by Geneva Lee
“Yes,” she bit out.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” I seized her hair with my other hand. “Have you been feeding him information on Georgia?”
She didn’t answer, and I jerked her head back, yanking her hair at the roots.
“Yes!” she screamed.
I held her there. Now we were getting somewhere.
“And me?”
This time she whimpered. “Yes.”
“How did he know where to find my wife?” It was a foregone conclusion that he’d discovered the truth about Belle, and I didn’t have any more time to waste on ferreting out the answers I needed. Not after the attack. It wasn’t going to be an isolated incident, and I wanted to know his next move.
“He’s tracking her,” she answered in a soft voice.
“How?” I demanded, forcing myself to ignore the fear that stirred inside me.
“Your mobiles. It was harder for him to get to your wife’s, but then the stupid bitch left it in her office and went out to lunch. He’s tracking all of you.” She laughed at this, and I froze. I wanted to strangle her. I wanted her to gasp for her last breath, but I wasn’t through with her yet.
“Georgia?” I asked.
“That’s been taken care of.”
I threw her head forward, ignoring her as she called after me. She deserved to die, but when Hammond realized she had betrayed him, he’d take care of that. I’d been finished doing his dirty work for too long to take care of her now.
Belle was safe for the moment. I’d made certain her mobile had made it home with the rest of her personal belongings before we left the hospital. But Georgia. I dialed her mobile again, but it went to voicemail.
“How would he do it?” I muttered to myself, leaving Velvet behind. The image of my father floating lifelessly in the pool swam to mind. His death had been ruled an accident.
It’s unfortunate what can happen when one’s left alone.
That’s what Hammond had said to my mother at the funeral.
I didn’t think, I just reacted. Georgia’s flat was around the corner, and I didn’t bother to look as I threw the Bugatti into drive and sped toward it.
An eerie silence greeted me as I entered her flat. She hadn’t changed the locks in years, which was convenient for me but deadly for her. I flipped on the lights and began to search. Rushing into her bedroom, I caught sight of something just beyond the bed.
A hand.
I rounded the bed and dropped to my knees beside her into a pool of blood. Her eyelids fluttered as my hands went to the wound in her abdomen. There was too much blood. It spurted past my palms as I tried to apply pressure. She was pale even in the darkness, her lips turning a sickly shade of blue.
“Smith?” Her voice was faint—confused—as she fought to open her eyes.
“It’s okay.” But it wasn’t. I let go of her and pulled my mobile out of my pocket. It slipped from my bloody hands, and I fumbled to retrieve it. Dialing 9-9-9, I yanked a sheet from her bed and wound it into a tight ball. Holding it to her wounds, I pulled her body with my free arm into my lap. Her dark hair pooled around her.
“He knows.” Crimson spilled from her lips as her words bubbled out.
“I know. Hold on. Help is coming.” I needed her to stay awake, but I was afraid to allow her to continue talking.
She tried to shake her head but lacked the strength. “He knows where she is.”
“She’s safe,” I said as I shushed her. “She isn’t at home.”
“Smith!” Georgia swallowed against the frothy blood that came with the exclamation. “The man who came here…” She gasped, her face screwing up as she searched for her voice through the pain. “He made a call. He’s going to the Westminster Royal.”
The world stopped around me, realization colliding with horror. I had no idea how he had found her. No idea how long he had known. No idea what I would discover when I reached her. Fear seized my chest in an icy grip. I looked down at Georgia and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
There was no choice between staying and going. No choice between these two women who occupied such vastly different corners of my life. One was my past. The other my future. And yet I was tethered to this spot.
“Go.” Georgia’s command was no more than a breathy whisper, but I felt the thread tying us to one another snap. This had been our choice all along—a sacrifice we were both willing to make to be free.
I left her there, her life seeping out onto the carpet, knowing soon she would finally be liberated.
The Bugatti roared as I pushed the gas pedal to the floorboard, dodging in and out of traffic in a desperate attempt to get on the A3212. I kept my thoughts focused on the road. Turn. Merge. Being present was the only thing that kept me from drowning in my past or fearing for my future.
A car veered across the motorway, narrowly missing me as it tried to avoid the scene of an accident. I slammed on my brakes as the cars in front of me slowed to allow emergency crews to reach the scene.
I hit the steering wheel. “This is a fucking emergency!”
Reality screeched toward me as I came to a full stop. In gridlock there was no way to keep my thoughts from drifting to what had just happened. And the reality of the situation came to life in front of me.
Georgia’s blood.
It was smeared over the wheel. On my hands. I rubbed the wheel with my sleeve, but there was no way to wipe my hands.
It had been a sick joke for years: calling her my sister. A jibe we were all too fond of hurling at one another. But as a lump formed in my throat, I knew she was the closest thing I’d had to living family for most of my life. I had spent that time questioning her motives and being judgmental of her choices, but it was only now that I knew I had loved her. Maybe that was what it was like to have a sibling. Constant annoyance. Misunderstanding. Realizing what they meant to you far too late.
Hammond would answer for what he had done to her.
But the thought of her murder only made me more aware of the danger that Belle faced now.
Somehow, they knew where she was. It was entirely likely that they’d been following me this whole time, but I couldn’t be certain. Ariel said they were tracking our mobiles, which meant it didn’t matter that I’d left hers at her flat when I’d had mine with me the whole time.
I dialed her number anyway and waited until it went to voicemail.
Hitting the voice activation button, I asked for the Westminster Royal.
“Price. The penthouse,” I ordered as soon as the front desk answered.
“I’m sorry,” a cheerful girl chirped. “We have a ‘do not disturb’ request for that guest.”
“No shit,” I snapped, “I placed that request. I’m trying to reach my wife. It’s an emergency.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I can take a message if—”
I hung up on her. Why the fuck had I put that “do not disturb” instruction up? Because I’d stupidly thought she was safe, and now there was no way to warn her. I could call the police, but I had no doubt that my response time was more efficient than theirs. I tried her number one more time. God, I wanted to scream at her voicemail message.
I threw my mobile onto the passenger seat when she didn’t answer. I had just pulled off the motorway when it began to ring.
“Belle?” I answered in a clipped tone. “You need to get out of there.”
“This isn’t Belle.” Hammond’s familiar voice crawled under my skin “Although it looks as if you’re on your way to see her now. I’m sure she’ll appreciate a romantic surprise more than getting a call ahead of time. She doesn’t expect you to return to the hotel for hours after all. I’m told newlyweds are particularly sentimental. Perhaps you should pick her up some mums on the way.”
I didn’t miss the reference to funeral flowers. “Hammond, when I get my hands on you—”
“What, Smith? What will you do to me? You have had the opportunity to take me out for months and yet you never take it. Your father. Margot. You
never sought retribution then.” He paused, and for a moment, I thought the call had dropped. “Of course, perhaps this foolish witch hunt you’ve gotten caught up with is your own petty attempt.”
“It’s over,” I warned him. “You know who’s been investigating you.”
“Yes, I do,” Hammond said, sounding nonplussed. “Albert was investigating me as well. I think he had about as much evidence as either you or his son do now.”
“Why?” He wanted to brag, and I wanted to keep him talking. If he was on the line with me, he couldn’t be hurting her. “Why go after Clara? Why Belle?”
“I suppose I’m a bit of a romantic. I love a tragic love story. Did Samantha tell you that when you visited her?”
My blood ran cold, and I gripped the wheel, my knuckles turning white. I could see Westminster Royal ahead, but it wasn’t close enough. “You spoke to Samantha?”
“Of course. Do you honestly think she escaped to New York and started over? I really thought you were smarter than that. If I’d known you weren’t, I wouldn’t have bothered putting you through law school. Samantha is, shall we say, indebted to me. You can understand that.”
I didn’t care to hear more about Samantha’s betrayal. Not when so much was on the line. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“Oh, yes, why prey on your sweet, young wives? Honestly, Clara was simply a means to an end. I wanted Albert out of the picture and, boy, was her ex-boyfriend a crackpot. After his own attempts failed, he was so grateful to have my help. He only wanted to keep her from Alexander. We had several opportunities really, but it was so poetic to have it happen at the wedding—and no one doubted for a minute why he’d done it. They assumed it was the efforts of a mad man, and the King simply got in the way. Nothing covers up one sin like another scandal.”
“Alexander guessed. He knew there was more to it.” I took pride in that now, in my fragile camaraderie with a man who had the ability to see through to the evil at the heart of such actions.
“Of course, he did, but that hardly mattered since he hesitated to make a move. Too much information. Who could he trust? He couldn’t take action. But you knew that, didn’t you? When you went to him and begged for him to finally see this thing through to the end. It was how I found out that you’d gotten married. That stung, son. I shouldn’t have heard it from someone else.”
“I’m not your son,” I growled.
“I would have sent my congratulations earlier,” he continued, ignoring me, “but I didn’t have your current address. My present is being delivered now.”
“If you touch one hair on her head—”
“I wouldn’t dream of touching her. Belle is a lovely girl. Our mutual friend was quite put out that he didn’t get to spend enough quality time with her the other evening.”
“Stop this,” I demanded. “You can have me. No struggle. I’ll come to you. Alexander won’t have me as a witness. Just leave her be.”
“And call off Jake’s fun? He’s been looking forward to seeing you again. Give him my regards.”
Then the line went dead.
I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes out of habit. White-hot pain pierced my temple. I blinked back the tears that flooded to my bruised eye. This was going to take some getting used to.
“How are you feeling?” Jane asked, her eyes crinkling in concern when I finally reached the parlor.
“Fine,” I lied. I might feel better when Smith was back, and when I could finally leave here. I’d chosen sleep rather than obsessing over his return.
Jane got to her feet, examining me as she came closer. “Do you want another pain pill?”
I shook my head, but the sudden motion loosed a new wave of pain, and I flinched.
“I think you better have one, love.”
I didn’t put up a fight as she went for my prescription bottle and a glass of water.
“Have you eaten anything today?” she asked as I swallowed the pill.
“No,” I admitted sheepishly. “I haven’t really eaten anything since last night. My stomach is bothering me.”
“Of course, it is.” She frowned. “That’s an opiate. You shouldn’t take it on an empty stomach.”
I sighed. As usual, she was probably right. “I guess we could order room service.”
“Or there’s that curry place around the corner?” she offered. “We could get some fresh air.”
It was a calculated suggestion. Jane was still trying to suss out what was going on. I didn’t want to tell her that Smith would lose his shit if he found out I’d left the hotel. Instead I pointed to my face. “I’m not quite ready to debut this in daylight hours.”
“I suppose that makes sense.” But there was doubt in her voice. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“I’ll be fine.” So far Jane had been more of a babysitter than a nurse. Sitting on the sofa while I napped and plying me with pain pills when I woke. And questioning me at every opportunity.
“Okay, it’s just a jaunt. I almost forgot.” She pulled my mobile out of her bag. “You left this at home. Best you have it.”
“Thank you.” Contact with the world outside seemed like a pretty novel concept at this point. I frowned when I saw a missed call from Smith. No doubt he was freaking out that I didn’t answer.
“I’ll be right back.”
I locked the door behind Jane and immediately called him back, but the phone went to voicemail. Checking the time stamp, I realized he’d only called a few minutes before. He was probably already trying to call me again.
I tugged at my pajamas. They clung to me, sticky with the sweat of nightmares. A bath seemed like a pretty good idea. If Smith was going to have to encounter this mug when he got back, the rest of me could be presentable. It would be good to feel human again. Plus, I’d never gotten a chance to clean up after last night’s lovemaking.
That was the trouble with all these meds. I couldn’t quite function normally. They made me move in slow motion. I blinked, drowsily, as the latest dose began to take effect. For a second, I considered if it was smart to take a bath, but Jane would be back momentarily, and who ever drowned in a tub?
I opened the music app on my mobile and found my Rolling Stones playlist. Listening to the music Smith loved soothed me. I turned up the volume and dropped it on the unmade bed.
I turned the tap on, waiting for the water to get hot as I slipped out of my pajamas and into a hotel robe, then studied myself in the mirror. The bruise had begun to turn black, yellowing around the edges. Since there was nothing they could do about the hairline fraction other than wait, I was stuck with the swelling until it healed. Thank God I didn’t have any business meetings scheduled.
I let my hair down, noting how far past my shoulders it already was. Maybe when my parole was up, I could see a stylist. I’d have to keep the fringe to hide the gruesome scar the stitches would leave.
Focus on what you can change, I told myself. I could deal with the scars left on my body, the rest would take time.
Walking over to the tub, I dipped my finger in to check the temperature.
Perfect. Relief was at hand.
My fingers closed over the knot of my robe, but before I could tug it loose, my ringtone interrupted the music.
Dashing back for it, I made it halfway across the room when a shape hurtled toward me. I barely had time to brace myself before I slammed into the wall. The ringtone ended, and my mobile began to play “Give Me Shelter.”
Falling to the floor, I scrambled backwards, dragging myself by my hands toward the bathroom. I reached the door before the assailant did, kicking it shut with my foot. Jumping up, I turned the lock and searched the room frantically. The door shook on its hinges as the man bashed against it repeatedly.
I spotted a window above the toilet and ran for it. Balancing precariously on the toilet lid, I tried to pry the window open. It was nailed shut. Looking around, I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around my hand and ducked as I put my first through the glass. It shattered,
shards skimming across my face and clattering to the floor. I pushed aside the remaining glass with the towel and pulled myself up. I stuck my head out, noting with dismay that it was almost a dead drop from the eighth floor. But there was a small ledge below that felt a whole lot safer than sticking around here. I wriggled farther through the opening, catching my shoulder on a large shard. It sliced through my skin, but I barely felt it.
And then I heard the door fly open. I moved faster, deciding then and there that I’d rather fall to my fate than stay here to be murdered. I had my hips nearly out of the window when hands closed over my ankles. I screamed as loudly as I could, hoping it would carry over the traffic to the tourists below.
He hauled me back inside, slamming me to the tile and kicking me hard in the ribs. I curled into a ball. There didn’t seem to be any other option but to take it and hope.
“Miss me?” he asked, and I froze at the familiar voice.
“Our date ended so suddenly the other night. I tried to call and apologize, but you haven’t been answering your phone, Belle. So I thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.” He jerked me up by the hair, dragging me to my feet to face him. I hadn’t seen much of him in the dark, but I saw now that he was about Smith’s age. Good-looking. Except for the homicidal mania glinting in his eyes.
“Wow, that is beautiful.” He gripped my face roughly and I screamed. A wicked smirk twitched on his lips. “Do you mind if I take a picture of my handiwork? I so rarely get a good before shot. There’s a really lovely sense of movement when someone’s still alive. It’s just not the same after I’ve already killed them.”
I said the only word that came to mind. “Please.”
“Please?” he laughed. “Do you have any idea the man you married or what he’s capable of? Sorry, baby, this is eye for an eye. I’d love for you to tell him hello, but unfortunately, you’ll be in no condition to deliver the message.”
He dropped his hold on my face, curled his fist and punched me in the stomach. My mouth gaped, searching for air. I was still gasping when he shoved me into the bathtub. Fluid shot down my throat, burning my lungs. My hands flew wildly, splashing against the porcelain, searching for a grip.