by Rebecca York
“No. When we woke up, she came downstairs, and we talked about it. We were together in the dream. But I couldn’t do it today.”
“Well, the conditions certainly weren’t ideal, since you had to be focused on driving. But now that you can relax here, I want you to try that again,” Frank said gently.
“I . . .”
“I mean lie down. Close your eyes. Go into a simulation of the VR and see if you can get her to meet you there.”
Grant dragged in another breath and let it out. “I guess it’s worth a shot.” He looked around the room. “And while I’m trying to do that—you’ll be working on a plan to get her out of Oakland’s clutches?”
“Yes,” Frank said.
Grant was torn. He wanted to be in on the strategy session, but at the same time he knew Frank had a point. He had a chance to do something nobody else could, something that might make a crucial difference in getting Jenny out of there alive.
“Okay.”
“Go into one of the bedrooms. See what you can do,” Frank said, reinforcing the words with an encouraging hand on Grant’s shoulder.
He felt like a man who had fallen off the side of a cliff and was grasping at branches and clumps of vegetation, trying to stop his downward plummet. But he had learned to trust Frank’s judgment. And just maybe he could do this—if he was desperate enough.
oOo
Grant left the rest of the Decorah agents in the media room and walked down a hallway, looking into the bedrooms. There were four, each with its own bath. He chose the master, which had a king-size bed and drapes he could pull across the windows to shut out the light. After darkening the room, he folded back the spread, arranged a couple of pillows to cradle his head and kicked off his shoes. Lying down, he let himself sink into comfortable mattress. He had hardly gotten any sleep the night before. Then he’d driven up here in a reckless dash. Now that he was lying down, he had to fight to keep from drifting off. But he gathered his focus and started picturing the VR. He went in through the room Lily had set up as a transition. From there he walked into the lobby, greeted the woman behind the desk the way he had on his last visit, and hurried out the back of the building and down to the pool area. There he stepped into the cabana where he and Jenny had made love. Only this was the version she had conjured up—a bedroom that was much more opulent than the original.
He felt his chest tighten as he looked around the beautifully appointed space. He had held Jenny in his arms here last night. And he would again, he vowed, as he climbed into the bed.
It had been easy to take himself to this place. Now he faced the hard part. He thought about how Jenny had called him to this bedroom. Not by using words. One moment he had been in the great room of the safe house. In the next, he had been holding her in his arms—here.
“Jenny,” he murmured as he imagined her with him, lying on this bed, reaching out to him.
When long moments passed and nothing changed, he clamped his teeth together to keep from screaming in frustration.
With a sense of defeat, he pushed himself up and opened his eyes. The view was a sudden shock. He had been in the fancy bed chamber Jenny had designed for the two of them. Now he was back in the house where the Decorah agents were camped out. And they were all down the hall, hoping he could connect with Jenny. Too bad it hadn’t worked.
With a groan, he swung his legs off the bed, stood up and crossed to the bathroom, where he turned on the water in the sink and splashed some onto his face before drying off. When he raised his eyes and looked in the mirror, he saw a man with bloodshot eyes and the dark shadow of a beard.
Maybe he was too tired. Maybe there was no way to make this work. But he wasn’t going to give up until he had exhausted every avenue.
Returning to the bed, he eased down again and lay for a few moments with his eyes closed, imagining himself back in the VR bedroom.
“Jenny, I want to be with you again. I know you left the safe house because you thought you had to. Maybe you thought I was better off without you. But it’s not true. I love you. I want to be with you.” He stopped, letting that reality sink in before continuing. “You’re in danger now. I can help you, but you have to come back to me. In your mind. The way we did it last night,” he whispered.
As he spoke, he tried to make his imagination more vivid. Breathing deeply, he pictured Jenny lying beside him on the bed.
Could he smell her unique scent? Could he hear her take a ragged breath?
When he felt the mattress shift, his heart leaped. Still afraid to open his eyes, he slowly reached out—and felt her warm body. Gently he cupped his hand over her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her skin and the strong muscles below.
With a sigh, he ran his fingertips down her arm, brushed against her ribs, her hip.
He was still afraid to open his eyes and find he was making it all up. Yet her body felt so real. And when he wrapped his arms around her, she molded herself against him.
“Jenny, thank God.”
“Grant?”
When she spoke his name, he still couldn’t be sure if he was creating the whole experience, or if he had really brought her here.
“Grant?” she said again.
His lids snapped open and he found himself staring into her face. She was wearing an almost transparent gown of some gauzy material.
Like him, she looked as though she couldn’t quite believe that they were in the fantasy room again.
“Is it really you?” she asked. “I’m not just imagining this?”
“No. It’s really me”
“Where are we?” she whispered.
“In the same room that you made last night.”
“How?”
“I think because we both wanted it so much.” He swallowed hard. “Jenny, we belong together.”
“Are you sure?”
He answered her question with one of his own. “Why did you leave?”
“I knew I was risking your life by staying.”
He tried to think what to say next. He wanted to tell her that she’d taken a terrible chance by leaving the safe house, but he saw no point in accusations
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Her voice was hesitant. “I don’t know.”
“Is Malcolm Oakland going to hurt you?”
She caught her breath. “You know his name?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“You told me the name of the guy who came after you—Carlos Mardano. He works for Oakland.”
She answered with a small nod. Then her eyes widened. “You heard that?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
He swallowed hard. “I was afraid you were going to try and run away again, and I thought about how you might do it. The sleeping pills in your bathroom were fakes.”
“Oh,” she said in a small voice.
“I’m sorry. I had to keep you safe.”
“By lying to me?” Her image shimmered, and he was afraid she was going to disappear.
Gripping her shoulders, he said, “I think we each did things we weren’t proud of because we were each trying to protect the other.” Quickly he continued. “You don’t have time to be angry with me now. Do it later after we get you out of there.”
His heart pounded as she considered that, then gave a little nod. “Okay.”
He let out the breath he’d been holding. “Who is Oakland? And why does he want to hurt you?”
“Because I disobeyed him, and anyone who does that must be punished.”
“And what is he to you?”
She made a strangled sound but kept her gaze steady. “He’s my father.”
Grant couldn’t hold back a sharp exclamation. “Did I hear that right? Your father? This is all about your father?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve heard so many stories from you; why should I believe this one?”
Her face contorted. “It’s the one that I couldn’t force myself to say, so I made stu
ff up.”
Still trying to come to terms with this new reality, he said, “You don’t have the same last name.”
“I told you my parents were dead. Really, my mom managed to get away one night—with the help of a guard she seduced, I think. Or maybe they were in love. I have her last name because she and my father never married. And if you know who he is, you must know he’s a big New Jersey crime boss.”
Grant nodded.
“She hooked up with him, then realized she’d made a big mistake.” She sighed. “He can be charming when he wants to be. But after she was living at the estate, she discovered what he was really like. He runs the place with an iron hand. And his sister, my Aunt Sophie, helps.” she paused. “Or she did. I think he sent Auntie away after I ran. Or maybe he killed her because she didn’t keep a good enough eye on me.”
He shuddered. “Your father would kill his sister?”
“He’d kill anyone.”
Grant tried to absorb her words before asking. “Your mom didn’t take you with her when she left?”
Jenny’s expression grew sad. “I think she loved me—sort of. But when it came to her getting away, she knew she had a better chance without me, because Dad had decided he wanted to hang on to me. When I was a little girl, he didn’t give a fig about me. But later I became important to him. Not because he loved me, but because he saw me as a valuable commodity. He wanted to cement his relationship with another mob because his guys and their guys were killing each other. And he figured the best way to do it was to marry his daughter to the son of the rival boss.”
“So that stuff about your being a teacher and meeting the father of one of your students was. . .”
“A lie,” she finished for him. “I couldn’t bear to tell you the truth—that he arranged for me to meet Gabe at a party. He was interested in me. I thought he was a legitimate businessman. I did like him. He seemed nice. And I guess my father figured that after we were together and he got me pregnant, I’d stick with him.”
She began speaking faster, as though she wanted to get the explanation over with. “You asked if he raped me. Not in the sense of forcing me. I thought he was my chance to escape from the life of a gangster’s daughter. I let him seduce me, and then I found out that he was the son of Winston Thompson, and father and son were into the same intimidation and killing and drug dealing as my dad. When I realized I’d jumped from the frying pan into the fire, I couldn’t stand that I’d fallen into the trap Gabe and my father set. I tried to get away. But I didn’t make it very far, and you know the rest,” she said in a defeated voice. “And now you know for sure what kind of woman you’ve gotten mixed up with.”
“Christ, Jenny, none of that is your fault.”
“I was so naive.”
When she tried to slide away from him, he pulled her close. Folding her in his arms, he rocked her gently on the bed.
She was rigid in his embrace for a few moments. Then she relaxed against him.
“You’re a good man, Grant Bradley,” she whispered.
“And you’re a good woman.”
“No.”
“Don’t beat yourself up for what your father’s done.”
“I . . .”
“Let’s focus on getting you out of there. But first,” he covered her lips with his for a long, hot kiss.
When they broke apart, she hitched a breath.
“That’s a down payment on what I have planned for you,” he said. “But we have to spring you. I’m near your father’s estate with a bunch of Decorah agents.”
“And he could kill me—and then all of you.”
“Your father would kill you?” he asked, hearing the incredulity in his own voice.
“When I said he could get rid of anyone, I meant it. You don’t know what he does to people who cross him. If Gabe Thompson doesn’t want me now, I’ve ruined Dad’s plans.”
“Jesus.” The idea of Oakland killing his own daughter—Jenny to be exact—was sickening. But Grant wouldn’t let it happen. “You’re going to help us pull it off. “
His mind scrambled for order. He had a lot to do, and they’d better deal with the most urgent business first.
“We took a video of the estate from a drone. It’s as luxurious as the Mirador hotel.”
“Uh huh. The Mirador was like the luxury I was used to. But I was punished if I was ‘bad.’”
He wanted to know about that, but what he had to do now was focus on the current situation.
Where are you in the house?”
“In my bedroom.”
“Which is where?”
“As you’re facing the mansion, it’s in the wing on the left.”
“Okay.”
He kept asking questions in rapid succession.
“Are there a lot of bedrooms over there?”
“Five. Mine is at the end of the hall.”
“Anything else that would help us find you quickly?”
“There’s a bed of expensive hybrid rosebushes outside my window.”
“Good. And how many men can we expect to find in the house?”
“My father and probably four security guys.”
“Armed with?”
“Automatic handguns. And automatic rifles if they need them.”
“Good to know.” He swallowed hard. “When Carlos brought you in, you were in handcuffs.”
“How do you know that?”
“From the drone. It happened to be there when you arrived.”
“Are you still handcuffed?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re wearing that gown?”
“Yes. I guess he figured I wasn’t going escape half naked with my hands cuffed.”
Grant winced. “We should get you out of those cuffs.”
“How?”
“I’ll show you. You’re cuffed with your hands in front of you, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, that makes it easier because you can see what you’re doing.” He shifted so he could reach the drawer of the small table beside the bed. From inside, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs and a large paper clip.
Jenny started at the objects. “Where did those come from?”
He laughed. “I guess I put them there. I mean, I made this place. Well, it’s a copy of the room you created last night. But this one’s mine, and I can bring in anything I want.”
She nodded.
He held up the police-issue cuffs. “Basic handcuffs work by moving a rounded ridged bar into a ratchet with ridges which keep the lock from opening. To unlock the handcuffs, you use a key to push the ridges inside so the bar can slide back.
“But we can use a paper clip, bobby pin or something similar instead of a key.”
He opened up one end of the paper clip, inserted it in the lock, and bent it at a right angle to make an L.
“Now we can stick the end part of the L inside the lock and turn it like a key to push down the inside ridges.”
He locked the cuffs and demonstrated what he’d just told her. The cuffs snapped open. Locking them again, he handed them to her along with the paper clip.
“Try it.”
She inserted the end in the keyhole and moved it around a bit, feeling for the ridges. When the lock snapped open, she grinned at him in triumph.
“Try it again.”
She practiced several more times.
“Do you have a paper clip in your room?”
“On my old school papers.”
All at once, he could see a change in her expression.
“What?”
“He’s coming. I can’t be here.”
“Wait.”
The word was barely out of his mouth, when she disappeared from beside him. One moment she was on the bed and in the next she was simply gone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jenny swung around on the bed in her room so that she was facing the door. When he father stepped inside, she forced herself not to shrink away.
“Are you sat
isfied, bitch?” he asked.
“About what?” she replied, struggling to keep her voice steady.
“All you had to do was marry Gabe Thompson. You liked him. He was fine in bed. But no. You decided you were too good for him.”
“Not too good,” she whispered.
“Oh yeah. And how would you put it?”
She was sorry she had protested. Better to let him rant and get some of the anger out of his system, because anything she said was going to make him angrier.
“Answer me,” he spat out.
“It wasn’t the kind of marriage I wanted.”
“Oh, that’s just fine.” He glared at her. “It wasn’t your decision to make.”
When she remained silent, he shouted, “Say something.”
“I’m sorry,” she managed. She wasn’t sorry for what she had done. She was sorry that he’d found her and hauled her back—and that he knew she’d been with Decorah Security.
“I’m going to make sure you’re damn sorry,” he said. “I’m sure Gabe doesn’t trust you enough to have you for a wife. But I can give you to him to do whatever he wants. And as far as I’m concerned, that can be anything.”
She sucked in a sharp breath.
“And I’m going to find that bastard who was helping you out and cut his balls off before I carve up the rest of him.”
She couldn’t hold back a gasp—which drew a look of satisfaction from her father.
When he turned and stomped out of the room, she clamped her hands into fists. She had left the Decorah safe house with a gun, thinking she was going to shoot this man. Then she’d thought that maybe if she held him at gunpoint, she could reason with him.
For years she had sensed that he was a bad person without knowing precisely why. Now she knew he was beyond bad. He was almost the definition of evil. And she knew for sure that there was only one way to end his vicious behavior.
oOo
Grant reached out to where Jenny had been lying. The sheets felt warm, but she was no longer there. He moved over and buried his face in the bedding. He longed to call her back, but he knew that was the wrong thing to do. She needed to speak to her father, and it would be dangerous to have her missing in action.
With a sigh, he heaved himself off the bed, exited the room, and walked down the hall to the living area.
