PRESS IS the worst part about playing professional ball. If I could finish the rest of my career without talking to another reporter, I would be happy.
“That interception was beautiful and lead the Devils to a victory over the Panthers. Zayn, how does is feel to be the MVP of the game?” Larry Murphy, the main analyst from Sports Center, asks.
“I don’t like to consider myself an individual. If it weren’t having amazing teammates, I wouldn’t be able to do my job so well, so this MVP award should really go to all of us.”
“Very diplomatic answer. I like it,” the man says and then asks, “Can you feel us in on the rumors of being traded?”
He shoves the microphone back into my face. “I really can’t speak on that because right now that is all just speculation and if it happens, I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.”
“Fair enough. Well, congratulations on your third Super bowl win. Have a good night and enjoy the celebration.”
I nod and then stalk off the field, relieved to finally be finished with the last interview. I glance up to Vivi’s seat and frown when I find it empty. She was probably tired of waiting and went into the bathroom or something. It took for fucking ever to get through the awards ceremony. The league makes it a big deal because of all the people watching the game at home on their television. I think it’s all a bunch of bullshit, but it’s for the fans, so I get it.
As soon as I make it back into the locker room, I grab my phone and shoot Vivi a quick text.
Me: Sorry it took so long. Taking a quick shower and will meet you at the player’s entrance, where I showed you earlier today.
I strip down and head for the showers, wanting to get out of here as fast as I can and get to Vivi.
Once I’m dressed, I shove all of my shit into my duffle bag and head to meet Vivi. I glance down at my phone and frown when I don’t see a response from her. I was expecting a message confirming she knows where to meet, but I see nothing.
I turn to one guy guarding the entrance. “Have you seen a girl with dark brown hair, about this tall who’s waiting for me?” I hold my hand up to about a five-foot-eight eight.
The guy shakes his head. “Nothing but reporters and fans have been here since the game ended. Sorry.”
My heart races, thumping hard against my ribs. I grab my cell from my pocket and dial her number.
“It’s Vivi. Leave me a message.”
“Damn,” I mutter. “Straight to voicemail.”
I turn back to the guard. “Can you radio to the other staff to see if anyone has seen her? She had on a Devil’s tank top with my number on it and a white pair of shorts.”
“Yeah. Sure.” He clicks the button on the walkie-talkie and asks if anyone has seen Vivi and that I was the one looking for her.
To my surprise, another staff member answers pretty quickly. “A woman matching that description went through the service tunnel with another woman about forty minutes ago.”
My brow furrows. “Where is that tunnel?”
“On the other side of the building.” I turn to walk in that direction. “Wait, Mr. North and I’ll drive you there.” The guard motions to a golf cart sitting about fifteen feet from us.
It takes a few minutes to get to the other side of the building because there are still several fans lingering around and not wanting to leave yet. I keep my head down and a baseball cap pulled down low on my forehead as we pass through, doing my best to not be recognized and have this cart mobbed.
The man stops the cart near the tunnel, few people are around this part of the building, so it feels deserted compared to the rest of the place. “This is it.”
“Thanks,” I tell him and then jump out of the golf cart, but he sits and waits.
One guy at the tunnel meets me. “We saw her earlier. She was with a woman with dark hair, shorter than the smoking-hot one in the tank top.”
I let the comment he made about Vivi being hot slide, because right now I need to know all the information these guys have about where Vivi went.
“Did they say anything?” I prod.
The other guy says, “I heard the shorter one say the press tent was at the end of the tunnel, which I thought was weird because the only thing outside of here is a parking lot. Press is on the other side of the building near the player’s locker room.”
A chill runs down my spine. “Did they ever come back?”
Both men shake their heads. “We never saw either of them after that.”
“Fuck,” I curse. “Are there cameras out there?”
“Yes. You can get to the control room and we can look there to see if you see where they went.”
I jump into the golf cart again and am driven to the other side of the building and then escorted to a room filled with monitors and several people watching them. A man with a blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows greets me. The gray hair around his temples along with the lines around his eyes tells me he has some age on him, and the haggard expression on his face tells me he’s had a busy night.
“Mr. North,” the man greets me and then shakes my hand. “My name is Andy Miller and I’m head of security for the stadium. I’m under the understanding you are looking for a young woman who was wearing a red Devil’s tank top and white shorts?” I nod and the man’s lips roll into a tight line. “Can you tell me your relationship to the woman and what her name is?”
“She’s my girlfriend,” I say and then my eyes flick over to the two police officers in the room, who are transfixed on our conversation. “Her name is Vivian Honeycutt.”
“Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt the girl?”
My brow furrows. “What’s going on? What are you not telling me? If you know where Vivi is, you better fucking tell me.”
Andy holds up his hands in surrender. “I don’t know where she is, but…I think it’s best if I show the footage we have.”
He motions for me to follow him, so I do, along with the two cops. Andy instructs one of his employees sitting at a computer to pull up the tunnel camera, and my mouth drops open when I spot Vivi following behind my publicist, Tina.
“What the hell is she doing here?” I say.
The police officers with dark blonde hair and a mustache asks, “Do you know these women?”
“I do. It’s my publicist, but she wasn’t coming to California. As far as I know, she should be in Florida. The other is Vivi.” My eyes flick up to the men in the room who are all watching me. “Is this all the footage you have?”
The expression on all of their faces fall and I can tell there’s more they’re keeping from me.
“What is it?” I demand.
Andy orders for a different camera to be pulled up. This is a picture of outside the tunnel. As the video plays, I spot Tina coming out first, and then another female figure with a black ski mask over her face runs over and grabs Vivi and stuffs a rag over the top of Vivi’s mouth. Vivi’s body slumps over into the masked figure’s arms, and I gasp. Tina grabs Vivi’s legs and helps the other person load her into the trunk of a white sedan.
Both women hop into the car, and it speeds away.
“We have to find that fucking car,” I growl. “That’s Annabelle Rogers. I know it is. She’s the same fucking bitch who has been making my life a living hell and murdered Gia Whitt. She’s already threatened to hurt Vivi, too. Contact Detective Kendall in Jacksonville, Florida and let him know Annabelle is here in California.”
“We’ve already got a BOLO for the car. If it’s still in the city, we’ll find it,” the cop tells me. “Where are you staying?” I give him my hotel details and he jots it down. “You need to go back to your room and wait there. We’ll send a detective out to interview you after we’ve contacted the detective in Florida.”
I stare at the police officer in disbelief. “You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m going to sit around and do nothing. I’ll comb every inch of this goddamn city to find Vivi if I have to.”
“Finding her right now is like searching for a needle in a haystack unless you know where to look?” He raises his eyebrows as he stares at me, as if asking if I know anything else I’m not telling him.
I drop my head and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Annabelle will kill Vivi, and I can’t let that happen. I can’t go back to my room and do nothing.”
“I understand you’re upset, but we’re the professionals and we’ll handle it,” the officer says.
“Fuck if you will. No one has caught this bitch since she started fucking with me. The police haven’t been able to find her since she killed Gia, and now you’re asking me to trust you all to save the woman I love? Fuck that.”
I turn and storm out of the room, determined to do what the police haven’t been able to do—catch Annabelle Rogers.
