Someone needed to explain to Richard why he was out when the sun was barely peeking over the horizon, casting long, bruised shadows across the pavement of the Heights, looking for Giselle like she was missing rib.
The longer time slipped by,the more worried he became. Richard hadn't slept; his eyes were rimmed with red, his jaw covered in a fine silver stubble that made him look less his usual self and more like he looked scruffy. He sat in the back of his black car, parked a block away from Serayah’s apartment, watching the main entrance through the windows.
"Target on the move," his lead security detail, Miller, whispered from the front seat.
Richard’s gaze hasted. It wasn't Giselle. It was the friend—he quickly connected the dots and recalled he had seen that one from the bar. It was
