The others in the room were trying so hard not to look at us, abruptly, I started to laugh at the sheer stupidity
of it.
Spinning away, I tried to get myself under control. There was nothing humorous about this. Nothing. It was all just crazy…and sad. Scary. Once I had that final, bitter laugh out, I looked over at him one last time. “I was walking by the phone when it rang. I saw her number and started to call for you. It’s not my fault that you were too busy to pay attention.”
His eyes had turned to shards of ice, but I met them dead on and gave him a derisive sneer before I turned away.
“It's curious…” Ash’s voice was even colder than his stare had been and I wouldn’t have thought that was possible. But even more cutting than his tone, his gaze? The words. “You came in when you clearly weren't needed.”
Or wanted
. The words hung there, unsaid, but heard all the same.
“And then the
one
fucking phone call that’s received? Who's here to answer it, at the exact right time? You. One might call it a coincidence.”
I turned and stared at him. A different kind of quiet covered the room.
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” he said softly.
The implication almost sent me staggering. But one lesson I’d learned early on. Never let them know they hurt you. I’d cry, later. Much later.
“Ash?” I gave him my most brazen smile. “Fuck you.”
***
Victor looked decidedly aggravated as we sat down at the pub, finding a table in the far back, away from the noise, away from the band, away from the front door…and the cops.
“You’ve got cops following you again?” I asked as I slid into the seat across from him. After my little run-in with Ash – no matter how many times I tried to get myself to think of him as Mr. Lang, I kept reverting to Ash – I wasn't in the best of moods either.
“Happens from time to time. What am I going to do?” He jerked a shoulder like it didn't matter, but I knew him better than that. While he didn't seem to be able to completely stay away from the life, he hated the general assumption that he was up to no good. It was one of the reasons he rarely got to see his son. The judge hadn't even blinked when she'd given Rachelle full custody.
We sat in silence a moment, sipping from our respective drinks. Vic always went for the cheapest shit beer, which I'd always thought strange, since when it came to everything else, he went for the things that were out of his reach.
I was on my second rum and coke, and lamenting over my lack of foresight. I should have requested a double. I didn't care that it was barely mid-afternoon. I was going to need it, the way things were going. I was scared for Isadora. I'd missed an important final and even if I could pass my class without it, I didn't like not doing things. And, of course, there was always the looming question of my employment.
If I lost my job, what would I do?
I only had a couple more months until I finished my degree and I'd already started scouting out places to send my resumé. Hopefully, by the time I got my diploma, I'd have a job lined up. But that wouldn't do me any good if I lost this one now.
After the server put down a basket of fries, I swiped one before Victor could drown them in salt, then asked, “I guess you haven’t heard of anything.”
He shook his head. “No.” He glanced around and then asked in a low voice, “How come none of this is on the news, Toni? She’s a fucking heiress. It should be a headline story. I mean, people are talking, but not as much as they should be.”
“Her brother shut them down, I guess.” I tipped my glass in Vic's direction. “What can I say? Money talks.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Victor sighed, his face grim. “It sings, Toni. Like a fucking siren.”
“That’s almost poetic.”
He surprised me with a quick, rakish grin, the kind that had come much easier when he'd been younger.
“I’m a regular renaissance man.” He reached out and put his hand over mine. “I’m sorry, Toni. I know you want to help and I want to help you. It feels like…I dunno, redemption, in a way. But nothing's turning up.”
I wrapped both of my hands around his bigger one. “Keep your ears open?”
“Bet your ass.”
Chapter 8
Ash
“Yes, yes. I've got it.” I closed my eyes as Melody Strum, my assistant, rattled off a few more details about the upcoming takeover.
I hadn't been to work since Isadora had been kidnapped, but it had been nearly a week and things had to be done. I had a board, but I was the CEO and I was usually the one who made all of the important decisions. Except, how was I expected to work at a time like this? My brain was feeding me every horror story I'd ever heard or read about kidnappings.
This was my worst nightmare. Only it was real.
And whenever I tried to stop thinking about Isadora and find something else to distract me, that something else was always Toni. I had a tangle inside me because of her – anger, need, frustration…amusement.
I wanted to bend her over my knee and spank her until she couldn't sit for some of the things she said, but at the same time, there was a part of me that still found her anger almost cute. She was just so tiny that seeing so much rage coming from her was shocking.
Even when she was yelling at me, I’d been torn between yelling back and kicking everybody else so I could take out my frustration in another way. Between her thighs while her nails sank into my shoulders, and I felt the hot, sweet grab of her pussy again.
“Mr. Lang?”
The sound of Melody's voice jerked me back to attention. “I'm sorry.” Rubbing at my eyes, I said, “My mind was somewhere else.”
“That's totally understandable.” Her voice was apologetic, full of concern.
She'd been with me for nearly twelve years and knew me better than most. And the one thing I knew she understood was how much I loved my sister.
“If we could've waited on this, you know I wouldn't bother you.”
I nodded, and then remembered we were on the telephone and she couldn't see me. “I know that. That's why you're paid big bucks, right?” I tried to lighten my tone for the last part.
She came back with a typical Melody response. “Well, that being the case, Mr. Lang, you do know I'm up for my annual review and raise next month?”
She managed to get a laugh out of me, and we were able to finish the rest of our business. As soon as I hung up, however, I was left to my own thoughts.
And those thoughts weren't good.
Mentally, I counted off each day since she’d disappeared. Monday evening to Friday morning. I broke those days down into hours, then minutes. So many things could be done to a helpless woman in that many minutes, hours, days. Had I even tried to make sure she knew how to take care of herself if she needed to? Or had I arrogantly assumed that my money could provide enough protection? Maybe instead of trying to protect her from the world, I should have been preparing her for it.
The kidnapper still hadn't called back.
It
was
my fault.
Knowing it didn’t lessen my anger at Toni any, though. I’d been losing myself in a Sub because Toni had been on my mind too much, and I’d hoped I could clear her out so I could think about my sister. Toni was a distraction, and one I couldn’t afford. Especially not now.
Pounding my fist on the arm of my chair, I stared into the gloomy corners of my shadowed office. I hadn’t turned on the lights when I'd come in during the early hours of the morning. I hadn't been able to sleep. I hadn’t showered. Or eaten breakfast. I wasn't even sure I'd eaten dinner last night either. I didn't care though. I wasn't hungry.
I sat in my office and brooded about Toni, worried about Isadora. I tried to think about work, but my thoughts kept going back to the two women, alternating between them and how I could've, should've, done things differently.
Lost in my thoughts, I didn't know how long I sat in the dark. The knock at the door and the subsequent opening allowed light to spin inside, forcing me to fling up a hand to block out the glare.
Doug stood in the door, his posture rigid. He turned on the lights and I grimaced. Light and I weren’t getting along very well these days. I was pretty sure the alcohol wasn’t helping in that respect.
“I’m quite certain you're not helping Isadora by sitting here in the dark, sir.” Doug folded his hands in front of him. His face was polite, but I could hear the disapproval in his voice. It bothered me more than I liked.
Since when had Doug started to hate me? He'd taken me Christmas shopping as a child.
A lifetime ago.
“What do you want?” I demanded, wanting him to just leave me alone.
“You have a guest. A Stanley Kowalski. Are you home?”
“No.” I glared at him with one eye while I rubbed at the other. “I’m on the damn moon. What’s it look like?”
Doug’s disapproving eyebrows drew lower and tighter over his eyes. “Are you receiving visitors on the moon, sir?” He didn't even try to hide the sarcasm this time.
“Kowalski’s not a visitor.” I shoved a hand through my hair and tried to pull myself together. “He’s the investigator I hired to look for Isadora. And Doug, yank that stick out of your ass before I beat you with it.”
“You would have a hard time doing that, sitting in this room and letting guilt eat you alive. Sir.” The older man’s face softened slightly. “I'll allow you a few minutes to compose yourself before I bring Mr. Kowalski back.”
“
Allow
me.” Muttering under my breath, I shoved back from my desk instead up. Various kinks and stiff muscles protested movement. I hadn’t been doing much of anything but sitting in this room when I didn't have the cops and FBI here. My clothes were wrinkled and I was pretty sure I didn't smell that good. No wonder Doug looked so disgusted.
I needed to get off my ass.
Ten minutes later, Doug showed Stanley Kowalski into my office.
The investigator was a skinny man with graying hair and sharp, intelligent eyes hidden behind narrow-rimmed spectacles. When I hired him, he'd told me he had gone into private work after he'd retired from the force. He didn't look like a cop. I figured that must be a bonus as an investigator. Somebody like him showed up at the door, a person would expect some sort of sales pitch or a request for donations to a local ministry.
Definitely not law enforcement.
“Please tell me you have something,” I said as I stood.
“Afraid not.” He shook my hand and then lowered himself into the chair across from my desk. “As soon as I have anything, I'll call you immediately.”
“Yeah.” I moved to the window and stared outside. It faced out over a small, private garden. Isadora loved our garden. We had a larger one at our house in the Hamptons, but she spent a lot of time here in this one. I sometimes thought she’d live out there if she could. What if she–
“Don’t give up hope, Mr. Lang.”
I looked over at Kowalski. He had a worn, lived-in sort of face. The kind of face that made you think he’d done it all and seen it all, the kind that made you want to believe him. I wanted to. But Isadora was the optimist. Not me. Not after everything I'd been through. Everything I'd lost.
“What brings you over here then?” I asked.
He didn’t beleaguer his point.
Gesturing to my desk, he said, “May I?”
I nodded and pushed aside the clutter that had gathered there over the past few days. I watched as he pulled out a folder and began to lay out several black and whites, glossy, close-angle images of a man I didn’t know. Suddenly, I clenched my jaw, reaching out to snag one of the pictures. It was of Toni. With the guy.
They were sitting in a bar or something.
The look on their faces…it was one of familiarity. My stomach clenched at the expression on her face. She was smiling, the sort of smile someone only gave to a person to whom they were close.
I continued to go through the pictures. In a few of them, I could tell they were trying hard to keep from being overheard, their heads and bodies bent towards each other. When I came to the end, I looked up at Kowalski.
“What is this?” I asked, my gut a tight, ugly snarl.
“I assume you recognize the woman.”
“Get to the point.” Flinging the images down on the desk, I crossed my arms over my chest and waited. My heart was pounding so hard, I almost felt sick. Kowalski had better have a good explanation or I was going to be even more pissed than I already was.
“The man with her is her brother, Victor Gallagher. Are you aware of his…?” Kowalski paused and then forged ahead. “His somewhat checkered past?”
I snorted. “Yes. He’s a thug.”
“He’s a bit more than your typical thug.” Kowalski rubbed his hands together and looked away, obviously taking care with his words. “Now, please understand. I’m not making accusations, but I think it’s just worth…well, knowing. When Victor Gallagher was eighteen, he was arrested on felony drug charges, but testified against the guy he was running for. Word on the street was that the guy was trying to edge into some other family's business, and the kid was setting him up, but things went south. Kid got pinched. His lawyer made a deal, and because the guy wasn't from the neighborhood, the kid testified. He got six months and has been clean ever since. Or, at least, hasn't gotten caught. There have been rumors though.”