Authors: Selma Wolfe
She
took a deep, shuddering breath and scrubbed a hand over her face. “But I don’t
know… I just don’t know, okay? Can I just…”
Rick
looked the closest to truly unhappy she’d ever seen him, and the sight made her
chest ache, but he nodded. Hope watched his throat work as he swallowed and
then gave her a smile that didn’t reach all the way to his eyes.
“Of
course. I’ll just… leave you here.” He walked over to the door and then paused
with a hand on the doorknob.
He
looked over his shoulder and gave her a tiny real smile. “You could always get
through some more of Jane Eyre,” he suggested, and then he was gone.
Hope
shook her head incredulously and dropped down into one of the plush chairs like
her strings had been cut. That was Rick, wasn’t it? He thought he knew what
everyone else should do with their time. Circumstances made it so that he
could
think that way.
She
rubbed a hand over her face a second time. It felt like it should clarify
things, but it didn’t.
The
simmering anger of before had all but drained out of her by now; Hope had long
since trained herself to leave it behind the same way she’d left careless
laughter. Anger did you no good in a fight, except perhaps in the heat of the
moment when your blood was up anyway.
Rick
wouldn’t change. People didn’t, generally. He would continue to order people
around and presume on their time because he’d never needed to know any better.
Sometimes she would be the person he was ordering around. The idea was annoying
but not infuriating. He would be a pain in the ass from time to time, but so
would she. Rick would continue being his kind, brilliant, insufferable self.
And Hope couldn’t imagine anything she actually wanted more than to experience
it. Not even those wild plains that were already starting to blur in her mind.
What
did she think she was leaving behind, anyway? Danger and utter freedom, and
yes, she might miss it, but at one point she’d wanted to leave it behind too.
That was why she was here.
Sometime
in the middle of her inner turmoil Hope just gave up and fell asleep curled up
in the plush chair, toeing off her GSG9s and laying her head down on the wide
armrest.
When
she woke up the sun was lower and shadows arced out over the room from the high
windows. She blinked and came back to herself slowly. She felt warm and safe
and comfortable. Like this was home.
Yes to
whatever you’re thinking, to whatever you want.
She
could have this. This could really be her home. This could be her life.
Hope’s
lips flattened into a thin line and she nodded decisively to herself. Change
was inevitable. And fear was not an excuse.
Hope
laced up her boots and got out of her chair. As she walked to the door, she
swept a reflexive glance over the room. Her gaze landed on the empty table and
she blinked at it, surprised. She wondered who had taken
Jane Eyre
.
Human nature being what it was, now that it was gone she kind of wished she’d
had the chance to read it.
She
wandered through the halls, peering around doorways, but the mansion was quiet
and still. Even the kitchen was empty. Hope wondered if Trinity had gone
somewhere or if she was just in her private rooms. She wished Trinity was still
around; she could’ve used an ear to bounce things off of. She fingered the cell
phone in her pocket half-heartedly, then pushed on all the way to her own room.
The
room was as still as the hallway. Hope looked around. You could barely tell
that somebody was staying in her room. What baggage did she have? A bag full of
clothes and gear, neat and black and anonymous. If she lost any of it, she
wouldn’t care. Usually that was a point of pride for her. Usually she was
pleased to bypass the luggage lines at the airport. But this afternoon as she
sat on her bed and looked around, Hope felt very aware of the fact that her
only real impact on this room that she’d spent weeks in was the indent pressed
into the bed around her body. It would be gone as soon as she stood up.
Did she
want to live like this forever?
Unsettled,
Hope got up and rapped on the door between her room and Rick’s. There was no
answer. She waited a moment and dialed his cell phone.
There
was no answer - but after a second, a loud ring echoed in the other room.
Hope’s
key was in the door before she’d fully processed her thoughts.
She
turned the key in the lock quietly and dodged to one side of the doorframe as
she pulled it open. The room was dark and quiet. Hope dropped to her haunches
and peered around into the darkness. There was no sign of another person, no
shadowy outline, and there was a limit to caution.
Especially
when Rick might be in danger.
She
swiftly stood back up and stepped into the room; flicked on the light.
Whatever
had happened - and something had happened, she was sure, because Rick went
nowhere without his phone, occupational hazard of owning a Fortune 500 company,
he’d told her with an exaggerated wink and an honest barely audible sigh - it
hadn’t happened here. Rick’s room looked both pristine and exactly the way it
had looked yesterday.
Though
she didn’t linger over it long, Hope still noticed the human touches that were
missing from her own space. A variety of ties that all looked the same were
thrown over the back of his desk chair; an assortment of papers that were also
identical to her were strewn over the desk itself. There was a framed picture
of what Hope assumed were Rick’s parents shoved off to the back of the desk.
Lab coats were draped over the end of his bed. Half of them were stained. One
of them was missing an entire arm and Hope really didn’t want to know what he’d
done to it. A painting consisting of several haphazard slashes of blue was hung
on the wall. Hope assumed it was expensive.
Her
gaze snagged on a black and white picture that looked like it was torn out of a
newspaper. It wasn’t hung or pinned to the wall, it was just sitting carelessly
on top of the printer. But there was no dust on it when Hope lifted it with
gentle fingers.
Two
familiar faces stared out at her and she had to fight down an audible gasp. It
was a picture of her and Rick on that yacht, snapped from a distance. There was
a caption underneath that read:
Billionaire Rick Stone’s new playmate?
Hope
wondered that too. She set down the picture and pulled up the trapdoor without
another glance back.
Rick
wasn’t in the tunnel, and he wasn’t in his lab either, and Hope was very
grateful that she always carried a light on her person. By the time she climbed
back up out of the tunnel she was starting to feel a threatening buzz of panic
around the edges of her thoughts.
She
gave the room a last look before she headed back out, and this time she noticed
a particular book sitting on Rick’s nightstand. Hope wasn’t given to indulging
inexplicable urges, but nevertheless she was across the room and had the book
in her hands before she’d really thought it through. Since the book was already
in her hands, she idly flipped it open, thinking that perhaps she’d leave a
note for Rick between the pages. The pages came apart to
“I would always
rather be happy than dignified”
and a plain piece of paper scribbled over
with looping black handwriting.
We have
your lover. Come to 354 West Farthing St at 10:00 tonight. Tell no one or your
lover dies.
As
smoothly as the mechanisms of a clock, Hope’s brain switched into security
mode. She flipped over the paper, but the back was blank. She looked carefully
through the book and shook it out, but there was nothing else. Nothing but this
note.
Rick.
Years
of practice were more than adequate for Hope to tamp down the panic that
threatened to rise inside her, but it was so much more difficult to do for Rick
than it was for herself, or for any other client before him. Of course it was.
Rick refused to conform; refused to be like anyone or anything else she’d ever
known.
A fresh
wave of panic threatened to well up in her. Hope reached out and grabbed the
back of a nearby chair and squeezed until the wood creaked in protest.
Meanwhile,
half of her mind coolly carried on making plans. The smart thing to do would
probably be to phone the police, but Hope had no mind for technology. If she
tried anything sly, she’d be taking the risk that the kidnappers meant their
threat. Not a risk she was willing to take.
She’d
let Rick walk out the door after he’d all but laid his heart at her feet. He
probably thought she didn’t even care. Why hadn’t she been kinder, braver? Why
couldn’t she have just admitted what she wanted? Was she really so afraid of
change?
Boran
might be an acceptable risk. She wouldn’t call him herself, but Trinity
probably wouldn’t question her too hard if Hope asked her to relay a message.
The more people you added to a situation the more difficult it got, but you didn’t
walk into the mouth of a lion without rigging a few traps yourself.
All
those old sayings were intensely irritating and undeniably true - you really
didn’t know what you had until you lost it. If she could just get him back
safely, Hope wouldn’t hesitate. She knew what she wanted now. She wanted Rick.
It wasn’t like her old life was anything to miss - she had enjoyed her work,
but it had been so long since she’d really cared about someone that the
awareness of Rick being
gone
felt like a clawing wound had opened up in
her chest.
Rick
would probably happily throttle her for it, but Hope was more than willing to
give up his secrets if it would keep him alive. She didn’t know what to look
for, but Hope felt qualified at least to grab something from the lab that
looked important.
She
grabbed the note. Grabbed the book. Grabbed Rick’s cell phone. She walked over
to the printer and stared down at the newspaper clipping. In the picture Rick
was grinning at her, crooked and honest. Her own face was smooth and expressionless,
obscured by dark sunglasses and loose strands of hair blowing in the sea
breeze.
Hope
left the picture lying there and walked out. Before she’d even gotten out of
the room she was on her cell phone, making another call.
“Boran.
I need a favor…”
Over
the phone Boran sounded sympathetic, and more importantly, bored. “Yes, of
course, I will come help,” he said with a wry twist to his words. “My employer
was not too pleased after the events of the other night.”
Hope
winced, though it wasn’t really her fault. Still, prevention was everything in
the executive protection industry. It didn’t really matter whether or not it
was realistically your fault. Unless your employer was in love with you, the
cynical part of her mind noted.
“Sorry
about that,” she said, which was appropriately noncommittal.
Boran
brushed it off good-naturedly. “He was a nightmare anyhow. I’ll be there soon,
and you can fill me in on the rest of the details.” She told him only that
there was a problem and she needed backup. Just in case someone was listening.
It wasn’t much of a cover, but she had to do something.
By the
time Boran promised to be there soon and Hope got off the phone, she was
halfway through the house. She finished her walk-through without any clues and
walked outside. The garden was empty except for a breeze that swayed the
flowers and hedges toward her. The lovely scent was overpowering; Hope sneezed
and beat a retreat to the front of the house.
She ran
a hand over the front of the cherry red car she’d driven Rick in. There was
nowhere else to go unless she wanted to retrace her steps. For the first time,
her heart threatened to fail her. She stared down at the copy of
Jane Eyre
that
she was still clutching in her hand.
The
purr of an engine reached her ears and Hope looked up.
It was
a sleek black car that was deceptively simple; the paint job was probably worth
more than her life. Hope watched it pull in smoothly behind red car and
strained her eyes to look past the tinted windows. She walked around to the
driver’s side of the car.
This
wasn’t Boran, she knew that.
The car
door opened.
“Hey, I
was wondering if - WHOA, okay, I know I was kind of an ass but can we, uh, can
we talk about this?” Rick craned his neck to look wide-eyed over his head at
the downward arc of the book Hope was holding frozen in midair.
Her
body responded before her mind did and she let the book drop to her side;
stepped back and stared.
“You
weren’t an ass, a little pushy, but -
oh my God you’re alright
.” A rush
of relief so intense it was almost sickening rushed over her. The book dropped
from her hand and she lunged forward into Rick’s arms. She flattened her body
up against his, pressing as close as possible. One of her hands wound into his
hair while her other hand grabbed a handful of his expensive shirt to keep him
close. She was probably wrinkling and stretching the material irrevocably, the
rational part of her mind noted. She didn’t care. She didn’t let go.