“I assume that’s not the norm for the Jessica Moriarty?” Carter smiled at the photograph.
“Well, there was that time on the Cape—"
“Sela, don’t you dare.”
“I think we all have our share of Jessica in the nude stories,” Marc muttered. “Perhaps we should write a book about them since you obviously enjoy having yourself displayed for—“
“What is your problem, Marc?” Sela stepped around him. “You need to lighten up. You’ve been the voice of doom all week.”
Shrugging, he walked toward his date. Her heart broke a little at the thought of their entire friendship being a fraud.
“Here.” Kevin appeared with a bottled water and two ibuprofens. “I hope this helps.”
“You’re a lifesaver, stickman.”
“Oh, yes, what we any of us do without Kevin.” Carter laughed into his glass. “And you are rushing to the rescue of the Jessica Moriarty, too. I think he’s looking for a bonus.”
She poked Carter with her finger. “Drop the the in front of my name, please. I am simply Jessica.”
“We all know there's nothing simple about you.” Still smiling, Carter looked at her over his shoulder.
She wrinkled her nose at the smell of smoke, certain it was only her imagination. The fire alarm sounded, sending them all heading to the exits, all except for Kevin and Jacques who walked to the back room.
A hand on her arm propelled her outside even as she looked over her shoulder and through the crowd for Jacques. Reporters outside buzzed at the sudden fray moving in their direction. Simone, always a head taller than everyone, walked several feet away, also looking concerned about the alarms.
Flames startled everyone by bursting out of the back of the building and licking their way toward the room. A collective gasp went up from the crowd. She twisted her arm away from whoever held her and started back toward the gallery.
Jacques.
The blow to her face knocked her to the ground, sending her hand held purse skidding along the pavement. Marc stood over her, grabbed her hand, and yanked off the ring. With a smile, he tossed it aside before picking her up and pulling her into his car that had been parked along the curb.
"Hey!" A stranger called out. "Someone call the police! She's being kidnapped!"
She twisted her body in every direction she could, fighting to stay out of the car.
Simone reached out to her, grabbed her hand. "Let her be," she yelled at Marc. "Let go of her. What are you trying to do? Let her go."
Marc pushed Simone away before grabbing the back of Jessica's hair and smashing her face into the side of the car. Pain pierced her skull. She held both hands over her face, unsure what had just happened. Blood stained her fingers when she pulled her hands away. She blinked at them, her vision blurred.
"What's happening?" she asked.
Marc pulled out of the parking lot, not answering.
"Why are you doing this?"
"I've carried you for years, both in graduate school and then at the internship. I had to chase you down in Italy when you were shacked up with the Euro trash then, but still you failed to show me any fucking gratitude." He smacked her again when she moved to straighten up in the seat.
She gripped her face, the pain blinding her. "Let me out of the car."
"No, we have a lot of talking to do and there's no way you're leaving me this time."
She gaped at him between the fingers that covered her eyes. "This is insane."
"I thought I had you when you came back from Italy. Your mom is the perfect puppet. When she overdosed then and brought you home, I knew I had you. I was the only one you confided in—"
"Did you overdose my mom?" She dropped her hands and stared at his profile. "Answer me!"
"It's not like I had to force her." He flashed her a smile before turning his attention on the highway. "You were getting too serious with that guy. It was time for you to come home."
Fury like she'd never known raced through her veins. She grabbed at him, pummeled his shoulder. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her head against the passenger window.
The world faded to black.
* * *
Chapter Twenty
He only saved Jessica's art. All of the photographs could replaced, but the artwork could never be recreated. He sank against the park bench, with Kevin at his side, and watched the gallery burn.
Snapping followed by a long hiss erupted from the building.
"Jessica," Simone said, out of breath, and pointing over her shoulder to the police car. "She's been taken."
He frowned, not in the mood for any games. He focused on Kevin who looked as shocked as he felt. "Did everyone get out of the gallery okay? Is everyone safe?"
"It looked like it, but I don't know for sure," Kevin said, the glow of the fire reflected in his eyeglasses.
Simone grabbed his shoulders and shoved her face close to his. "Écoutez-moi! That man took her...that person who visited her in Italy...he attacked her when we were all leaving."
He blinked at Simone, unable to comprehend what she meant. It seemed to farfetched. "Did you tell anyone?"
"Of course, you idiot, I told the police!" She motioned again to the flashing lights surrounding them.
He stood, dropping the canvases to the ground, and moved as if in a trance toward a policeman. "My fiancée is missing."
"We have set up a command post on the opposite side of the street for people to reconnect, sir. You—"
"No, she's been taken."
The policeman communicated on the radio before looking at him again. "Who did you say you are?"
"I am Jacques Sinclair." He remembered saying that to Jessica for the first time after she had knocked him down a flight of stairs and nearly broken his neck over five years ago. So long ago yet he could recall the smell of the building, feel the heat of desire in her gaze despite her bloody nose, and remembered the rush of discovering a new love.
"Someone is coming for you. Stay here." The policeman nodded sympathetically before moving on to the next person and guiding them away from the fray.
Simone flanked him as did Kevin, neither saying a word. Carter waved above the crowd and towed Sela toward them.
"We've wasted so much time," he said to no one in particular. "All these misunderstandings and missed moments."
Simone linked her arm through his, "Je suis désolé."
"It is too late for I'm sorry's." He pulled his arm from hers. "I lost a day today I will never get back."
"You're the fiancé?" A detective asked before holding up a ring between two fingers. "Do you recognize this?"
He nodded, unable to speak. He winced at the sound of wood caving in and windows popping from the gallery as flames engulfed his dreams.
* * *
She opened her eyes against the brutal headache that pummeled her skull. She heard the hum of tires, felt the steady momentum of the car, and looked to her left.
Marc drove, both hands on the steering wheel, gaze straight ahead. Bits of their conversation came back to her as she stirred awake. The more conscious she became, the more fear took hold.
"What's happening?" she asked, her voice groggy.
"We're taking a drive."
She pushed herself straight up in the car seat from where she had slumped against the side. She had nothing with her, no purse, no phone. City lights were behind them, nothing but black ocean to the right. They were headed north.
"Where are we going?"
"Road blocks. Change of plan."
She touched her fingers to her lips, felt the swollen skin and dried blood. The shock of being attacked fogged her mind.
“All you needed to do was play along, that's it. I need to save you from yourself. You've always needed that extra guidance.”
"What are you talking about?" She dragged her gaze to his profile and hated that she'd let him touch her on more than one occasion. "You tried to kill my mother five years ago. You admitted it."
Crazy-making, the phrase from earlier screamed in her head. She'd been surrounded by crazy and hadn't realized it. Had it become her norm? She rubbed a fist against her forehead.
"You dated Tiffany from Pierson and Smithe. You did it to get information on their clients, didn't you? You wanted that partnership—"
"Fuck you and your theories."
She fought back the tears. No way in hell she would give him the satisfaction of crying. "So now what? What are you going to do with me?"
"I haven't thought that through yet."
She needed to think, take some kind of action, not just allow him to drive aimlessly away from Boston and from anyone who might be looking for her. A glance around the car confirmed that this wasn't his car. Marc had money and a lot of it. Ever since knowing him, he had gotten out of more trouble than anyone she had ever met. His family connections spread far and wide, but who would help him now that he had gone this far?
"I cannot believe you chose a man who had been locked up in some filthy prison abroad over me. The only solace is that, while he was going through hell, I was fucking you." He smiled at her. "I loved hearing that. He looked so pitiful in those pictures. Damn, I had a good laugh over that. You and me, fucking and drinking and sailing and working together. As far as I'm concerned, he got what he deserved."
She lashed out, fists flew at his face, his neck, his arms. "You son of a bitch. You do not get to control my life."
The car swerved sharply off the road and spun to a stop. He reached across the space, grabbed both of her arms, and held her tight.
"Your mother controlled you. I controlled you, even though you didn't know it. I think you like it. Maybe I'll tie you up later, teach you some manners." He ground his mouth against hers and pinned her back against the seat. She tasted blood against her teeth.
She hit him, scratched his face, twisted beneath him as he somehow managed to free himself from the seatbelt to crawl on top of her. He shoved his hand beneath her skirt and groped her ass.
"Get the fuck off of me." She elbowed him in the jaw.
He bit her lip. Hard. "You owe me this.”
“I owe you nothing." She spit her blood onto his face and twisted her hips trying to squirm away from him.
"I destroyed your paintings and ruined your lovers' grand exhibit, how does that make you feel?" He asked when she stopped moving. He licked the side of her neck. "You're mine, always have been and always will be. I'll be the last man you ever fuck. I own you."
Terror immobilized her.
“We–you and me—are a team. I dreamed of a partnership with you. We used to dream together. Big dreams. Big plans. You threw them away like you threw me away.”
“I don’t want to hear anymore. Stop it."
"You did this to yourself. You always had such delusions of grandeur, when in reality you're no better than your mother."
He moved off of her and rubbed his hands over his face.
She felt paralyzed in the seat. Shame for treating her mom like an embarrassment and keeping her from the two friends who probably actually gave a damn. Shame for her friends-with-benefits relationship with Marc while Jacques had been fighting for his life a world away. Shame for not seeing through the facade long ago. Shame for not finding Jacques when she had the chance, she could have tried harder. Shame for not believing in herself enough to know she never had to settle for second best. All of it rendered her motionless.
Marc maneuvered the car back onto the freeway and resumed driving.
"To think those foolish partners wanted to make you my boss." He shook his head. "That was never going to happen."
Rain pelted the window. Still he drove north, his eyes focused straight ahead.
I need to get out of here. I need to fight. Shame will not solve my problem. It's useless. She straightened herself in the seat and noticed the bruises on her arms. She pulled down her skirt from where he had shoved it up to her waist.
“So now you’re not saying anything, is that it? You go off on your little tirade and now silence. Where does your crime spree end? Let's see...we have arson and now kidnapping. What's next? Armed robbery?"
“Is it really a crime to want you back so badly that I hurt every time I look at you? Is that really something you want to condemn me for? Loving you? I’ve already condemned myself. Can’t you see that it’s you and me that are supposed to be together? You will never belong in his world, Jessie. Never. He’s some fantasy that you—“
“I don’t know what happened to you, or what's wrong with you, but I have no idea who this person is that I'm—"
He grabbed her face and squeezed hard so she couldn’t speak. “Is there hope? Tell me if there’s hope. Now is the time to tell me if there is hope.”
She pulled his hands from her face and glanced at the speedometer. Eighty miles per hour. “No, Marc, there is no hope. Do you hear me? There is no hope. None.” She rubbed her palms over her face. “No hope for you or for us.”
I will not cry. I will not cry. It became her mantra.
“Damn it, Marc, you’re pissing me off.” Anger tainted with fear shook her voice. You know this isn’t right,” she screamed, unable to stand being trapped in this car any longer.
She buried her head in her hands. Guilt for her part in this weighed heavily on her heart. “Over the past years you have been one of the most important people in my life. I do love you, Marc, just not in the way you need. Let me go. Just pull over. I'll walk for help. Go to Canada or somewhere else. Disappear. I'll never tell anyone.”
“You have no idea what you’re saying.” He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “You told me there was no hope.” He glanced at her. “We’re going to die together.”
“What did you say?” A sob ripped from her throat.
Tears trickled down his face. Pain, fierce and stabbing, ripped through her chest. When she reached out to touch his arm, he yanked away.
He shifted the car into higher gear. The silver Audi moved like a bullet down the highway.
"I'm not dying today, Marc. Stop the goddamn car." Terrified, she hit him over and over again, trapped by the seat belt that cut into her chest. Cursing, she continued to struggle even as his right hand painfully grabbed her wrist in mid-air.
“Damn you, Marc. Damn you to hell.”
Peripheral vision caught sight of lights in front of them. Bright yellow lights of another car in their lane. Too close. Time moved in slow motion as she looked at Marc who stared straight ahead, not trying to change direction.
“No!” She reached for the steering wheel.
She heard herself scream as the force of a collision rocked her forward. Rolling. Metal ripped. Heat.
Thoughts of Jacques and Italy flashed through her consciousness. Riding on the back of his motorcycle with wind in her hair, dancing in fountains, making love over and over again, a proposal in Rome, rose petals stuck to her skin.
Pain ripped through her head. Someone screamed. Shut up, her mind screamed back, not realizing the screams were her own.
Images flashed in her brain. Marc sailing his boat through the ocean, wind tossing his black hair into his laughing eyes. Waves of blue rolling toward infinity.
Stillness. Darkness.
A vague sense of being carried registered to her unconscious brain. Lights through a fog of shapes. She didn’t know. Everything hurt.
Water. I need water.
Voices. But the words didn’t register to her brain. Pain blanketed her like a quilt of thorns. Sleep beckoned. Tremors ripped through he
r limbs.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-One
He hated hospitals. More than ever, he felt like a foreigner in a strange land. He moved through the corridor toward the waiting room. Quiet. White. Sterile. His feet dragged against the tile.
“Jacques.” Sela leapt into his arms, eyes rimmed with red from crying.
He held her against him. Jessica’s friend, someone who had known her before him, who knew her differently than he did, and longer than he had.
“Is she all right?” he whispered. "They kept questioning me. I came as soon as I heard she'd been found."
“I don't know, no one will tell me anything. I told them you were her family, her fiancé, and that you were on your way.” Sela stepped away, fresh tears sliding from her eyes. "Marc died."
His gaze scanned the room, settling on an older woman in the corner who looked familiar. A nurse stayed with her, speaking in hushed tones. Across from her sat Miranda and the rest of Marc's family. He couldn't stand looking at any of them.
He paced in the hospital lobby with Carter, Kevin, Sela and Jane watching his every move. For the hundredth time, he cursed Fate for bringing them back together only to rip them apart less than a week later. Why hadn't he followed her years ago? Pride. Stupidity.
"Mr. Sinclair, I've been told you are her fiancé," the doctor entered the waiting room, his face somber.
"I am." He glanced at the older woman who stared at him, eyes like Jessica's. She stood as well the nurse at her side. Frowning, he turned his attention back toward the doctor. "Is Jessica going to be okay?"
"She sustained a concussion, a broken wrist, some minor burns from the airbag impact, and a lot of bruising." The doctor grinned. "She looks worse than she is, I need to warn you. I expect her to have a full recovery, though."
He brushed past the doctor and rushed toward the room. Purple bruises covered the left side of her face. When her eyelids opened and he saw those beautiful blue eyes looking at him, he thought he'd crumble to his knees with relief.
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