Freed
Page 62
I’ll collect you around six this evening, and we can go see him before heading home.
Sound good?
Your loving husband
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I press send, then open the report on my desk and start to read. But almost immediately the ping of a new e-mail distracts me. Ana?
No. It’s from Barney.
From: Barney Sullivan
Subject: Jack Hyde
Date: September 13 2011 14:09
To: Christian Grey
CCTV around Seattle tracks the white van from South Irving Street. Before that I can find no trace, so Hyde must have been based in that area.
As Welch has told you, the unsub car was rented with a false license by an unknown female, though nothing that ties it to the South Irving Street area.
Details of known GEH and SIP employees who live in the area are in the attached file, which I have forwarded to Welch, too.
There was nothing on Hyde’s SIP computer about his former PAs.
As a reminder, here is a list of what was retrieved from Hyde’s SIP computer.
Greys’ Home Addresses:
Five properties in Seattle
Two properties in Detroit
Detailed Résumés for:
Carrick Grey
Elliot Grey
Christian Grey
Dr. Grace Trevelyan
Anastasia Steele
Mia Grey
Newspaper and online articles relating to:
Dr. Grace Trevelyan
Carrick Grey
Christian Grey
Elliot Grey
Photographs:
Carrick Grey
Dr. Grace Trevelyan
Christian Grey
Elliot Grey
Mia Grey
I’ll continue my investigation, see what else I can find.
B Sullivan
Head of IT, GEH
I gaze at the contents of his e-mail and wonder when Hyde started scouring the internet for information on my family. Was it before Ana started working with him? Or was it after he’d met me? I’m about to pen a response to Barney when Ana’s reply to my earlier e-mail pops into my inbox.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Missing You
Date: September 13 2011 14:10
To: Christian Grey
Sure.
x
Anastasia Grey
Editor, SIP
Oh. Feeling a tad deflated, I glance at the enigmatic, smiling goddess on the wall. I thought we might indulge in some e-mail banter.
She’s normally so good at that.
This is not like her.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Missing You
Date: September 13 2011 14:14
To: Anastasia Grey
Are you okay?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
While I wait for her reply, I sift through the address file that Barney has attached to his e-mail. A couple of GEH employee names, and one from SIP, jump out at me: the highest-profile name is Elizabeth Morgan, the HR director at SIP. Her name stirs something in the back of my brain, but whatever it is, it remains elusive. I’ll ask Welch to follow up on her when we next speak, but it’s hard to conceive that any of these people could be involved with Hyde.
I dismiss that train of thought and wonder what’s up with Ana. I’m tempted to pick up the phone and call her, but as I reach for it, another e-mail arrives from her.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Missing You
Date: September 13 2011 14:17
To: Christian Grey
Fine. Just busy.
See you at six.
x
Anastasia Grey
Editor, SIP
Of course she’s busy. She’s missed a few days of work, and my girl is nothing but conscientious.
Grey, keep it together.
I go back to Barney’s e-mail and read through his list one more time. It doesn’t yield any further insights, but maybe he can answer a question for me.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Jack Hyde
Date: September 13 2011 14:23
To: Barney Sullivan
Barney
Thanks for the e-mail. Can you track when Hyde began these internet searches?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I check the time; I have a catch-up with Ros.
Taylor and I wait for Ana outside SIP. I glance anxiously toward the entrance, hoping that she’ll be out at any moment. An e-mail alert appears on my phone.
From: Barney Sullivan
Subject: Jack Hyde
Date: September 13 2011 17:35
To: Christian Grey
Internet searches on the topics in Hyde’s e-mail happened between 19:32 Monday, June 13, 2011, and 17:14 Wednesday, June 15, 2011.
B Sullivan
Head of IT, GEH
Hmm… Interesting. I remember I’d met him the Friday before, at the bar when I’d arranged to meet Ana. He was a loudmouthed asshole then. I wonder if he was looking for anything specific on my family, and if he found it. I glance out of the window, and finally Ana appears. She dashes toward the car, dodging the rain, Sawyer at her heels. I smile as I watch her, but my heart sinks when she glances into the car.
Her face is a stark alabaster in the gray rain.
Shit!
Sawyer opens her door, and she slides in beside me.
“Hi.” The inflection in my voice is tentative. What is it, Ana?
“Hi.” Her eyes flick to my face, briefly—too briefly, and all I see is her turmoil flashing back at me.
“What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head as Taylor pulls into traffic. “Nothing.”
I don’t think that’s true. “Is work all right?”
“Yes. Fine. Thanks.” Her tone is clipped.
Tell me! “Ana, what’s wrong?” My words are harsher than I intend, as they’re loaded with my anxiety.
“I’ve just missed you, that’s all. And I’ve been worried about Ray.”
Oh, of course. Thank God. I brighten immediately. “Ray’s good.” I try to reassure her. “I spoke to Mom this afternoon, and she’s impressed with his progress.” I reach for her hand. It’s freezing. “Boy, your hand is cold. Have you eaten today?”
She flushes.
“Ana.” Why does she do this?
“I’ll eat this evening. I haven’t really had time.”
I rub her hand in an attempt to warm it. “Do you want me to add ‘feed my wife’ to the security detail’s list of duties?” I catch Taylor’s eye in the rearview mirror.
“I’m sorry. I’ll eat. It’s just been a weird day. You know, moving Dad and all.”
I guess. She turns away and stares out the window, leaving me to flounder.
Something’s not right.
It has been a weird day.
Take her at her word, Grey.
I give her my news to test the water. “I may have to go to Taiwan.”
“Oh. When?” This gets her attention.
“Later this week. Maybe next week.”
“Okay.”
“I want you to come with me.”
Her lips thin. “Christian, please. I have my job. Let’s not rehash this argument again.”
I blow out a breath, unable to conceal my disappointment. “Thought I’d ask.”
“How long will you go for?” Ana’s voice is soft, but distracted.
This is not my girl. She’s too quiet and hesitant.
“Well, now that my beloved husband is going away…” Her voice fades as I raise her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles.
“I won’t be away for long.”
“Good.” She gives me a thin smile, but I know she’s preoccupied.
I gaze out the window and go through several scenarios that might be bothering Ana. Only one rings true: her father has just been in a major accident and his recovery will take some time.
Yes.
That’s it.
Grey, get a grip.
Raymond Steele is happy to see us. “Can’t thank you enough for organizing all this.” He waves at the airy room, his dark eyes full of quiet sincerity.
“Ray, you’re most welcome.” Uncomfortable with his gratitude, I change the subject. “I see you have a stack of sports magazines.”
“From Annie. I’ve been reading about the Mariners, and the season they’ve been having.” Ray launches into a diatribe about how disappointed he is with the M’s this year. I have to say, I’m with him; it’s not been a stellar season. Our conversation moves on to fishing. He’s sorry to miss out on his angling trip in Astoria, and I mention my recent fishing expedition in Aspen.
“Roaring Fork—I know it,” he says.
“You should come and stay. Maybe for a weekend, once you’re up and about.”
“I’d appreciate that, Christian.”
Throughout our discussion Ana is quiet.
Too quiet. She’s tuning out and going elsewhere.
It’s frustrating. Ana. What’s wrong?
Ray yawns. Ana glances at me, and I know it’s time to go. “Daddy, we’ll leave you to sleep.”
“Thanks, Ana honey. I like that you drop by. Saw your mom today, too, Christian. She was very reassuring. And she’s a Mariners fan!”
“She’s not crazy about fishing, though.”
“Don’t know many women who are, eh?” Ray’s smile is weary. He needs to rest.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Ana kisses his forehead, and there’s a trace of sadness in her voice.
Hell. Why is she sad? “Come.” I hold out my hand. Is she tired? Maybe what she needs is an early night.
Ana was quiet in the car and quiet when we got home, and now she’s just chasing her food around her plate with her fork, taciturn and distracted. My anxiety has climbed to DEFCON 1.
“Damn it! Ana, will you tell me what’s wrong?” I push my empty plate away. “Please. You’re driving me crazy.”
She turns apprehensive eyes to mine.
“I’m pregnant.”
What? I stare at her as a frisson of disbelief skitters down my spine, and for some unknown reason, I’m suddenly at the door of the skydiving plane, hanging over the world without a parachute, about to leap out.
Into the air.
Into nothing.
“What?” I don’t recognize my voice.
“I’m pregnant.”
That’s what I thought you said.
But I thought we took care of this.
“How?”
She tilts her head to one side and raises a brow.
Fuck. Anger like I’ve never felt before erupts inside me. “Your shot?” I snarl. “Did you forget your shot?”
She just stares at me, eyes glassy, as if she’s looking right through me, and says nothing.
I don’t want kids.
Not yet.
Not now. Panic knots in my chest and tightens around my throat, feeding my fury. “Christ, Ana!” I bang my fist on the table and stand. “You have one thing, one thing to remember. Shit! I don’t fucking believe it. How could you be so stupid?”
She closes her eyes, then stares down at her fingers. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Sorry? Fuck!” A child. What do I do with a child?
“I know the timing’s not very good.”
“Not very good!” My bellow echoes around the room. “We’ve known each other five fucking minutes! I wanted to show you the fucking world and now… Fuck! Diapers and vomit and shit—!” I close my eyes.
You won’t love me anymore.
“Did you forget? Tell me. Or did you do this on purpose?”
“No.” Her word is a quiet rush of denial.
“I thought we’d agreed on this!” And I don’t give a fuck who can hear me.
She cringes, folding in on herself. “I know. We had. I’m sorry.”
“This is why! This is why I like control—so shit like this doesn’t come along and fuck everything up!”
“Christian, please don’t shout at me.”
Fuck.
I’ll be displaced.
She starts to cry.
Don’t you dare, Ana. “Don’t start with waterworks now! Fuck.” I run a hand through my hair, trying to comprehend this colossal fuckup. “You think I’m ready to be a father?” My voice cracks on the last word.
She turns tear-filled eyes to me. “I know neither one of us is ready for this,” she mumbles, “but I think you’ll make a wonderful father. We’ll figure it out.”
“How the fuck do you know!” My voice clamors around the room. “Tell me how!”
She opens her mouth, and closes it again as tears stream down her face.
And there it is—her regret.
Regret that’s writ large in every feature of her face. Regret that she’s saddled with me.
I can’t bear it.
My fury is drowning me.
“Oh, fuck this!” I rage at the world and back away, holding up my hands in defeat.
I cannot do this—
I’m out of here.
Grabbing my jacket, I storm out of the room, slamming the foyer door. Frantically, I stab the call button, and even though the elevator is on our floor the doors take far too fucking long to open.
A child?
A fucking child?
I step into the elevator, but in my head I’m underneath a kitchen table, in a shambolic, grimy, neglected hovel, waiting for him to find me.
There you are, you little shit.
Hell and damnation.
Fuck, no.
On the ground floor, I slam through the main doors out of Escala and onto the sidewalk. I drag in a lungful of fresh fall air, but it does little to assuage the anger and fear that surge in equal measure through my veins. I need to get away. Instinctively, I turn right and start walking, barely noticing that it’s stopped raining.
I walk.
And walk.
In a daze.
Concentrating on the simple act of placing one foot in front of the other.
Blotting out all other thoughts.
Except one.
How could she do this to me?
How?
How can I love a child?
I’ve only just learned to love her.
When I look up, I’m at Flynn’s office. There’s no way he’s going to be here. The door doesn’t shift—it’s locked. I call him but get his voice mail. I don’t leave a message. I can’t trust myself.
Jamming my hands into the pockets of my jacket and ignoring the commuters on the streets, I trudge on.
Aimless.
When I look up, Elena is locking up the salon, shrouded in her usual black attire. We gaze at each other; she’s on one side of the glass, I’m on the other. She unlocks and opens the door.
“Hello, Christian. You look like shit.”
I stare at her, not knowing what to say.
“Are you coming in?”
I shake my head and step back.
Grey, what are you doing?
Somewhere deep in my subconscious an alarm is sounding.
I ignore it.
&nbs
p; Elena sighs and taps a scarlet nail against scarlet lips, her silver ring catching the evening light. “Shall we go for a drink?”
“Yes.”
“The Mile High?”
“No. Somewhere less crowded.”
“I see.” She tries and fails to hide her surprise. “Okay.”
“There’s a bar around the corner.”
“I know the one. It’s a quiet place. Let me grab my purse.”
Standing on the sidewalk while I wait for her, I feel numb.
I’ve just walked out on my pregnant wife.
But right now I’m too mad at her to care.
Grey, what are you doing?
I shake the disquieting voice from my head, and Elena steps out of her salon, locks the door, and with a slight nod of her head indicates right. I jam my hands farther into my pockets and together we walk the rest of the block, around the corner, and into the bar.
It’s had a considerable makeover since I was last here—it’s no longer a dive, but an upscale watering hole, all paneled wood and plush velvet seating. Elena was right—it is quiet except for Billie Holiday’s soft, melancholic voice over the sound system.
Apt.
We slide into a booth, and Elena signals for the waitress.
“Good evening, my name’s Sunny. What can I get you folks?”
“I’d like a glass of your Willamette pinot noir,” Elena says.
“A bottle,” I order, without looking at the waitress. Elena’s eyebrows rise a fraction, but she maintains her familiar air of cool detachment. Maybe that’s why I’m here; that’s what I’m looking for—cool detachment personified.
“Coming right up.” The young woman leaves us.
“So, all is not well in the world of Christian Grey,” Elena observes. “I knew I’d see you again.” Her eyes are fixed on mine and I don’t know what to say. “Like that, is it?” Elena fills the silence between us. “Did you get my text?”
“On my wedding day?”
“Yes.”
“I did. I deleted it.”
“Christian, I can feel your enmity from here. It’s coming off you in waves. But you wouldn’t be here if I was the enemy.”
I blow out a breath and sit back in the booth.
“Why are you here?” she asks, not unreasonably.
Fuck. “I don’t know.” Could I sound any more sullen?
“She’s left you?”
“Don’t.” I give her a glacial stare.
I don’t want to talk about Ana.