by Hart, Stella
And what about my dad? Did he know his wife was Q, or did she fool him like she fooled me and everyone else?
She pulled away from our embrace and reached for her teacup again. “So, what did you want to chat about?” she asked before taking a small sip. “I have some more ideas for the campaign if you want to hear them.”
I swallowed thickly. “I was actually hoping to get your advice on something.”
“What is it?”
“Uh… it’s a bit embarrassing,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck.
Mom patted my shoulder. “Don’t be silly, darling. I’m your mother. You can tell me anything.”
I let out a deep sigh. “All right,” I said, trying to make myself sound as reluctant as possible. “Willow and I had an argument at the party. I thought it was just a minor thing, but she ran off afterward, and I haven’t seen her since. I don’t know what to do.”
As I spoke, I stole a glance at my mother to gauge her reaction. The story about the argument obviously wasn’t true, but she didn’t know that. I only said it because I wanted to see how she would respond to the fact that I already knew Willow had gone missing, and I needed to bring it up in a way that made it seem as if I was totally clueless about what was really happening.
“Oh, no,” she said, raising one hand to her parted lips. “That’s terrible.”
Her face was the picture of innocence. Anyone else would’ve believed that she genuinely had no idea that Willow was gone.
I suppose it made sense. Willow once told me that Q had to be a fucking good liar. Had to have the ability to blend in smoothly and never raise any suspicions. My mom obviously had that game down pat.
I sighed again. “I thought she might’ve come home, but she’s not in our room. I don’t know where she is. I feel like a total fucking idiot.”
Her brows puckered together. “What prompted the argument?” she asked. “I thought you two were getting along really well.”
I threw my hands up. “We were. We’ve been happy together lately, even with all the horrible things that have been happening. She’s even started visiting Chloe with me.”
I paused to look at her again, wondering if the mention of my sister would spark even the tiniest flare of emotion in her eyes.
It didn’t. Her expression remained as pure and guiltless as ever.
She was a complete psychopath.
“So what happened tonight?” she asked, tilting her head to one side.
“Well, she seemed pretty miserable at the party. I know she’s still upset over her dad, and she has every right to be, because it’s barely been two weeks since he died, but I was hoping all the Christmas stuff would cheer her up a bit. I just hate seeing her sad. So I ended up saying something like ‘your dad would want you to smile and have fun tonight’.”
Mom sucked air through her teeth. “Probably not the best thing to say to a grieving woman.”
“I know. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I was just trying to cheer her up.”
She patted my shoulder. “Of course you were.”
I leaned forward and focused my gaze on the fire. “Anyway, she got really pissed and stormed away. I let her go. Figured she’d need some time to cool off.”
“Uh-huh.” Mom motioned for me to continue.
My jaw tightened. “I decided to go and apologize about half an hour after the fight. I couldn’t see her anywhere, so I tried texting and calling, but she didn’t respond to any of the messages, and my calls went straight to voicemail. It’s like she blocked my number or something.” I paused and blew out a heavy breath. “After that, I went and looked for her, but she’d disappeared from the party.”
She blinked. “How strange.”
“I know. I looked for her Secret Service detail, and they were gone too. So I know she’s safe. I just don’t know where the hell she is.” I put my head in my hands and let out another fake sigh. “Maybe I’m overreacting. She could’ve just gone up to her old bedroom in the White House and locked herself in, right?”
“Maybe. Did you try calling her detail?”
“Yes, when I got home. They said she was with them, but she couldn’t talk.”
“Then she’s obviously fine,” Mom said soothingly. “They wouldn’t lie.”
“I know, but I still can’t shake this horrible feeling,” I said, shaking my head. “Willow’s always been good at slipping her security detail. I’m worried she’ll run off alone because she’s so upset. Something bad could happen to her.”
“She wouldn’t do that.”
“She might,” I said. I put my head in my hands and let out a groan. “I just wish she’d reply to my messages or call me. I hate not knowing where she is or when she’s coming back.”
“I have an idea,” Mom said slowly.
I raised a brow. “What is it?”
“She might be mad at you right now, but she has no reason to be angry at me,” she said. “I could try calling her to see where she is and what she’s doing. Would that put your mind at ease?”
I flashed her a grateful smile. “That would be great. Thanks.”
She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “What’s her number? I don’t think I have her new one yet.”
I put the number in the phone’s keypad and handed it back. She abruptly stood, facing to the right so I couldn’t see whether or not she actually hit the dial button.
“It’s ringing,” she whispered to me a few seconds later.
To my surprise, I heard a faint ringing coming from the phone. She was obviously calling someone, but it definitely wasn’t Willow. Her phone was either off or broken, and every call went straight to the same automated voicemail message.
Whoever Mom was calling right now, it had to be a trusted contact. Someone who would play along with whatever the hell she said. Someone who might even have Willow with them right now.
Mom cleared her throat and spoke up a moment later. “Hello? Willow, it’s me. Liz,” she said, stepping over to the fireplace. “I’m sorry to call so late, but I just spoke to Logan, and he’s quite worried about you, so I thought I’d check in.”
She paused for a few seconds to let the person on the other end of the line respond. I couldn’t hear their voice at all; couldn’t tell if it was male or female, let alone if it was someone familiar to me. Mom had ensured that by stepping all the way over to the fire.
Dammit.
She spoke up again. “I know, he told me. It was insensitive, and he’s aware of that. He didn’t mean anything by it. He’s just worried now because he can’t get hold of you.” There was another long pause. “Oh, I completely understand,” she finally went on. “You’ve had such a rough time lately. First your mom’s scandal with Rutherford, and now your father… it’s awful.”
“What’s she saying?” I asked in a hushed voice, widening my eyes as if I actually believed Willow was on the other end of the line.
Mom waved her free hand at me to shush me and then turned away. “No, I think that’s actually a really good idea. I can explain it all to Logan, if you want. Uh-huh. Yes. Okay, sure.” Another pause. “You’re right. You could really use this, darling. Let me know if there’s anything you want me to send you from the house, okay? And make sure you tell me your exact plans once you’ve figured them out. All right. Yes, I will. Talk soon. Goodnight, sweetie.”
She ended the call and turned back to me. “You were right,” she said, slipping her phone back in her pocket. “She’s in her old bedroom at the White House. She said she went straight there after your argument.”
“Did she say why she isn’t talking to me?”
“Yes. She said she needs a bit of space for a while. She’s got a lot going on, and being around you all the time isn’t helping.”
I feigned a gloomy sigh. “Right.”
Mom held one palm up. “She wanted you to know she isn’t angry at you. She’s just upset and overwhelmed from everything that’s been going on, and tonight’s argument with you tipped her over
the edge. She needs a break from it all.”
I nodded slowly. “Did she say when she’s coming home?”
Mom’s lips tightened, and she returned to her spot on the sofa. “A week. Maybe two.”
“That long?” I said, brows shooting up.
“She said she called a couple of her friends to vent tonight, and they convinced her that it was a good idea to take a vacation. Apparently one of them has a luxury yacht in Miami. They want to take it down to the Caribbean and sail around there for a while.”
I frowned. “Are you kidding?”
“Just think about it,” she said, forehead creasing. “Willow’s had a terrible time lately, and all this winter doom and gloom isn’t helping. I think it’s a wonderful idea for her to get some sun. She needs it.”
“I guess so.” I gritted my teeth. There was no doubt in my mind that a week or two from now, the world would be informed of a freak yachting accident down in the Caribbean; one which tragically claimed the life of Willow Rhoades.
Fuck.
My only comfort right now was that I actually had some time to find Willow. Mom wouldn’t kill her immediately. That would be too suspicious. Besides, she’d need a few days to have her associates set up the whole thing and pay off—or threaten—some of Willow’s friends to make them play along with the so-called yacht vacation.
I was willing to bet she’d also take some time to make it seem as if Willow was happy and keeping in touch with everyone while she sunned herself in the Caribbean. I’d probably receive a call or voicemail from her at some stage in the next few days where she would claim to be fine and talk about how much she was enjoying her vacation.
Several other people would probably receive similar messages from her. That way no one would get suspicious about where she really was or how she really died once the news of her demise came out. No one would know that the messages they received were forced out of her, probably under threat of torture. No one would know that she was never actually in the Caribbean.
Mom let out a soft sigh and rubbed my forearm. “She made it very clear that it’s not your fault, darling. She’s been considering this vacation for a while now, and she would’ve gone whether you two argued tonight or not.”
“I get it,” I muttered. “She needs a break after all the shit that’s gone down. I just wish I could hear it from her, you know?”
She smiled again. “She promised she’d call you in a few days when she’s all settled on the yacht.”
There it is. A few days from now, I’d receive that coerced phone call or voicemail.
“That’s good.” I pasted on a faint smile of my own. “Thanks for supporting her so much, Mom. She deserves it.”
“Of course! I love Willow, and I love how happy she makes you,” she said, clasping her hands together. Her eyes took on a dreamy expression. “I can’t wait for your wedding.”
Christ, she was a good actress.
“Me neither,” I said, acting my ass off just as much. “Maybe we should start planning it while she’s away.”
“What a lovely idea.”
She started prattling on about venues and floral arrangements, and I nodded every few seconds, pretending she had my full attention even though my mind was elsewhere.
I needed to get a look at her phone log. Find out who she really called a few minutes ago.
I cut into her excited chatter a moment later, pressing a palm against my forehead. “Shit, I completely forgot. The Capitals were meant to play the Ducks tonight. I was going to watch the game, but we ended up going to the party instead. Do you mind if I use your phone to check the final score? Mine’s dead from trying to call Willow so many times.”
Mom’s smile wavered for a split second. “Of course,” she said, holding out her phone.
Even though she was offering it up to me, she didn’t let go of it. She obviously wanted to make sure she was in control. Wanted to make sure I didn’t see anything I wasn’t supposed to.
I would have to be very careful how I played this.
I leaned forward, one finger hovering over the phone. “I can never remember how to use Androids,” I muttered. “It’s this green button for the internet, right?” I clicked on a button on the home screen and brought up the call log. “Nope, that’s not it,” I went on, immediately swiping out of it. “Blue button?”
Mom nodded. “Yes, that one there.”
I opened the browser and searched for recent ice hockey scores. “Dammit,” I said, blowing out a short, frustrated breath, as if I actually gave a fuck about the results of tonight’s game. “The Ducks came from 5-1 down with only five minutes of the second period left. They won 6-5.”
“Oh, well,” Mom replied, tilting her head to one side. “Remember, darling, it’s just a game.”
I stared at the fireplace, nostrils flaring slightly. “Yeah. Just a game.”
Just like our lives, thanks to you, I thought bitterly. Every single person in this country was a pawn in her sick fucking game, whatever the hell it was.
I watched her slide the phone back in her pocket out of the corner of my eye, wishing she hadn’t kept her gaze locked on the screen the entire time. I couldn’t blame her, though. If I was the secret leader of the Order and needed to conceal my identity at all costs, I wouldn’t let anyone use my phone without watching them like a hawk. In fact, she’d probably only let me take it for a few seconds because I was her son. Anyone else would’ve been shit out of luck.
The few seconds she gave me weren’t entirely fruitless, though. In the split second I had the call log up on the screen, I’d managed to verify that her most recent call wasn’t to Willow’s number. I didn’t have time to memorize the whole number she’d called, but I saw enough to know that it had three nines at the end and was saved as a contact named ‘T’.
I looked back at the roaring fire, frowning as I wondered who T was. The only people I could think of whose names started with that letter were Teddy Rutherford and his father, but they were both stone cold dead, so it obviously wasn’t them.
Then again, T was probably yet another code name. He—or she—could be anyone in the world.
I couldn’t give up on trying to figure out who it was, though, because my mom was a total dead end. She wasn’t going to give me a single scrap of useful information regarding Willow’s real whereabouts. That left me with only one option.
If I wanted to have a chance in hell at rescuing Willow before it was too late, I needed to follow this lead, as tiny and fragmented as it was.
I needed to find T.
3
Willow
“Wake up. We’re nearly there.”
I opened my eyes and winced as Jamie pinched my arm. “I’m awake,” I said. My mouth and throat were so parched that my voice came out in a croak.
For one blissful moment, I couldn’t remember anything that had happened over the last twelve hours. Then the memories came back in a deluge of darkness and misery, and my stomach flipped.
After I discovered the truth of the situation I’d stupidly stepped into last night, my survival instincts kicked in. I thought if I could make it out to the upper deck of the yacht and dive into the water, I would have a decent chance at escaping my fate, even though the river was ice-cold. Hypothermia was a risk I was willing to take if it meant I could escape the horrifying auction Q and her minions had planned for me.
In my attempt to make it past Jamie, I kicked and clawed and screamed like a banshee. I even bit him a couple of times and kneed him right in the balls. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I didn’t achieve anything other than wearing myself out and screaming myself hoarse.
Jamie was much stronger than me, so he could easily stop me from going anywhere, and when I kneed him in the balls, he simply grimaced and injected me with some sort of sedative. That kept me quiet as we headed out to open waters, and the next few hours passed in a dazed blur.
I knew we wound up sailing all the way down to North Carolina, just like Jamie sai
d we would, because I had a fuzzy memory of him and his friend Alex pulling me off the yacht and stuffing me into the back of a black car at a small marina somewhere around dawn. There was a sign on the edge of that marina that said: ‘Welcome to Wilmington’.
After Alex drove us to a small airfield, they put me on a plane, and we headed north again. I fell asleep during the flight after Jamie stuck me with another needle, so I had no recollection of landing—let alone any idea of where we landed—and now I was in the back of yet another car, tired and sore.
“Where are we?” I mumbled, rubbing my bleary eyes.
“You don’t need to know that,” Jamie said. He leaned forward and addressed the driver. “It’s the next left.”
I sat up straight and looked through the window as the car turned onto a winding road lined by towering fir trees. A stone wall with tall black iron gates in the center came into view a moment later. Ivy and ferns grew through the crevices on the wall, giving it an ancient feel.
The gates swung open at our approach, and my eyes widened as we pulled into the long driveway beyond. A colossal chateau loomed proudly in the distance.
My heart pounded with nervous energy as we drew closer. The beautiful four-story building, with all its slate cones projecting into the cool winter sky, looked like the inspiration for every fairytale storybook I read as a child.
The walls were made with pale gray stone, and the slanted roof was covered with overlapping charcoal-colored tiles dotted with narrow chimneys and turrets. The windows on the ground floor were tall, mullioned and almost cathedral-like, and at the front and center of the manor, a set of wide double doors were sheltered by a stout stone portico.
The place was surrounded by tranquil gardens filled with purple and white flowers and marble statues. Beyond that lay seemingly endless rows of firs and pines, their deep green needles dusted with the first snowflakes of the season.
“Wow,” I said, my voice barely above a murmur. I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but it slipped out anyway.
