“No!” My voice mirrors his. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no—how can he think that? The money? He thinks I’m going because of the money? And in a moment of horrific clarity, I realize the only way I’m going to keep Christian at arm’s length, out of harm’s way, and to save his sister … is to lie.
“Yes,” I whisper. And searing pain lances through me, tears springing to my eyes.
He gasps, almost a sob. “Ana, I—” He chokes.
No! My hand clutches my mouth as I stifle my warring emotions. “Christian, please. Don’t.” I fight back tears.
“You’re going?” he says.
“Yes.”
“But why the cash? Was it always the money?” His tortured voice is barely audible.
No! Tears roll down my face. “No,” I whisper.
“Is five million enough?”
Oh please, stop!
“Yes.”
“And the baby?” His voice is a breathless echo.
What? My hand moves from my mouth to my belly. “I’ll take care of the baby,” I murmur. My Little Blip … our Little Blip.
“This is what you want?”
No!
“Yes.”
He inhales sharply. “Take it all,” he hisses.
“Christian,” I sob. “It’s for you. For your family. Please. Don’t.”
“Take it all, Anastasia.”
“Christian—” And I nearly cave. Nearly tell him—about Jack, about Mia, about the ransom. Just trust me, please! I silently beg him.
“I’ll always love you.” His voice is hoarse. He hangs up.
“Christian! No … I love you, too.” And all the stupid shit that we put each other through over the last few days fades into insignificance. I promised I’d never leave him. I am not leaving you. I am saving your sister. I slump into the chair, weeping copiously into my hands.
I am interrupted by a timid knock on the door. Whelan enters, though I haven’t acknowledged him. He looks everywhere but at me. He’s mortified.
You called him, you bastard! I glare at him.
“Your husband has agreed to liquidate five million dollars worth of his assets, Mrs. Grey. This is highly irregular but as our main client … he was insistent … very insistent.” He pauses and flushes. Then frowns at me and I don’t know if it’s because Christian is being highly irregular or that Whelan doesn’t know how to deal with a weeping woman in his office.
“Are you all right?” He asks.
“Do I look all right?” I snap.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Some water?”
I nod, sullenly. I have just left my husband. Well, Christian thinks I have. My subconscious purses her lips. Because you told him so.
“I’ll have my colleague bring you some while I prepare the money. If you could just sign here, ma’am … and make the check out to cash and sign that, too.”
He places a form on the table. I scrawl my signature along the dotted line of the check, then the form. Anastasia Grey. Teardrops fall on the desk, narrowly missing the paperwork.
“I’ll take those, ma’am. It will take us about half an hour to prepare the money.”
I quickly check my watch. Jack said two hours—that should take us to two hours. I nod to Whelan, and he tiptoes out of the office, leaving me to my misery.
A few moments, minutes, hours later—I don’t know—Miss Insincere Smile reenters with a carafe of water and a glass.
“Mrs. Grey,” she says softly as she places the glass on the desk and fills it.
“Thank you.” I take the glass and drink gratefully. She exits, leaving me with my jumbled, frightened thoughts. I will fix things with Christian somehow … if it’s not too late. At least he’s out of the picture. Right now I have to concentrate on Mia. Suppose Jack is lying? Suppose he doesn’t have her? Surely I should call the police.
“Tell no one or I’ll fuck her up before I kill her.” I can’t. I sit back in the chair, feeling the reassuring presence of Leila’s pistol at my waist, digging into my back. Who would have thought I’d ever feel grateful that Leila once pulled a gun on me? Oh, Ray, I’m so glad you taught me how to shoot.
Ray! I gasp. He’ll be expecting me to visit this evening. Perhaps I can simply dump the money with Jack. He can run while I take Mia home. Oh, this sounds absurd!
My BlackBerry jumps to life, “Your Love Is King” filling the room. Oh no! What does Christian want? To twist the knife in my wounds?
“Was it always the money?”
Oh, Christian—how could you think that? Anger flares in my gut. Yes, anger. It helps. I send the call to voice mail. I’ll deal with my husband later.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Mrs. Grey.” It’s Whelan. “The money is ready.”
“Thank you.” I stand up and the room spins momentarily. I clutch the chair.
“Mrs. Grey, are you feeling okay?”
I nod and give him a back-off-now-mister stare. I take another deep, calming breath. I have to do this. I have to do this. I must save Mia. I pull the hem of my hooded sweatshirt down, concealing the butt of the pistol in the back of my jeans.
Mr. Whelan frowns but holds open the door, and I propel myself forward on my shaking limbs.
Sawyer is waiting at the entrance, scanning the public area. Shit! Our eyes meet, and he frowns at me, gauging my reaction. Oh, he’s mad. I hold up my index finger in a with-you-in-a-minute gesture. He nods and answers a call on his cell phone. Shit! I bet that’s Christian. I turn abruptly, almost colliding with Whelan right behind me, and bolt back into the little office.
“Mrs. Grey?” Whelan sounds confused as he follows me back in.
Sawyer could blow this whole plan. I gaze up at Whelan.
“There’s someone out there I don’t want to see. Someone following me.”
Whelan’s eyes widen.
“Do you want me to call the police?”
“No!” Holy fuck, no. What am I going to do? I glance at my watch. It’s nearly three fifteen. Jack will call at any moment. Think, Ana, think! Whelan gazes at me in growing desperation and bewilderment. He must think I’m crazy. You are crazy, my subconscious snaps.
“I need to make a call. Could you give me some privacy, please?”
“Certainly,” Whelan answers—grateful, I think, to leave the room. When he’s closed the door, I call Mia’s cell phone with trembling fingers.
“Well, if it isn’t my paycheck,” Jack answers scornfully.
I don’t have time for his bullshit. “I have a problem.”
“I know. Your security followed you to the bank.”
What? How the hell does he know?
“You’ll have to lose him. I have a car waiting at the back of the bank. Black SUV, a Dodge. You have three minutes to get there.” The Dodge!
“It may take longer than three minutes.” My heart leaps into my throat once more.
“You’re bright for a gold-digging whore, Grey. You figure it out. And dump your cell phone once you reach the vehicle. Got it, bitch?”
“Yes.”
“Say it!” he snaps.
“I’ve got it.”
He hangs up.
Shit! I open the door to find Whelan waiting patiently outside.
“Mr. Whelan, I’ll need some help taking the bags to my car. It’s parked outside, at the back of the bank. Do you have an exit at the rear?”
He frowns.
“We do, yes. For staff.”
“Can we leave that way? I can avoid the unwelcome attention at the door.”
“As you wish, Mrs. Grey. I’ll have two clerks help with the bags and two security guards to supervise. If you could follow me?”
“I have one more favor to ask you.”
“By all means, Mrs. Grey.”
TWO MINUTES LATER MY entourage and I are out on the street, heading over to the Dodge. Its windows are blacked out, and I can’t tell who’s at the wheel. But as we approach, the driver’s door swings open, and a woman clad in black with a black cap pulled low over her face climbs gracefully out of the car. Elizabeth from the office! What the hell. She moves to the rear of the SUV and opens the trunk. The two young bank clerks carrying the money sling the heavy bags into the back.
“Mrs. Grey.” She has the nerve to smile as if we are off on a friendly jaunt.
“Elizabeth.” My greeting is arctic. “Nice to see you outside work.”
Mr. Whelan clears this throat.
“Well, it’s been an interesting afternoon, Mrs. Grey,” he says. And I am forced to observe the social niceties of shaking his hand and thanking him while my mind reels. Elizabeth? Why is she mixed up with Jack? Whelan and his team disappear back into the bank, leaving me alone with the head of personnel at SIP, who’s involved in kidnapping, extortion, and very possibly other felonies. Why?
Elizabeth opens the rear passenger door and ushers me in.
“Your phone, Mrs. Grey?” she asks, watching me warily. I hand it to her, and she tosses it into a nearby trash can.
“That will throw the dogs off the scent,” she says smugly.
Who is this woman? Elizabeth slams my door shut and climbs into the driver’s seat. I glance anxiously behind me as she pulls out into traffic, going east. Sawyer is nowhere to be seen.
“Elizabeth, you have the money. Call Jack. Tell him to let Mia go.”
“I think he wants to thank you in person.”
Shit! I glare at her stonily in the rearview mirror.
She pales and an anxious scowl mars her otherwise lovely face.
“Why are you doing this, Elizabeth? I thought you didn’t like Jack.”
She glances at me again briefly in the mirror, and I see a fleeting look of pain in her eyes.
“Ana, we’ll get along just fine if you keep your mouth shut.”
“But you can’t do this. This is so wrong.”
“Quiet,” she says, but I sense her unease.
“Does he have some kind of hold on you?” I ask. Her eyes shoot to mine and she slams on the brakes, throwing me forward so hard that I hit my face against the headrest of the front seat.
“I said be quiet,” she snarls. “And I suggest you put on your seat belt.”
And in that moment I know that he does. Something so awful that she’s prepared to do this for him. I wonder briefly what that could be. Theft from the company? Something from her private life? Something sexual? I shudder at the thought. Christian said that none of Jack’s PAs would talk. Perhaps it’s the same story with all of them. That’s why he wanted to fuck me, too. Bile rises in my throat with revulsion at the thought.
Elizabeth heads away from downtown Seattle and up into the hills to the east. Before long we’re driving through residential streets. I catch sight of one of the street signs: SOUTH IRVING STREET. She takes a sharp left onto a deserted street with a dilapidated children’s playground on one side and a large concrete parking lot flanked by a row of squat, empty brick buildings on the other. Elizabeth pulls into the parking lot and stops outside the last of the brick units.
She turns to me. “Showtime,” she murmurs.
My scalp prickles as fear and adrenaline course through my body.
“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper back. Her mouth flattens into a grim line, and she climbs out of the car.
This is for Mia. This is for Mia. I quickly pray, Please let her be okay, please let her be okay.
“Get out,” Elizabeth snaps, yanking the rear passenger door open.
Shit. As I clamber out, my legs are shaking so hard I wonder if I can stand. The cool late afternoon breeze carries the scent of the coming fall and the chalky, dusty smell of derelict buildings.
“Well, lookee here.” Jack emerges from a small, boarded-up doorway on the left of the building. His hair is short. He’s removed his earrings and he’s wearing a suit. A suit? He ambles toward me, oozing arrogance and hate. My heart rate spikes.
“Where’s Mia?” I stammer, my mouth so dry I can hardly form the words.
“First things first, bitch,” Jack sneers, coming to a halt in front of me. I can practically taste his contempt. “The money?”
Elizabeth is checking the bags in the trunk. “There’s a hell of a lot of cash here,” she says in awe, zipping and unzipping each bag.
“And her cell?”
“In the trash.”
“Good,” Jack snarls, and from nowhere he lashes out, backhanding me hard across the face. The ferocious, unprovoked blow knocks me to the ground, and my head bounces with a sickening thud off the concrete. Pain explodes in my head, my eyes fill with tears, and my vision blurs as the shock of the impact resonates, unleashing agony that pulses through my skull.
I scream a silent cry of suffering and shocked terror. Oh no—Little Blip. Jack follows through with a swift, vicious kick to my ribs, and my breath is blasted from my lungs by the force of the blow. Scrunching my eyes tightly, I try to fight the nausea and pain, to fight for a precious breath. Little Blip, Little Blip, oh my Little Blip—
“That’s for SIP, you fucking bitch!” Jack screams.
I pull my legs up, huddling into a ball and anticipating the next blow. No. No. No.
“Jack!” Elizabeth screeches. “Not here. Not in broad daylight for fuck’s sake!”
He pauses.
“The bitch deserves it!” he gloats to Elizabeth. And it gives me one precious second to reach around and pull the gun from the waistband of my jeans. Shakily, I aim at him, squeeze the trigger, and fire. The bullet hits him just above the knee, and he collapses in front of me, crying out in agony, clutching his thigh as his fingers redden with his blood.
“Fuck!” Jack bellows. I turn to face Elizabeth, and she’s gaping at me in horror and raising her hands above her head. She blurs … darkness closes in. Shit … She’s at the end of a tunnel. Darkness consuming her. Consuming me. From far away, all hell breaks loose. Cars screeching … brakes … doors … shouting … running … footsteps. The gun drops from my hand.
“Ana!” Christian’s voice … Christian’s voice … Christian’s agonized voice. Mia … save Mia.
“ANA!”
Darkness … peace.