I’m breathing hard from the adrenaline and fear. They haven’t followed me. I realize when I dropped my bags I lost my phone. Going to the closest shop, a clothing store, I tell the woman I need the phone, someone in the parking lot stole my bags. I don’t want to go into details with her.

She takes me in the back and lets me use the phone. “You’re calling the police, right? Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” she asks with concern.

“They didn’t hurt me, but I lost my bag. I don’t have any numbers mesmerized. Do you mind just giving me a minute? I just need to calm down for a second.” I’m not lying. I am shaken up, but I need to call the directory and see if I can get a number for Masen. I don’t think he’ll want to involve the police. I think he’ll handle it himself.

“Sure, no problem, honey. My name’s Tami. I’ll be right outside the door. I can’t leave you back here alone. You understand?”

I nod my head. “Yeah, of course, I won’t touch anything but the phone. I promise,” I tell her truthfully.

Once she’s out the door, I pick the phone and dial information. “City and state please.”

“Point Pleasant, Michigan.”

“Business name.”

“It’s a person, Masen Black. Any number you have listed under him, please.”

“I have two listings. Would you like both?”

“Yes, please.” I find a blank sheet of paper and a pen.

“Residential number is 586-555-9911. Black Industries is 586-555-0000. Would you like to be connected?”

“Yes, please, to the residential number. Thank you.” Seconds later, it starts ringing. After six rings, I hang up and try the other number. If this doesn’t work, I’ll find security to walk me to my Jeep. Damn, I just realized I don’t have my keys. I’m sure if they didn’t take them from where I dropped them by now someone else has. Shit, I should have held onto my purse. A smooth female voice answers the line. “Black Industries. How can I direct your call?”

“I need to speak with Masen Black, please.”

“I’m sorry, Miss. He can’t be reached from this line.”

Shit! “Can you give me his cell number or send my call to him?”

“I’m sorry, Miss. I can’t do that. Would you like to speak with his assistant?”

Oh, thank God. “Yes, please.” I blow out a deep breath waiting for the call to pick up. I know he’ll have a shifter for an assistant. I can explain who I am, and they’ll let me talk to Masen.

“Roxanne speaking. How can I help you?”

Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me. “I need to talk with Masen, please,” I say as polite as I can muster.

“He’s indisposed at the moment. Can I take a message?” She giggles in the background. “Stop that,” comes through the line weakly like she’s covering the receiver.

“Give me his cell number, or send my call to him, now,” I sneer all pretense of politeness gone.