Maybe

8

Donovan Creed.

I’VE ONLY BEEN in Vegas a few weeks, but I’ve already made an investment. I purchased a plastic surgery center and day spa I plan to open when the police release the building to me. They’re still investigating a mass murder that took place on the premises. I’ll start fresh with a whole new staff headed by Dr. Eamon Petrovsky, the world’s greatest plastic surgeon. Dr. Petrovsky (I call him Dr. P.) headed the team of surgeons that gave me the new face I’m wearing.

Earlier today I called Dr. P. and told him to pack some clothes for our trip.

“What trip?” he said.

“We’re flying to Louisville, Kentucky.”

“Why?”

“What do you care? Until our license is granted, you’re unemployed.”

I told him I’d swing by his place at three and give him a ride to the private airfield. Then I went for a run, worked out in Callie’s gym a half hour, then took a shower. After packing an overnight bag, I found the women glued to the TV in the den.

“What’s happened?” I ask.

“Remember Mindy Renee Whittaker?” Callie says.

I think a minute. “The kid who got kidnapped years ago?”

Callie nods.

“What about her?”

“She’s been in witness relo. But someone just blew her cover!”

“What kind of asshole would do that?”

“They’re not saying. But ten to one it’s her husband.”

“She’s married? How’s that possible? She’s just a kid.”

“Time flies. Believe it or not, she’s twenty-four now.”

I scoot onto the couch next to Maybe and watch the drama unfold. It’s so weird, calling my daughter Maybe, but it’s something I need to get used to.

The photo they’re showing of Dani Ripper’s a good one, designed to build ratings.

She’s hot.