All I want to do is shake some sense into Shayla. And then ravish those scowling lips. She looks good in her blue sundress and high-heeled sandals. Her shoulder-length hair is slightly tousled, no doubt from when I’d pushed her up against the elevator wall and claimed her lips.

During all of our years together, we’d never argued much, but when we did, we had some hellified makeup sessions. Making up was the best part about fussing and fighting. But something told me there would be no make up sex today. Shayla is a different woman now. Besides, she’s right. I have bigger issues to worry about.

“I’m gonna go look for Cee.”

“I’ll stay here in case she comes back. And I’ll start calling the hospitals.” Her sad gaze meets mine. “Just in case.”

“I hadn’t even thought about that.”

“We have to consider all the possibilities.”

I walk toward the door. All of a sudden, my shoulders hurt. Feels like I have the weight of the world on them. My earlier excitement dissipates from a geyser to a dribble. “I’m sorry, Shayla. For everything.”

She nods, but her smirk tells me she doesn’t believe me. Why should she? I’d abandoned her when she needed me most, and now I’d turned up asking to pick back up where we’d left off. My words were like a new penny—shiny, but not worth much.

I close the front door behind me, my heart heavy as lead. I will give Shayla a reason to trust me again. Right now, I have to focus on finding Cee. Hopefully I’m not too late.

* * *

The side of Los Angeles that tourists see is a picnic compared to the city’s real façade.

Gritty streets.

Poverty-stricken neighborhoods.

Gang territory untouched by beautiful beaches and entertainment industry the city is so famous for.

The first place I stop is Cee’s neighborhood. I park across the street from the address I’d pried out of her the night we met. I don’t know if she’ll show up or not, but I wait anyway. If Cee has a score to settle, she might start here.

Thirty minutes later, a burly man with a bald head and biceps Popeye would envy emerges from the house and saunters down the porch steps with an “I’m the shit” swagger. The tip of his cigarette glows in the waning light.

From the description Cee gave me, this has to be her pathetic excuse of a father. I don’t stop to think about what I’m doing. My car door slams behind me as I climb from the Tesla’s leather seats.

“Is Cee around?” I ask.

The man’s beady black eyes narrow before he mutters a gruff reply. “Who wants to know?”

I want to smash his bald head against the pavement for everything he’s done to Cee. Instead, I lie. “Detective Emerson.”

Cigarette smoke plumes from his oversized nostrils. “What’s the little brat gotten herself into now?”

“Nothing. I’m investigating her complaint of battery.”

The smug look slithers from his face. “I ain’t seen the kid in months.”

A woman with a mop of black hair stumbles through the front door. “You found Cee?” she slurs.

Dull, lifeless eyes trapped behind dark half circles settle on me. She might have been pretty once—before drugs had taken over and colored her skin with an ashy pallor. Her shorts barely cover her…assets. She scratches one of her arms, pulling my gaze to the track marks in the crease of her elbow.

Neither of these two would win any Parent of the Year awards. I was glad I’d come. At least I know Cee isn’t here. I walk away so I won’t give in to the impulse to beat her father to a pulp. I’ll save my aggression for the football field.

Hours later, I’m still searching for Cee. What started out as an optimistic, sunny day has now deteriorated into a sinister night. This city is no place for a fifteen-year-old girl to be alone. Cee is tough, but L.A. is tougher. Unscrupulous people are everywhere, prowling the bus stations, the airports, and even the malls looking for victims. Time is an enemy I can’t afford. The longer I go without finding Cee, the more dangerous it is for her.

I venture into West Hollywood. I recall Cee saying she’d gone to a shelter here once after she’d run away in the middle of the night. Maybe she’d returned for some reason. I stop at a red light as a homeless man pushes the metal skeleton of a shopping cart past. Two young girls sashay behind him. The redhead wears a short blue jeans skirt and a Nike hoodie. Her companion, a fresh-faced adolescent with cocoa-brown skin flaunts skinny jeans and sneakers. They look like the kind of girls Cee might hang out with.

The black girl approaches and hovers outside my open window. “Looking for someone special?”

My heartbeat stutters as her words sink in. Crap. These two are prostitutes. I don’t judge them. Cee could have easily fallen victim to the same fate. Maybe they can help me. “I’m looking for a specific girl. Her name is Cee. She’s about five feet tall with long, dark curly hair. Have you seen her?”

“Honey, I can be anybody you want, for the right price.”

The redhead sidles up to my passenger-side window. “You want something more exotic?” Up close, I can see she’s much older than I’d originally thought. With gobs of mascara and a liberal dousing of blush caked on each cheek, she could be mistaken for a living Raggedy Ann doll.

I shake my head. “I’m trying to find my…um, daughter.” Cee isn’t my daughter yet, but maybe these two would help if they think I’m a father looking for my missing child.

“Ooh, baby. You can be my daddy for twenty minutes.”

“Forget it.” I reach for the gearshift. Time to get the hell out of here.

“Wait a minute,” the black girl says. “You got a picture of her?”

I pull out my cell phone and show them a photo of Cee posed behind the wheel of my car. I remember the day she took the selfie. She’d asked me if she could drive, but she didn’t know how to operate a stick. The first thing I’m gonna do when I find her is teach her how to drive.

If I ever find her.

The girl squints at the screen. “She looks familiar.”

The redhead joins in. “Yeah, I think I saw her a few hours ago.”

My head swivels in her direction, hope soaring inside me. “Really? Where?” Maybe Cee is still around. Maybe she’s waiting for me to come rescue her. Maybe—

“Uh-uh,” the black girl wags a long-nailed finger at me. “It don’t work like that, sweetie. You gotta pay to play.”

I should have known. There is no honor in these streets. I’m not helping matters, draped in a Valentino shirt and sitting behind the wheel of a six-figure SUV. These leeches probably see a cash cow. I reach for my wallet. “How much?

“Three hundred.”

“Three hundred! Just for information?” They may as well have robbed me at gunpoint.

“You wanna know where she is or not?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll take you there.” She shoves her hand through the window, palm-side up, like I’m supposed to make a direct deposit.

Aw, hell, no. I might be a country boy from Texas, but I have enough street smarts to get around. “You get a hundred now. I’ll give you the rest when she’s safe with me.”

Her sleek bob glides back and forth as she nods her head in agreement. “Deal.”

I lay a crisp C-note in her hand. She tucks it into her bra, and then smiles as though I’ve given her a winning lotto ticket. And for her, it probably is. How often did these chicks get a john for three hundred dollars?

She saunters to the passenger side door and she and her fellow extortionist hop in. “Let’s go. We don’t have all day, sweetie.”

The moment I put the Tesla in drive, the loud wail of sirens pierces the air. At the same time, red and blue lights blaze across the front of my windshield.

“Hands up!” a gruff voice bellows.

A half a dozen men brandishing guns surround me. My heart thunders. This is like a scene out of a crime drama. “What the fu—?”

A beefy guy yanks the car door open, reaches inside, and snatches me by my shirt collar. He drags me outside and slams me facedown onto the grass. “You’re under arrest for solicitation of a prostitute.”

I gasp for air. The pressure of his knee on my back is incredible. God, one of my lungs must have collapsed! Tiny white stars dot my vision. I blink rapidly, desperate to stay conscious. The cold steel of handcuffs snap around my wrists as needles of pain stab my face. The cuffs chafe my skin as two men haul me to my feet.

“You have the right to remain silent!” one of them barks.

The silver flash of his police badge bounces off the light of a nearby street lamp. These guys are undercover cops. A wicked-looking dragon tattoo snakes the entire length of the man’s forearm. Do undercover cops have dragon tattoos?

“Wait,” I wheeze. “This isn’t…what you think.”

“It never is, dude.”

Maybe if I’m calm and rational, these idiots will realize they’ve cuffed the wrong guy. “I wasn’t trying to pick up hookers,” I explain between panting breaths. “Those two said they could help me find my daughter.”

I realize how ridiculous I sound. This is a sting and I was dumb enough to have gotten snared. I glance at the two women who’ve moved from my car to the sidewalk. They hi-five each other.

The redhead winks at the black woman. “Good job, Rosie.”

Rosie smiles. “You too, girl. Another dirtbag is off the streets.”

“Hey!” I struggle against the handcuffs. “I’m not a dirtbag!” Though my chest is ready to implode any minute, I force out words through clenched teeth. “I’m looking for a runaway. If I don’t find her, there’s no telling what will happen to her.”

“Yeah, right,” one of the cops answers. “Save it for the judge.”

The beefy officer who arrested me peers at my face for a few moments and then cocks his head to the side. “I don’t believe this shit. This ain’t no ordinary john. It’s Colt Emerson!”

The redhead sneers. “Another celebrity bites the dust.”

The officer’s bushy eyebrows knit together. “I was a fan of yours—until tonight.”

“Why you tryna solicit hookers?” another cop demands. “You can have any woman you want.”

Frustration and anger finally bubble up and boil over. Enough is enough! “I’m not a john! I’m looking for a fifteen-year-old-girl I know.”

“Disgusting,” Rosie murmurs. “He just admitted he likes fifteen-year-olds.”

A flashbulb explodes, the bright light momentarily blinding me. For a full five seconds, more white spots cloud my vision as a camera clicks repeatedly. Finally, I hear footsteps running away. Damn paparazzi!

The big cop shakes his head. “The press is gonna have a field day with this. Colt Emerson arrested, trying to pick up two prostitutes.”

I hang my head as he leads me to the back of a police cruiser. Things had just gone from bad to worse.