Three. Caleb looked through the blinds. Two black Cadillac Escalades and a polished silver Maybach rolled in like a convoy. They blocked the entrance, the exit, and every bit of morning light. Four men in dark suits stepped out first, scanning the area with the precise, silent rhythm of people paid to expect trouble.
Then the Maybach door opened. A woman stepped out. Tall, elegant, fierce. Slate gray blazer, leather briefcase, blue eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Caleb recognized her instantly from business magazines stacked in the waiting room.
Evelyn Harrington, CEO of Vanguard Pinnacle, billionaire private equity titan, a woman known for buying failing companies and stripping them to the bone before breakfast. She walked straight toward the shop door, not caring about the mud on the lot or the grease on the windows. Caleb stepped outside and crossed his arms. "Shop's closed for the next hour." Evelyn stopped inches from him.
Up close, Caleb could see what the cameras never showed. Dark circles under her expensive makeup. Fear held together by rage. "Where is she?" She demanded.
Caleb's jaw tightened. "Excuse me?" One of the security men stepped forward, massive with a scar cutting through his eyebrow. "Don't play games, Mitchell." We tracked the vehicle's GPS to this shop at 12:14 a.m.
The signal died after she left. Where is Harper? Caleb felt the name drop through him like a stone. Harper. The crying girl.
The ruined gown. The burner phone. The black Mercedes. Evelyn Harrington's daughter. "She was here," Caleb said slowly.
"Her tire was shredded. I changed it. She left." Evelyn's face hardened with disbelief. "You expect me to believe that?"
"It's the truth." My daughter has been missing for 14 hours. Her phone is dead. The vehicle tracker was disabled after leaving this location. You were the last person to see her.
Her voice cracked, then sharpened again. Did someone pay you? Are you holding her? If you touched one hair on her head, I will buy this miserable building just to tear it down over your grave. Something cold rose in Caleb.
He was tired. He was broke. He was scared for his shop, but he was not the kind of man who bent just because money arrived with bodyguards. "Lady," he said quietly, "I don't care how many zeros are in your bank account. You don't come to my shop and threaten me.
Your daughter pulled in terrified out of her mind. Somebody spiked her tire. I put on a replacement, gave her my coat, and told her to get somewhere safe. I didn't ask for money. I didn't take her.