Sergio’s face glowed with righteous happiness. “Threat number two. You’re now classified as high risk prisoners, and I have full right to detain you until I feel you aren’t a risk to my fellow officers.”
Grabbing my elbow, he forced me forward. “Let’s go. A cell has your name on it.”
I had nothing left to lose. Nothing left to hide because if they locked me up, I knew in my bones I would never see Q again. I would die alone. I would cease to exist the moment I felt Q’s life snip from my own. “Please! It wasn’t a threat. It’s the truth.” I swallowed tears. “They took him. Quincy Mercer. Five men came and took him. You have to believe us!”
Sergio didn’t say another word as he stomped us through the hospital, past gawking patients and wide-eyed nurses.
With a punch to the large swinging doors of the exit, Sergio dragged me from bright hospital to dark evening.
A patrol car waited at the curb.
I struggled. “No! You don’t have any reason to arrest us. No reason at all!”
Sergio nodded for one of his men to open the car door. “No reason? Care to explain why pedestrians reported a topless woman pressed against the glass.” His eyes flew between Franco and me.
Franco raised his eyebrow in my direction. “Damn fucking Mercer. He always has to go one step too far.” He caught my eye, a half-smile on his lips. “Always cleaning up his mess.”
My tummy clenched, remembering Q inside me. The burn of him cutting my shoulder. I’d give anything to be curled up in bed with him talking, watching a movie.
I’d sell my soul to find him unharmed.
Bowing my head, I mumbled, “That was me. I take full responsibility. Can you write me a ticket and let me go?”
Sergio chuckled. “Public indecency is more than a ticket, miss. But it’s above that now. I believe there’s a conspiracy here. I believe some man—possibly not this man with you—but another, forced you to have intercourse. I also believe the sexual activity was interrupted by someone in a jealous rage and is now injured—by him.” Sergio pointed at Franco. “And until I understand the full story, no-one is leaving, capisci?”
“It wasn’t me. I didn’t hurt the man—but they fucking hurt me.” Franco pointed wryly to his bandaged hand and sling. “As you can see by evidence A.”
Sergio’s eyes narrowed. “Just how many men had a turn with you, miss? A threesome? A bloody orgy in my city? How many infractions do you want to add to this tally?”
Franco shook his head, breathing hard. “It’s not like that. If you stopped and listened for one goddamn second you’d be saved a lot of paperwork and possibly a man’s life!”
Sergio lost his smooth good-cop routine, launching himself at Franco. Shoving him against the side of the car, he grunted, “We found blood on the carpet. And a bullet casing by the window. If we find out the bullet matches the guns we took from you, you’re in serious fucking trouble. So don’t start waving your dick around here because it won’t fucking work.”
Spinning away, he dragged a hand through his hair. “Get them in the car. Let’s go.”
My heart infested with panic as someone pressed my shoulders, shoving me into the vehicle. The vinyl seats squeaked as I fell sideways. I couldn’t push myself up with my wrists handcuffed behind my back.
Tears bubbled in my spine but I refused to let them drip.
Franco’s body partially landed on mine. He grunted in pain but managed to sit upright and with a bit of effort drag me into a sitting position. “You okay?”
My mind swam. How could this have got completely out of control?
Tick…
Tock…
Every passing minute took Q further and further away. I didn’t want to look at a clock. I didn’t want to see just how much time was being wasted by idiots of the Italian police force.
Q. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.
A sob clawed up my throat.
Franco patted my knee. “Don’t worry, Tess. It will be okay.”
Sergio climbed into the front seat, looking at us through the barred partition. “That’s what you think.”
* * *
The interview room was frozen-over hell.
All metal and mirror and steel. My hands and feet were blue with a mixture of fear and ice. I’d been uncuffed and thrown into the room about fifteen minutes ago.
Franco had been taken somewhere else.
I paced around the small space like a caged animal. My brain wouldn’t stop whizzing. My heart wouldn’t stop clanging. Claustrophobia clawed at my throat as the walls frosted over with icicles, crowding closer and closer and closer. Burying me alive in an icy tomb where Q would never find me.
I’m alone.
Curling my hands, I shoved the self-pity away. I refused to bow to such useless emotions. I would get out of this. I would find Q. I would find him alive, and I would marry him the second I fell into his arms.
The heavy door clanked open.
Sergio Ponzio entered looking like a stuck-up peacock with way too much power. I hated the uncaring glint in his eyes. The unforgiving jaded look that said he’d heard every story, listened to every lie. He was finished having people make a fool of him.
Which was fine. I understood that. But when he was so blind he couldn’t see the truth—putting another’s life in jeopardy, then I couldn’t understand that. I couldn’t control the lava of frustration and hatred flowing in my veins. I didn’t know how long I’d be able to stop myself from ripping his heart out—because he obviously didn’t have one.
“Please. Sit,” he said, pointing at the metal chairs.
I moved stiffly, sitting with my hands balled tightly in my lap. I had enough infractions to battle through, without adding battery and assault to a police chief.
“Water?” His bushy eyebrow rose.
I shook my head, looking into the top right corner of the room.
Enemy. Saboteur. Betrayer.
The clock.
Tick…
Tock…
It was four a.m. Q had been taken almost five hours ago. Six life-altering, terror-filled hours.
The sob that built like a thunderstorm inside threatened to break free. It took all my strength to force it back down.
“Name?”
I glared from beneath my brow. I wanted to spit and tell him to shove his damn questions. But I had to cooperate. I had to be as polite and demure as possible if I had any chance of talking my way out of this.
Don’t get angry. Stay calm.
“Tess Snow.”
“Nationality.”
“Australian.”
He looked up, a smile tugging his lips. “Long way from home. It’s not the first time I’ve had to get tough with a drunken countryman of yours, or slap a citation for disorderly conduct.”
I ignored that. I didn’t want to interact at all—let alone reminisce about his other trophies. He viewed me as a troublemaker. I meant to come across as the opposite.
I’m rich. I’m powerful. I’m Q’s.
Besides, I no longer felt Australian. In fact, after spending so much time with Q, I’d even begun to think in French, trading English as my favoured language, blending the two.
I’m no longer Tess Snow.
My eyes flared. “I gave you the wrong name.”
Sergio scowled. “You’re lying again? You do realize every lie makes your case worse.” He shook his head, tutting under his breath, “You seem to like breaking the rules.” His eyes fell to my jumper-covered breasts. “I admit, I would’ve liked to see the show you put on and not just write the reports.”
You fucking pervert.
My spine stiffened. “I’m not lying. I am Tess Snow. But I’m also about to become Tess Mercer. My fiancé has already given me ownership of his fortune and I wield the power of the Mercer name.”
His dark eyes tightened; face twitched. “Mercer?”
I sensed a crack. Please let it be a crack. “Yes of Moineau Holdings. Franco told you that. If you
know of the company and the CEO, you’d be wise to release me and my employee.”
Sergio chuckled, scraping his chair back as he popped the buttons of his uniform jacket. “You sure about that, Miss Snow? You’re not lying again, are you?”
I ground my teeth. “How do you explain me staying in one of the most expensive hotels in Rome?” I rolled my eyes. “Did you even look at the check-in registry? Quincy Mercer—my fiancé—will be on the registration.”
Sergio placed his wrists on the table, linking his fingers together in a threatening display. “See, that’s where your little story falls apart. A man named Joseph Roy checked in with no extra guest into the suite earlier this evening.”
The breath in my lungs clogged, but then cleared in a rush. Of course Q wouldn’t travel under his real name. Not now. Not with men hunting him.
I winced as a spike to the heart caught me by surprise. It didn’t matter what precautions he’d taken—he’d still be stolen.
Stay alive. Please stay alive.
I placed my elbows on the table, pressing my forehead against my palms. The world had become too much. I never thought I would want to be in captivity again but at least being the one stolen lent a certain luxury to my fate. I either survived or died. I wasn’t responsible for someone else. I didn’t feel the weight of an entire galaxy pressing down upon me with every passing second of failure.
Tick…
Tock…
Sergio kicked back his chair, standing over me. “Do you wish to change any of the details you’ve given? Last chance to stop lying before I go run your records.”
I looked up. I didn’t have any effort to speak. I shook my head.
Without a word, he disappeared.
Tick…
Tock…
The clock taunted me with every passing second. One minute passed, then ten, then twenty.
My body vibrated with the need to run. I couldn’t sit there for too much longer without going certifiably insane. I felt so useless.
Finally the door opened. Sergio returned with a stack of paper and a blank face.
Grabbing the chair, he shuffled closer to the table, placing everything in front of him. He dragged out the suspense, spreading the papers, fanning them into some sort of order, driving me mad.
“Do you know what I found when I called up your file?” he asked, almost softly. He’d lost some of the arrogant tone. He still wasn’t friendly, but he seemed…what? Open to listening. Less likely to laugh and throw me in a cell and swallow the key?
I sat straighter, feeding off his change of mood. Hope trilled through me, fast and sweet. “I don’t know.” Glancing at the upside down copies, I couldn’t read them—all in Italian.
I’d never contemplated if I had a file. Briefly, when I returned home to Australia after Q sent me back, I wondered why the police hadn’t come knocking. I’d been reported as missing after all—but no one came to question, no one asked a thing.
Sergio held up a piece of paper. “It says here you were listed as missing by the Australian Federal Police. Then a few weeks later, your parents, Stephen and Mary Snow, closed your file under pretence of death overseas and asked for a death certificate.”
My chair legs squeaked against the floor as I jumped in dismay. A rush of grief mixed with disbelief. My own parents told the police to stop looking for me? They’d been so eager to close that messy chapter and become the grieving parents. All to garner the sympathy vote at their next bowling club rally.
I always knew they didn’t love me. It wasn’t news, but it still hurt like a bitch.
Sergio watched my reaction, but I kept my tormenting emotions free from my impassive face.
He continued, “Your file was closed, but then reopened when you magically reappeared, with no flight manifest or record of how you entered the country, and slotted right back into life with”—his eyes dropped to the paperwork—“Brax Cliffingstone.
“You retuned to university, finished your degree, then a month later picked up and flew to France.”
Shuffling the pages, he said, “Why wasn’t there a wrap-up interview from your disappearance. Why was there no closure or interrogation on your supposed kidnapping, brought to the attention of the AFP by Brax Cliffingstone? Care to explain how you had the AFP close your file with no conclusion whatsoever?”
The all-consuming love I had for my monstrous master overflowed. It was like swallowing a bowl of colourless light, trickling through my body, giving me strength I sorely need.
I laughed.
Q.
He tampered with my file. Somehow, he had contacts to ensure his anonymity and unique charity remained a secret. There was no explaining how I came into his company, or talking away the length of my stay at his chateau. So he did what he had to. He swept it all away.
God, I loved him. I’d never met a man with more resources, intelligence, or a bigger heart than him. And he was mine. And I was failing him by allowing this stupid cop to detain me.
I was done.
“Quincy Mercer can explain. Let me go and I’ll fetch him for you.”
Sergio ran a finger along his bottom lip. “Yes, and that brings me to him. You say you’re together? But I don’t see any mention of a marriage announcement or any news related articles of your relationship.”
Tick…
Tock…
I didn’t care. It no longer mattered.
I was getting out of there.
Now.
Crossing my arms, I demanded, “I want my phone call.”
He glowered, his black eyes battering me with law-keeping authority. But I wasn’t ruffled. I glowered right back, not backing down.
Finally, he huffed. “Fine.” He stalked to the door, holding it open. “This way.”
The moment light from the corridor bounced into the interrogation room, my heart leapt from my chest and flew away. Flew to find Q. Flew to give him hope.
I’m coming.
We’re coming.
I struggled to keep my feet slow and plodding as Sergio guided me through a typical police station with cubicle workstations, brown walls, and oscillating ceiling fans. The reek of burned coffee hung stagnant in the air.
He stopped beside a desk strewn with notes and empty cups. He pointed to a phone partially buried beneath manila files. “You have two minutes.”
Not for the first time, I thanked my photographic memory. Ever since Q gave me the note hidden in the pocket of the dress I’d worn back to Australia, I’d memorized his office number. It’d been embossed in gold on the heavy parchment of his business card.
By knowing his number, I felt like I’d never be too far from him—even while I slept beside Brax at night and went to university by day.
I also knew he allowed the office line to link to his home after hours. I just hoped either Frederick picked up or Suzette. Either would do. Both had Q’s power behind them. They would get Franco and me free.
Picking up the receiver, I curled over the handset, punching in the number. It connected.
And rang.
And rang.
And rang.
Please pick up. Terror squashed my hope like a bug. This was my only chance—who knew when I’d get another one. Who knew how much more time would pass.
Sergio looked at his watch.
Finally the ringing stopped, clicking into connection.
“Bonjour?”
Masculine.
For a flicker of a second, I suffered a stab of grief. I’d wanted to talk to Suzette. To lean on the girl who was so strong and my friend.
“Frederick,” I whispered.
“Tess?”
My heart bounced, whizzing into action. Frederick would get things done. He’d get us out.
“Yes, it’s me. Look, something happened.” The tears I’d been fighting all rushed in a quake, obstructing my throat. I forced through, cursing the wobble in my tone. “They took him.”
“It’s okay. I know. It’s all under control.”
At that point, I didn’t care about myself. All I cared about was Frederick using the resources to find Q. I completely forgot about my predicament or why I’d called.
My mind shut down as I went into shock.
“Tess? You still there?”
I clutched the receiver, wishing I could stuff myself down the phone line and be with him. I wanted to be beside the man who Q called his best friend.
What about his other best friend?
Shit, Franco.
“Frederick. I need your help.” I pulled myself together, running a hand through my hair. “Franco and I—we’re in jail. We need you to get us out.”
I tensed, waiting for a barrage of questions. But he just chuckled. “You’re about ten minutes too late. Already done. You’ll be out within the hour.”
My mouth hung open. “Ho—how?”
“Money buys a lot of things, and contacts in high places is one of them.” His voice dropped. I pressed the phone harder to my ear. “He’s okay, Tess. The tracker stays active as long as there’s a heartbeat. It’s programed to emit a new signal if that changes.”
My heart seized. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ll know if they cut it out. The frequency would be interrupted. We’ll also know if they…”
If they what…
My heart lurched. He didn’t have to say anymore. I knew.
“If he dies….” My eyes turned blind, filling with liquid.
Frederick murmured, “It’s okay. That won’t happen. But yes. As long as his heart is beating, the tracker will guide us to him.”
I wanted to scream! I wanted to hunt every cocksucking motherfucking trafficker and drain them until they turned from human to withered corpse.
The sweetness inside rapidly faded in favour of ruthlessness. I grew harder—colder.
He’s still alive. Focus on that.
“Do you know where? Where is he?”
“He’s been moved. They’ve taken him to Spain.”
“Spain?”
The voices of the men who’d barged into our suite echoed in my ears. I’d been too afraid of Q being hit and then shot to pay any attention to nationality.
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