One night, Arthur Finch-Hatten's phone rang. He thumbed the screen but didn't say anything.
A man's voice said, "Hello? Lord Finch-Hatten? Maxence is missing."
Arthur rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Beside him, Gen stirred but didn't wake up. Arthur was always whispering into his phone in the middle of the night. "He always goes missing. You tossers lose him twice a week in those rural outbacks he inhabits. Honestly, the Savannah is so flat and wide. I don't see how you don't just look over the grass and see where he is."
The man said, "He went missing in Monaco. He was in the middle of the casino, and then he wasn't."
Arthur slid out from under the covers and slipped his arms into his dressing gown. "I'm on my way."
Gen peered up at him in the dim morning's light. "Who's missing?"
"Max." Arthur texted, telling his plane's pilot and staff to have the jet warmed up and ready to fly, and then he tapped a few more icons on his phone.
Gen snuggled farther under the thick comforter. "Max is always wandering off."
A man's voice, husky with sleep, asked in Arthur's ear, "What?"
Arthur held his phone between his ear and shoulder to tie his belt. "We have a problem, Caz. Max went missing from Monaco. What continent are you on?"
Gen flipped the covers back and reached for the floor with her long, shapely legs that Arthur loved to bind and tie and bite. "You didn't say he was in Monaco when he went missing. I'm coming, too."
"You can't," Arthur said.
She yawned and walked toward their closet. "Try and stop me, my lord."