The underground parking lot of the Larson Group.

Zavier killed the engine, sat still for a moment, and then—after some hesitation—dialed Selena.

She didn’t answer.

He didn’t try again. Leaning back against the leather seat, he lit a cigarette with deliberate calm.

She was probably angry, he thought.

The question was, angry about what? The callous way he’d treated her last night? Or the fact that he’d disappeared ...