Saturday was crossed. Sunday wasn’t.
I blinked a few times, tried to do the math and failed, so pulled out my cell phone to double check the date—it said Monday morning, 10:07am. School?
I went to the landline where a light blinked, indicating a message; I lifted the receiver, punched in the password, and waited.
“Ms. Talbot, this is completely unacceptable,” Eloise Jennings’ voice came through clearly, a sour note to her tone. “Your checks bounce, your daughter is suspended, and now you don’t even have the decency to call when she’s late—”
I skipped the rest of the message, checked for others, then replayed the first to catch the time; Jennings had called twenty minutes ago.
But that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary—Pru was late getting her to school last week. Except the car’s here—
Shut up, brain. I dialed Norwood School next and a secretary answered three rings in.
“Did Emaleth Talbot make it to class yet?” I asked before she could finish her greeting.
The click of keys sounded in the background. “No,” came her nasally voice. “We have her absent without parental notif—”
I hung up.
Where in the hell was my daughter?
I walked back through the house, my footfalls heavy and purposeful. Once again I stopped at Em’s room and peered around inside. Giles was curled on her pillow, purring while he slept. Her book bag leaned against the dresser. If the bed was made, and the calendar hadn’t crossed Sunday off...maybe they hadn’t made it home last night from somewhere? Shit, what if something happened and Pru needed to go the hospital?
I tried South General, got nothing.
I’m not panicking. I am NOT panicking.
My trembling fingers as I went through my contact list told another story, as did the pounding of my pulse in my temples. I was lightheaded and leaned against the wall, holding the phone to my ear as it auto-dialed.
“Liv?” Denny answered.
“Is she there?”
“What?”
“Em. Is she with you?”
“No, why—”
I hung up, tried Pru’s cell phone again, and got nothing. Denny called but I ignored him and tried the rec center where they had a therapy pool, just in case she’d taken her with her and...somehow forgotten about school. Maybe she didn’t realize the suspension was over. Maybe...
But the receptionist there hadn’t seen them that morning either.
I was officially panicking.
I ran back through the house for the kitchen where emergency numbers waited on the fridge, barely noticing when my shoulder banged the doorjamb, boot treads squeaking as I turned a sharp corner. I blinked furiously, determined not to cry, determined to breathe though my heartrate spiked. No way could I freak out—they were fine. Had to be.
The phone rang in my hand as I skidded to a stop in a puddle of water from the leaky fridge. Pru’s number flashed on the screen and I barely allowed myself a breath of relief before I answered. “Jesus, where the hell did you guys—”
“They’re otherwise occupied, Miss Talbot.”
That voice. I knew that voice. My lips trembled around the words. “Mr. Ashford.”
“Yes. Out of customs now, I see.”
I sucked in a breath. “Where’s my daughter?”
“She’s under my care along with her guardian. You’re late with my ring.”
“I was arrested at the airport—and I wouldn’t’ve been if not for your mercenaries turning on me—”
“An unfortunate incident, yes. Documentation from Mr. Fabrini and Ms. James has corroborated it.”
“Then you know it’s not my—”
“Your fault. Of course it isn’t. But now that you’re home, safe and sound, I expect delivery of my parcel.”
Shit. Shit. Absolutely no sign of West... “They confiscated it when I landed.”
“I sincerely hope that’s not the case. Why don’t we meet in an hour and you can give it to me then.”
I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles were going white, lightheadedness threatening to take over me again. I leaned on the counter heavily, slumping on my elbow. “How do I know they’re still alive?”
Ashford’s booming laugh sounded over the line, throbbing against my ear hard, the sound unsettling enough to twist my gut. “I’m no common thug—of course they’re alive. Your daughter’s in my drawing room playing on the piano forte; her guardian is resting on the couch in there. Didn’t sleep much—she’s quite worn out.”
“You son of a bitch, she’s sick. She needs her medication and—”
“Then I suppose you’d best hurry. Bring the Seal to Kent House. One hour. I hope traffic is in your favor.”
The bastard hung up the phone.
29
Bargaining
I stared at my cell for minutes longer—they ticked by until the screen darkened and still I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. I bit savagely at my lip and my vision blurred, tears rising and I couldn’t blink them back.
“Fuck!” The phone left my grip without me thinking as I pitched it across the kitchen. It clattered down the hall toward the living room. Water sloshed under my feet as I stalked after it; the drywall was dented with dust on the floor, and cell phone was cracked but it worked. I blinked some more, sucking breaths in rapidly, and dialed Martin.
“Ready to come clean, Liv?” he said in a cocky voice as he answered.
“Who the fuck is he?” I growled.
A pause. “Liv?”
“Who the fuck is Moses Ashford! Why do you want this ring? Why does he want this ring?”
“Calm down,” he said in an irritatingly soothing voice that only made me want to throw the phone again. “Why don’t you—”
“He has my daughter and my best friend. Now tell me what the hell I’m dealing with.”
“I...I can’t, Liv—”
“Jesus Christ—”
“But if you bring me the ring—”
I hung up on him.
Next I cycled through my numbers until I found a recent addition and called Dawson. Five rings had me in an even worse panic before he finally picked up.
“Please tell me you have something more on Ashford.”
“Um...no?”
I sank against the wall and crumpled until my ass thumped on the floor.
“Livi?”
Wiping at my eyes did no good. I drew my knees up to my chest and leaned one arm over them. “West told me not to give Ashford the ring. My brother tells me not to give Ashford the ring. Mr. Rolph used his dying breath to tell me to listen to West. But Ashford has my daughter and my best friend and I have no idea what he’ll do to them if I don’t give him this ring in an hour.”
Dawson was silent as a minute ticked by. “Holy shit.”
I sniffled. “No, just the usual kind.”
“I don’t have anything but then I haven’t been looking. What about asking Laurel?”
Where her loyalty to Ashford ended and to me began, I couldn’t say and didn’t want to test. “I don’t think we’ve bonded quite that much, and I don’t have her number either.”
“Police?”
“And tell them I broke several laws that will land me in prison until well after my daughter graduates university, including risking extradition back to Ethiopia?” I had no doubt Ashford would ensure I went down for this—he had all that data from Dawson anyway, video proof of what I’d done.
“Oh. Right. Did West say what to do when you got back here?”
“He said to stall and that he’d come get it from me.” I sat up a little straighter; my eyes were drier and some of the panic had abated. “Do you have a number for him?”
“No, he just intercepted my calls. I can look?”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“No prob, I’ll call you back. Can’t be that many Dale Wests, right?” He sighed. “Yeah, don’t answer that.”
A small smile fought my l
ips as I hung up and stared at the phone. Stupid West—somehow he’d managed to fuck up so many things...
Thomas and Pulaski. “...he and Pulaski are under my orders not to let you from their sight. Again.”
I scrambled up and pounded back through the house to the front where I threw open the door and stormed outside. The day was gray and quiet, air damp and threatening rain. I glanced from side to side, seeing nothing but the usual cars on the street, no sign of people but a few on a porch having beers and cigarettes two houses away.
And fuck it—I might as well embrace Crazy Woman status. “Thomas! Pulaski!” I stalked down the driveway, gaze darting everywhere at once. The world was a gray blur as I swung around wildly. “You followed me, right? Where the hell are you? Thomas! Pulaski!”
“Jesus,” a voice muttered behind me.
I spun to see both men around the side of the house, glancing back and forth as if the neighbors could put down their smokes long enough to notice. My feet were moving before I could think to tell them to until I was face to face with both; they’d dressed casually but still came across as not quite right in the neighborhood. Thomas still stood like a broad-shouldered tower and Pulaski was his bulldog companion.
“Where’s West?” I asked.
They glanced at one another. “We don’t know,” Thomas said.
“You need to call him.”
“I tried earlier.” Pulaski shrugged. “No answer. He’s got a bunch of numbers and I only have one. Usually he contacts us—”
My lips parted to argue, to scream, to rant, but I shut them again. What was the point? “You know what? Fuck it. West tells me he’ll come get the ring, but he’s nowhere to be found. So fuck him up the ass with a chainsaw—I am done.” I stormed back for the house, the heavy footfalls behind me signaling both men followed.
“Miss Talbot—” Pulaski started.
I spun to face him when I reached the door, ponytail whipping hair in my face. “Ashford has my kid. If West wants the Seal, he can take it from him—I’m not his pet and I don’t have to do what he says.”
“Talbot—”
I went inside and slammed the door, snapping closed the deadbolt immediately and taking a heaving breath. If they could find West, I remained certain they would after that. If they couldn’t, well, too bad for him.
I pushed off the door, my feet heavy and dragging, and went for my pack on the deacon bench. My keys sat in a lump there as well on the cardboard box that had been by the door. My cell phone rang incessantly—Denny was still trying to ring me back—so I set it on vibrate and tossed it on the bench.
The package gave me pause. I twisted my front door key around and ran it along the tape, scarcely breathing. The date on the tag said it arrived last night. It could be anything but the last box I’d received...
The last one had been from Ashford.
Please don’t be bad, please don’t be bad... I could too easily imagine a hand or some horrible warning waiting for me, but curiosity wouldn’t merely let the box be. I lifted the tape, the noise loud in the silent hallway, and peeled it away until I could fold back the lid.
Inside was a yellow Post It with Replacements. –DW. scrawled in rough, black Sharpie letters.
I set aside the note, jerked back the brown paper and Styrofoam peanuts inside until I saw the contents.
My gaze moved as I stood straight, staring back at the hallway toward my room. I couldn’t rush to Ashford’s—I had to be prepared. That he’d gone to the trouble to immediately take Emaleth and Pru without giving me a chance to bring him the ring...
He knew. If not exactly what was going on, that something was. Maybe he thought Martin said something to me, maybe he knew West intended to double cross him.
Regardless, I had to get ready.
❇
My banged-up car likely looked out of place along the old city streets where Kent House lay, but my mind swirled and I didn’t give a damn.
I’d downed a bottle of water and eaten an Egg McMuffin on my way to the nice branch of the city. Dumping grease and processed crap on my stomach probably wasn’t the best idea but I was exhausted and weak—the calories and protein might help. As long as I didn’t vomit it all up.
Rain spit from thick clouds above, not a lot but enough to leave fat flecks of water on the windshield. I pulled up in front of Kent House behind a black Lincoln Town Car on an otherwise empty street and slipped out, not bothering to lock the doors and with the keys tucked in the visor. I highly doubted anyone was going to steal my POS while I was gone and keeping the keys here lessened the risk I’d drop them somewhere on my way. This would go well—I knew it would, it had to, but I had no idea what I was dealing with, and an exit strategy is always necessary in that instance.
I wore simple, straight-legged black pants and a burgundy coat that came to my knees; a fitted black shirt beneath was plain, and my hair hung in a long ponytail. I wouldn’t draw attention to myself, I didn’t think—I’d even left my beat up boots at home and went with simple black ones appropriate for fall weather with just enough of a heel that I looked dressed up. Nothing to alarm anyone, least of all Ashford. Totally professional and calm.
Kent House sat between other houses with little property of its own, quieter than when I’d seen it last, almost as if the manor was dozing. The black iron gate out front was shut but unlatched, and I closed it after stepping through. My steps clicked on the vintage interlock path through a small garden, straight for the wide steps leading to the front door. Nothing greeted me but a damp wind, lifting my hair and fluttering my coat.
I stepped up the stairs and opened the door without knocking.
The interior was not just silent but still, nothing stirring as I walked in the foyer and looked around. I let the door close behind me and it clicked, sealing me in. The foyer seemed far vaster without so many people milling about, the wide staircase dwarfing me. Polished granite floor gleamed in the overly bright light, my own reflection bouncing back at me. I glanced from side to side, eying the wide archways leading to other halls and rooms. Ashford hadn’t said specifically where he’d be—the conference room upstairs, perhaps, might be a contender.
I walked up the stairs with slow, steady steps, tense from head to toe and listening carefully for any signs of life. Various art pieces stared back at me on the walls, from classical to contemporary, some with actual eyes to track my movements, others abstract splashes of color that still seemed to watch.
At the top of the grand staircase, I took a corridor that veered left, past more open concept rooms. The click of my boots on the floor announced my approach to anyone who might be listening—there would be no stealth this time. I strangely missed the caves because at least I knew what to expect, whether from the shadows in normal chambers to the cavern with the mother dragon. And monsters, I understood.
It was people I had trouble with.
A closed door waited at the end of the hall, just as it had over a week ago when I first came to meet Ashford, but no elderly gentleman waited to let me in. I doubted anyone was handing out wine, either. I reached for the handle, pressed down and pushed, then let the door swing open while I readied to draw a weapon.
The conference room wasn’t much different from how I’d last seen it; lights inlaid in the ceiling were on, glowing over the massive round table. Blinds at the back remained closed, hiding the dark day outside as if this was the only place that existed in the world.
My gaze snagged on Pru immediately. She sat in a chair to the right of the table facing the door, holding very still with her back rigid and shoulders squared. Her wide, dark eyes were on me and I scanned her for any sign of injury but found nothing obvious; she wore track pants and a T-shirt, thick dark hair in a loose ponytail, as if they’d caught her in the evening before bed. No bruises, no cuts, just a steady terror in her expression.
Ashford stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders—dangerously close to her neck, in my opinion, like he could reach for her throat a
nd snap her spine before I could move. His expression in contrast to hers was collected and controlled, eyes half-lidded as if he was comfortable enough to take a nap. He wore a tieless, impeccably pressed black suit, dark hair combed straight back. Armani-wearing businessman head to toe—well-dressed kidnapper.
I did not see any sign of my daughter.
I stopped a few feet inside the room and waited for him to speak as the door swung shut behind me. Besides the exit at my back there were two other doors, one on either side of the room at the very back, and I had no idea where they led. The windows I supposed counted as exits, too, but the floors were extra large here—we were the equivalent to three stories up, I’d say, and not something I wanted to risk us jumping.
“Within the hour,” Ashford said without blinking. “Excellent timing.”
“Where’s my daughter?”
“Where’s my ring?”
I wasn’t going to play games. No stalling, no negotiating—there was no point. I pulled the thin chain around my neck, plucked the ring from under my shirt, and gave it a yank; the chain snapped and fell, forgotten at my feet. I gazed down at the ring for a moment, then cast it on the table. It rolled and rattled, coming to a stop midway down—a good four feet from Ashford so he’d have to let Pru go to get it.
He looked at me and it was abundantly clear he understood my intent, but didn’t argue. Instead he regarded me for ten seconds longer, then let go of Prudence.
She flinched like she’d been expecting something worse but held my gaze fiercely; as he walked away, rounding the table, some of the worry in me eased. My friend wasn’t stupid; she watched for my lead, no doubt, expecting I’d have some sort of plan or at least knew what I was up against.
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