by Juniper Bell
"You guys," I said softly. "I don't know your history with your uncle. But I'm pretty sure that he's the one who kidnapped Rye."
"We have to find him," Elijah announced. "We'll go to Chicago right away."
I shook my head. "I already went to Chicago. I went to your old house—our old house—because that's where he lives now." I fought to keep my voice calm. I really hated having to deliver all this horrible news. I had to keep my eye on the ultimate prize—get Rye back. "But the staff there hasn't seen him in a few weeks. He comes and goes a lot, so that's not unusual. No one mentioned seeing Rye. He's being kept somewhere else, I believe."
"Where?"
"Well … the first thing I did when I got back to the States was go through my old sketchbooks and diaires. In one of my journals, I saw a reference to a lake house. I don't remember a lake house. Does that ring any bells?"
Annabelle and Elijah exchanged a glance.
"He has a house on a lake in Vermont. Loon Lake. It's one of those places that's so secluded and exclusive that no one even knows about it. Bigwigs go there to make deals while they're pretending to be on vacation," Elijah explained.
"Is it possible that he took Rye there?"
"Very possible. I only went a few times and I hated it. I told Papa I refused to go back, ever. But Annabelle went a few more times."
"Can you tell me how to find this house? I've been searching online, and I even have a friend of mine who's an expert hacker on the case. Neither of us has found a thing."
"Yeah, we can tell you, but we're going with you," Elijah announced.
I smiled at his loyalty to Rye. Their family was so close. I envied them from the bottom of my soul.
Annabelle was nodding in agreement. "Of course we're coming. When we left Chicago, we survived by sticking together. I just can't believe it was all a lie, that we weren't destitute. If Pop could have lived just a little longer, Rye would have been of legal age when … Oh my God."
She staggered backwards, hitting the edge of an armchair. "Do you think … is it possible Uncle Chris caused his stroke … He wouldn't …"
"Don't think about that," said Elijah sharply. "One thing at a time. The first thing we have to do is find Rye."
I stared at Annabelle, chills shooting through me. The thought that Christopher might have caused Ian's death in some way hadn't crossed my mind. Bliss wasn't a murderer, but if she'd been employed by the man who killed Ian … I shuddered, absolutely horrified.
"If he would do something like that …" It was my turn to bolt to my feet. "What would he do to Rye?"
All three of us threw ourselves into action at that point. I booked plane tickets to Burlington, Vermont. Elijah took care of finding us lodging and a rental car once we got there. Annabelle packed a bag for herself and for Elijah. Since we had a few hours before our flight, I took a shower.
Washing my body in the same shower Rye used brought back all kinds of sensory memories. Considering that I'd been deprived of physical affection before Rye came back into my life, I'd gotten hooked quickly. Getting naked made me think of the way he looked at me, as if he wanted to lick me like a Blow Pop, all the way down to the center. The hot water sluicing over my skin gave me the same sort of tingles he did, except not nearly as exciting. I stood under the water for a long time, shaking with need for him, racked with worry.
Where was my beautiful, restless, fiery, persistent man? Was he thinking about me? Was he safe, was he hurt? Was he shocked to find out who had taken him? Was Gunther still there?
When my thoughts reached Gunther, I turned the water off and left the shower. Quickly I dried myself and threw on some clothes. I had to tell Elijah that chances were, his uncle had hired muscle doing his bidding--Gunther or someone else like him.
I hurried out to the spacious living room, where a few bags were sitting by the front doorway. Annabelle and Elijah stood nearby, looking at an iPad.
As I approached, their heads shot up. Both wore guilty looks, but I ignored them. "Do either of you have a concealed weapon permit? I'd feel a lot safer if we had some kind of protection. I never would have guessed that Gunther was a hired thug, but …" I trailed off. Finally it registered that something was up. "What's wrong? Oh my God, did something happen to Rye? Did you find something out? Tell me!"
"No, no, it's nothing like that," Annabelle said quickly. "Rye's fine."
"He's fine?" Eagerly, I ran towards them and snatched the iPad out of her hands. I stared down at the screen, where an image was displayed. At first it didn't quite make sense to me. I was still expecting blood and bruises, evidence of Rye's kidnapping and captivity.
Instead, I saw Rye smiling.
I ate up the sight of him, drinking in his light eyes and dark hair, the broken nose that only added to his handsomeness. Even in this casual photo, which looked as if it had been snapped at a party, his powerful physique was magnificently displayed. He wore a loose white shirt, the kind the rich wear on yachts or at garden parties. He looked … good. Amazing. Still tan from his time in the tropical sun.
Finally I tore my eyes away from his face to look at the rest of the photo. A girl posed next to him. She clung to his arm, laughing up at him. She was pretty. Very pretty. Blond and petite and perky. She could have starred in a toothpaste ad with that smile.
I glanced in bewilderment at Annabelle. "Who is that?"
"Her name is Izzy. Izzy Van Sant. She's the daughter of one of Uncle Chris's neighbors. I remember her babysitting me at the lake." Annabelle's cheeks showed a hint of pink. I noticed that she'd washed off the glittery face paint. "I'm sorry, Lauren."
"Sorry?" I repeated numbly.
"This just popped up in a blog about Chicago high society that I follow. I like to keep an eye on that old world, even though we no longer live in it."
I looked back down at the photo. "Did Rye used to date her? Why are they writing about him?"
"As far as I know, he hasn't seen her since we left Chicago, but they used to be friends. I think you'd better read the whole thing." She scrolled down to the text under the photo.
With my pulse beating a tambourine in my throat, I scanned the article.
"Everyone's abuzz over the sudden reappearance of Rye McAllister, missing heir to the McAllister billions. Last seen with Lauren Gallatin in an infamously scandalous photo op, and last seen before that at a Bellview Prep football game, Rye is apparently ready to resume his place in Chicago society. His first step: romancing the highly eligible but scandal-prone Izzy Van Sant. Spotted here canoodling at exclusive Loon Lake, the pair have been anything but secret about their newfound passion. Over the past week, Rye and Izzy have been inseparable. Do you spy something sparkling on Izzy's right ring finger? You aren't the first! Neither Rye nor Izzy would speak for the record, but our sources say it won't be long before an official announcement is made. We've been led to believe that a private understanding has already been established. It would be a match made in merger heaven, that's for sure. The Van Sants and the McAllisters are two of the most envied family dynasties in the Midwest. Stay tuned for exclusive updates from Loon Lake on this most fascinating new development!"
Still, I didn't quite understand. "An announcement?" What would be announced? Something about the trust? About Rye's reappearance? About Christopher's lack of ethics? What other announcement could the blog possibly be talking about?
Then it came to me, like a handful of mud slung right smack in my face. "Rye is engaged?"
2
Rye
"If you think anyone's going to buy this," I told Uncle Chris grimly, "you're even more psychotic than I thought." We were walking out of the Loon Lake Country Club, where he'd talked business while I’d pretended to moon over Izzy Van Sant.
In actuality, I'd been saying things like, "you should think about getting into rehab," and "no thanks, I'll pass on the threesome." If anyone in the rarefied community of Loon Lake knew how to read lips, we'd be busted quicker than you could say "junkie."
"They'll believe it if it suits them. Now there might be a camera or two near the valet stand, so get your smile cued up."
I gritted my teeth in a smile-approximating grimace. I probably looked like a gargoyle. "It's not normal to smile all the time, Uncle. Even with long-lost asshole family members."
"If there's a camera, you fucking smile. That's the deal."
I smiled. A camera flashed. A little piece of my soul disappeared. Maybe those old tribes were right and the camera does steal your soul. Then again, did I have any soul left to be stolen? Maybe I'd left mine in Thailand, with Lauren.
For the hundred-millionth time, I wondered what happened when I didn't return to the bungalow. Did she go looking for me? Did she assume I abandoned her?
I was doing this for Lauren, I reminded myself.
In the beginning, when I'd woken up in the basement of Uncle Chris's estate at Loon Lake, I'd struggled. I'd fought back physically at first, taking down three of his guards in the process. One broken rib, a black eye, and about a pint of blood later, they had me tied to a chair with fishing line that cut into my flesh. They'd called my uncle.
That was when the emotional war had begun.
When he walked into that room, with his smug expression, disgust overwhelmed me. I spat in his direction, sending bloody spittle down my chin, but nowhere near him.
"What the fuck?" I demanded. "You did this? You brought me here?"
"Yup." He grinned, reminding me for a flash of my father. Uncle Chris was fifteen years younger than my dad, and he'd always been the ladies’ man in the family. The irresponsible, carefree playboy no one took seriously. My father used to lecture him about his finances, but he always claimed he didn't need much in the way of money. Life is about the good times, he used to say. Money's just one way to the sweet spot.
Other than some gray hair mixed in with the black at his temples, and some broken veins in the skin around his nose, he had the same youthful energy that I remembered. I'd always thought of him as debonair. For sure, I'd never thought of him as a kidnapper.
"Why?"
"Because I was running out of fucking options, that's why. You kids really screwed me over when you disappeared. Then you screwed me over again by reappearing. Time to get you back, you little bugger."
I stared at him as he slouched into an armchair and lit a cigar.
I remembered that moment in my father's hospital room, when he'd traced the letters "R-U-N" on my hand. This was why. He'd wanted us to run from Uncle Chris. But I still couldn't put it all together.
"This is because we wouldn't come live with you back then?"
"Yes, I missed your fucking faces," he said mockingly, dragging on his smoke. From the sharp fragrance penetrating my nostrils, I realized that it wasn't a cigar. It was some kind of weed. "I wanted to be a happy family again, that's all. Is that too much to ask?"
"No, I think that's very reasonable." I kept my tone dry. "Why don't you untie me so I can give you a hug?"
He laughed and raised his joint as if he were toasting me. "Touché. You always had a sharp sense of humor, and I appreciate that. You're a smart kid all around. That's good. The smarter you are, the better we can work together."
Work together. Obviously my uncle had a plan beyond stashing me in a lake house basement. "It might help if you told me what the hell is going on. Something tells me this is about the trust. The one that wasn't drained by Bliss after all. The one I'm supposed to be in charge of."
"But you haven't presented yourself to the lawyers and claimed your inheritance. Until that happens, I'm the executor."
Suddenly I felt very vulnerable. Did my uncle intend to do away with me here? If he slipped my dead body into the lake, chances were good no one would be the wiser. No one knew I was here. Or at least, no one who cared.
Then again, if he'd intended to off me, he probably would have already done it.
"Executor isn't the same thing as executioner." I made a joke out of it.
"Sadly, no. Even more sadly, there's no benefit to me getting rid of you. The trust would pass down to Elijah, then Annabelle. Frankly, I'd rather work with you."
That phrase again, work with. It was making me very, very nervous. But at least he didn't seem interested in murdering me.
He filled his lungs with smoke then tapped the ash into a clamshell ashtray. I recognized the clams as the sort we used to find digging on the beach here. It seemed like such a travesty—a sweet childhood memory turned into a receptacle for his vices. I hated him for it.
"No, you're no good to me dead. However, if you do as I say, you're plenty useful. So I decided to keep you alive and under my control."
"Under your control? That's why you had your goons tie me up here? Am I your hostage?"
"Give me credit for some creative thinking," he said through a cloud of smoke. "I know you're a man of action. You're physically in top form, or will be after you recover from this experience. You're resourceful, or you wouldn't have been able to stay out of sight the way you have. You were able to care of your brother and sister at a young age. I have a healthy respect for you, Rye McAllister."
I tugged against the fishing line, welcoming its bite against my skin. "I don't want your respect. You're a fucking criminal."
He tilted his head back and wheezed out a laugh. "At least I'm not fucking a criminal."
I lunged forward, my skin shredding under the line. I didn't even care about the pain. All I cared about was Lauren. "What are you talking about? What have you done?"
"Ahh … I knew she was your soft spot. That's the thing, Rye. The way you control someone isn't through force. It's through their mind. Their heart. How do you think Bliss made a puppet out of that little girl? I know, she's not little anymore. I saw the photo, along with everyone else in the free world."
Since it wasn't getting me anywhere, I stopped flailing against my bonds. I felt blood drip down my arm. "That's how you found me, isn't it? That photo."
"Actually it was the first one that came out. The one on the Washington Mall. It was a shock, let me tell you. I was this close to getting a judge to see things my way. The way the trust is structured, my hands were tied until you were either declared dead or signed away control. If you'd just stuck around back then, I could have managed the situation. Little runaway fuckers." He released another puff of smoke. "Anyway, I'd almost convinced the judge to give me discretionary power since you'd been absent for so long. Then you showed up on national TV. Just my fucking luck."
"Sorry to screw up your plans."
"Thanks." He nodded as if he believed my apology. Did he seriously think I was sorry? The man, I was starting to realize, wasn't all there in the marbles department. Maybe it was the drugs, or the evil intentions eating at his brain. "But I can roll with the punches. I figured you still thought Bliss Blakewell screwed us over."
"Yeah, well, that's what the lawyer told us."
Uncle Chris showed his teeth. "Biggles. Old friend of mine from school. We went to Bellview Prep too, did you know that?"
"Really? We should do the school cheer. Just untie me and we'll get to it."
He chuckled. The man was definitely enjoying this experience a lot more than I was. "Anyway, I decided to keep an eye on you. If you showed any signs of coming back to Chicago and presenting yourself at the lawyer’s office, I'd do something about it. But no. Instead you went to Morocco. Again. And again. That was fine, as long as you didn't connect with Lauren Blakewell."
I tensed at the mention of Lauren's name, but didn't say anything. The way he was circling around Lauren, I knew all this had something to do with her. I needed him to show his cards.
"Then you went to Thailand and found her. That was a problem. Not for you, because I'm sure you two had a fine time fucking each other in the tropics. But Lauren knew Bliss didn't have a billion dollars. With that kind of money, she wouldn't have to whore out her own daughter."
I wanted to smash my fist into the man's bloodshot eyes. Except he had a point. Bl
iss had been "whoring" Lauren out in every way except sexually. I was Lauren's first lover, and that was sacred to me.
But none of that was Uncle Chris's business. "So you wanted to keep me and Lauren apart."
"Yes. As soon as I saw that photo on TV, I got ahold of Bliss. It cost me, but I got her to ditch the job they were on. She promised to get Lauren out of your reach. She swore up and down that she had complete control over her daughter. Never believe a con woman, young Rye. Never believe a con woman."
"Lauren isn't a con woman," I said, regretting it as soon as the words left my mouth. I didn't have to defend her to this man. He was the criminal, kidnapping his own nephew.
"Right. And she isn't even Bliss's daughter. That's my point. You don't know what Lauren is. Lauren doesn't even know what she is."
My blood froze. Now we were getting to the heart of things, I could tell from the glee lurking in his voice. He held some kind of trump card and he was about to flash it.
"Lauren already knows Bliss isn't her mother. That isn't news."
"And what about her father? Does she know that sordid story?"
My jaw flexed hard. Lauren didn't know anything about her father.
Uncle Chris laughed at my expression and took another drag on his joint. "Back when Ian first fell for Bliss, I saw an opportunity. I did my research. I dug up enough dirt on Bliss to make her do whatever I wanted. I know things about her and Lauren that would crush Lauren's soul."
"What are you talking about?" I needed to know, and yet I dreaded the answer to my question.
"I'm not going to tell you all of it. But I'll give you a taste. Bliss didn't want the bother of giving birth, but she wanted a child she could control completely. Before her poor troubled sister cracked up completely, Bliss found the perfect mate for her. Someone so heinous they would never want—or get--custody.”
I stared at him furiously. "Who?"
“All you need to know for now is that Lauren’s father makes Bliss look like a saint. I’d tell you more repulsive details, but I'm afraid you'll decide Lauren's not worth the bother anymore. And I need you to care."