

“She’s still on Yesler,” Taylor growls, eyes glued to his phone. “She’s turned south. Onto Twenty-Third. That’s eight blocks from here.”

“I’m right behind you,” Sawyer pipes up through the hands-free.