Chapter Three
Party crashing.
My gut coiled in anxiety.
Aisha and Chelsea were gone. As had the young, well-dressed man they’d been speaking to—the one with the shaven head, the confident posture, and the easy smile.
He’d been the one in a caterer’s uniform and had been the only one on the grounds when I arrived. I was willing to bet anything that the uniform I had found in the bathroom was his.
I wove through a group of revelers and made my way to the table Aisha, Chelsea, and the young man had been standing beside. The only indication that they had been there at all were the two wine glasses. One was empty and the other, about a quarter full. Before jumping to conclusions, but with my insides cramping in premonition, I made a trail back through the party, searching for either of the
