by S. R. Grey
Haven is observing me carefully. “What’s going on, Essa?” she asks.
I say softly, “I’m switching my major.”
Her eyes widen. “Really? What are you switching to?”
“Journalism,” I state proudly.
Haven knows I like to write, particularly news pieces. She knows I’ve written articles for the school paper and that I’ve contributed to a monthly business review.
Smiling, she says, “I think that’s a great idea.” And then she adds, “I’m proud of you, Essa.”
We spend the next few minutes fleshing out how I can still graduate on time. But in the end, I conclude, “Maybe summer classes are in my future, after all.”
Damn, so much for my plans. If I’m serious about switching majors, I may have to return to school and skip New York. Something I absolutely do not want to do. Unless… I could always move to New York City permanently, like I discussed with Farren. I could re-set my time table, and start anew.
Before I have the chance to share my thoughts, Haven pipes up with, “Why don’t you take summer classes in New York City?”
“It’s a little late to be registering for summer classes at a school I don’t even attend,” I say.
“Farren has connections at Columbia,” she replies matter-of-factly. “I’m sure he can pull some strings.”
“Connections at Columbia…” I laugh. “Should I even be surprised?”
Haven shrugs nonchalantly, taking her brother’s power and influence in stride. This might be a good time to tell her I may actually transfer to a New York school.
“No way,” Haven says after I tell her what I’m thinking of doing.
“I’m considering it,” I confirm.
“Hmm”—she eyes me knowingly—“things must really be getting serious with my brother.”
I’m not ready for that conversation, especially since I’m not even sure where exactly Farren and I stand. But I need not worry, as Haven doesn’t press. Instead, she muses, “Well, if you’re transferring, then maybe I should, too. After what I’ve been through, I could go for a change.”
“I didn’t say I was definitely transferring.”
Presciently, she says, “Oh, you will.”
I hit her knee. “Shut up, Hav.”
We burst into laughter, and now it really does feel like old times. But when things calm, I softly ask, “Did you know all along Farren would find you?”
She sighs. “I hoped he would, Es. I mean, I knew he had the capabilities…and the resources.”
“Because of Mr. Barnes?”
“I didn’t know about Barnes at the time,” she says. “But I knew someone very wealthy was funding Farren.”
Again, the mysterious man’s name has come up. But Haven appears too exhausted to get into another who-is-this-Barnes-guy discussion. So we wrap things up. After giving each other huge hugs, I leave Haven’s bedroom and go to the room she pointed out as mine and Farren’s bedroom.
When I step across the threshold, it’s into near darkness. All the lights are out, but there are slim streams of moonlight coming through the blinds. Farren is asleep, so I step around the room carefully, trying to get ready for bed as quietly as possible so as not to wake him. I throw on an old tee and strip down to my undies. After a quick pit stop in the en suite bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face, I return to the bedroom. Gently, I start to climb into bed, but Farren wakes up immediately.
“Hey,” he says drowsily as he rolls onto his back. “What time is it?”
The sheet has slipped down, and it’s clear he has on no clothes.
“Um,” I reply. I hate to tear my eyes away from his buff, beautiful body, but I do when I quickly check the time on the clock by the bed. “It’s after three.”
Despite the late hour, a wave of lust washes over me. I slip off my tee, tug my undies down my legs, and lie down next to Farren, completely nude.
Farren slips his arm under me, while I lean over and drop tiny kisses across his wide, smooth chest. When I weave my hand under the sheet, I wrap my hand around his hardening length.
He sucks in a breath. “Essa…”
I start to stroke him. “Do you want me to stop?” I ask coyly. “It is awfully late,” I add, my tone light and teasing. “And you were sleeping so soundly.”
“Don’t you dare stop,” he warns.
Farren suddenly flips me onto my back and settles between my legs. I’m so ready for him already. I shift my hips so he can feel just how much I want him.
“What do you want, Essa?” he asks as he holds off on entering me. I look into his eyes. This is no longer about lust only.
I say, with emotion choking my voice, “You.” One loaded word.
“You have me,” he replies, slowly slipping inside of me. Three loaded words.
Do I? I think to myself.
Farren moves in and out of me so slowly, so sweetly. Our eyes never leave one another. He smiles, pulls out, plunges back in. And I know then and there that I’ve gone and fallen completely in love with Farren Shaw. There’s no going back now. This is no longer a fantasy. This is no longer maybes and perhapses—this is for real.
The intensity of my realization chokes me up, and when I release a stuttered cry, Farren places his palm on my cheek. Stilling inside of me, he asks, “Are you okay, Essa? Do you want to stop?”
“No, no, no.” A tear slides down my cheek. He wipes it away. “Don’t stop, Farren,” I beg.
“Okay,” he whispers.
“Please, don’t leave me,” I add. Four loaded words.
He starts to move again, but now he cups both sides of my face. “I’ll never leave you, Essalin,” he says tenderly. He takes my hand and touches it to his chest where his heart is. “You’re in here,” he tells me. Three more loaded words.
All these words, all these emotions, I am blown apart at the seams. I come. And I cry. And though nobody utters the words, I know Farren loves me, just as I love him.
Yeah, the mighty, strong Farren Shaw can fight most anything. But he can’t fight what is destined. He can’t fight his own inevitable detour—me.
The next morning, we wake early. Farren holds me in his arms, stroking my hair. We don’t speak for the longest time. Instead, we allow ourselves to enjoy the feel of each other’s bodies pressed close, held close, held tight. We linger, holding on to each other like this might be the last time we’re together.
Thing is, I know in my heart that something is about to happen. Maybe Farren knows it, too.
Like a precursor to this unknown something, he says, “I have to leave later today, Essa.”
I sit up, the sheet tumbling to my waist. “What? Why? Where are you going?”
He looks up at me, his face angelically beautiful. “You saw what they did to my sister.”
I nod, and he says, “Well, that will absolutely not go unpunished.”
“You’re going to search out Eric?” My shaky voice betrays my rising panic.
“Yes. And anyone else who hurt her.”
I don’t know why, but I feel compelled to make sure Farren knows Vincent didn’t do all the awful things Eric did to Haven. I guess I don’t want Farren killing the wrong guy.
“For the record,” I say, “Haven claimed Vincent never touched her.”
“Is that so?” Farren replies, his expression thoughtful.
I bite my lip and bravely inquire, “Is he, by chance, with you guys?”
“No.”
“Well, in any case, he left Haven alone. She said he even tried to protect her when Eric got too…out of hand.”
I feel Farren’s hand, at my lower back, clench into a fist. “I’ll keep all that in mind,” he says tightly.
I trace circles on his chest. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
He pulls me down to him and kisses me softly. “I’ll be careful, Essalin. I promise.”
“It seems we’re always making promises,” I say.
“It’s the nature of the beast, babe.”
“I suppose.” I lower my body so that my head is resting on his chest. I listen to his strong heartbeats and ask, “Will you be gone long?”
I feel him breathe in deeply and then exhale. “I don’t know,” he says. “If things go well, I’ll be back in a couple of days.”
“Where will you be going, exactly? Where is Eric?”
“Mexico.”
A shiver runs through me. Farren won’t even be in the same country as me.
Misunderstanding the source of my uneasiness, he says, “Don’t worry. You and Haven will be safe with Rick here at the house.”
“That’s not what I’m concerned about, Farren. I’m worried for you.” I scoot up and bury my face in his neck. He smells so good, so Farren.
His hand moves to my hair, stroking, soothing. “I told you, sweetheart, I’ll be fine.”
“I know you’re, like, lethal,” I state, making him chuckle. “But you’re still just one man.”
“I’m one man that can do a lot of damage, Essa.”
I know Farren is fully capable of taking care of himself, as well as wreaking havoc on anyone who crosses him, but, at this point, I just want all of this to be over. “Haven is safe. I guess I just want to go home,” I say quietly, sharing my thoughts.
“We’ll be out of here soon,” he assures me. Farren seals his words with a sweet kiss, like another promise.
I just hope this is one he can definitely keep.
By evening, Farren is gone. As a result, Rick, Haven, and I eat a subdued dinner. Rick doesn’t talk much, and Haven retires to her bedroom immediately after she’s done eating. Her food is barely touched.
I push my own food around on my plate. I’m not hungry, either.
Rick stands and excuses himself, saying distractedly to me, “I’ll be in the den if you need me.”
Nodding, I proceed to clear dishes from the dining-room table. Afterward, I load the dishwasher and then head to the den myself. I have a few things to ask Mr. Martinez.
The door is open, and when I peek in I see Rick is seated in a plush leather chair. He’s facing a gas fireplace, but there’s no fire. He has a rocks glass in his hand, filled with amber liquor and a single ice cube.
I start to knock, but he senses my presence and turns. He invites me in.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I walk over to where he’s seated. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Gesturing to a chair across from his, he says, “Have a seat, Essa. And for the record, you’re not interrupting anything. I was just having a drink.”
As I take a seat, he asks me if I’d like something to drink, too.
“No, I’m fine, thank you,” I reply.
I’m not here to drink; I’m here for answers. This is my thought, but I don’t dare make such a bold statement to Farren’s friend. Instead, I say, “I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions about Farren.”
Chuckling, he stares down into his rocks glass. After a minute, he looks over at me and says, “Sure, but I can’t promise you any answers.”
“You’ve known each other a long time, right?”
“Over a decade,” he says casually, before taking a drink.
I continue, “When Farren asked you to work with him for this Mr. Barnes, did you have a chance to meet the guy first?”
Now, I’ve got Rick’s full attention. His deep brown eyes assess me. “What has Farren told you of Mr. Barnes?”
“Not much,” I admit, frowning.
He nods, like this is to be expected. He takes another drink, and I again ask the question he evaded. “So, have you ever met Mr. Barnes?”
“I have,” is Rick’s clipped response.
I have so many questions, and I’m not really getting anywhere. Forgoing my careful approach, I blurt out, “Does Barnes have some connection to Farren?”
Rick’s brows shoot up. “Such as…?”
“I don’t know.” I shift uncomfortably. “That’s what I’m asking.”
Rick leans forward in his chair, narrowing the gap between us. “Why?” he asks.
“Why what?” I squeak out, like I don’t know what he’s asking.
He shakes his head and makes a scornful noise. “Why are you so curious about a connection between Farren and Mr. Barnes?”
I shrug. “I guess it just seems like Farren is so committed to helping Mr. Barnes. But I can’t figure out why. I know it’s more than just the money.”
“Do you?” Rick says. “Do you really know that?” He throws back his drink and sits back. “Maybe it is just about the money, Essa. Have you considered that? You obviously know Mr. Barnes pays very, very well.”
Farren doesn’t strike me as being all about the money. Hell, he’s said as much himself.
I bristle and counter with, “No, it’s more than the money. I’m sure there’s something else, something tying Farren to this cause.”
Rick looks less than happy, but, still, I press. “Did Farren know Mr. Barnes’s daughter or something?”
Shaking his head, he states dryly, “I don’t know what you’re asking. But she was sixteen years old, for fuck’s sake.”
“I know.” I backpedal quickly. “I didn’t mean, like, in any bad way. I just thought”—I swish my hand in the air—“oh, never mind.”
And that’s when Rick leans forward. His eyes hold mine. He’s deadly serious.
Deadly serious when he utters words packing a very big impact: “Essa, leave it alone.”
I am intrigued, yes. But I do, in fact, heed Rick’s words. I leave things alone.
But then something changes two days following our little talk in the den
It is afternoon and Farren has yet to return. A couple of days have passed, but he’s not yet home. Consequently, I’m feeling antsy as hell. Shortly before one, I start to rummage around through a small black bag Farren has left behind. I’m not snooping; I’m just hoping to find something of his that I can wear. Like a shirt, or anything. I miss Farren, and wearing something of his—especially if it still smells of him—might make it feel as if he’s close by.
But instead of finding an article of clothing to slip into, I find a file. I pull it from the bag and flip through the first couple of pages.
It’s a file with information on Barnes.
Finally, I think, information on Farren’s mysterious employer.
Holding the thick folder aloft with a slightly trembling hand, I pause. I know I should put this packet of documents away and forget I ever came across it. But how can I do that? I want answers and having them here in my hand is just too tempting.
The edge of a black-and-white 8 x 10 photo protrudes from the folder, mashed in among all the pages. Quickly, before I have time to reconsider, I pull the picture all the way out. It’s a glossy photo of Mr. Barnes. The first thing I notice is that Farren’s employer is tall with a lean frame. In the photo, he’s standing next to a large desk, one hand resting on the edge of an ornately trimmed piece of furniture. He’s wearing a black three-piece suit. His hair appears dark, streaked with gray. There’s no denying, though, that Mr. Barnes is a nice-looking older man, classically handsome.
Okay, so far, so good. The file probably just contains general information. Like public knowledge stuff.
I place the photo off to the side and continue going through the file. I find a sheet of data that informs me that Quinton Barnes was born on January 5. He’s currently fifty-eight years old. He appeared on the business scene, seemingly out of nowhere, nineteen years ago. However, he had a nose for business and made a name for himself rather quickly, with several lucrative real-estate investments. Shortly after he turned forty, he married a woman from an old-money-type family. She was fifteen years his junior. To say her parents were less than pleased would have been an understatement. But over time they grew to accept Mr. Barnes.
“Guess he was pretty charming,” I mumble to myself.
The couple remained together up until about a year ago. That’s when they separated. A
s of a couple of months ago, they are officially divorced.
I come across a picture that gives me a probable cause for the disintegration of a two-decade-long marriage. It’s a photo of the only child they ever had—their daughter, Annemarie. I know from what Farren has told me that this is the girl who was abducted and murdered. Annemarie is the reason Mr. Barnes is seeking vengeance.
At first, I can barely look at the photo, knowing what the girl went through. This would have been Haven, had she not been rescued.
Finally I gather the courage to stare down at the photo of a girl whose life was snuffed out way too early. The footnote in the margin indicates Annemarie is sixteen in the picture. There’s also a notation that the photo was taken the day before her abduction.
I can’t take my eyes off the girl. She appears so vibrant, so full of life. How could she really be dead? The picture is a close-up. Her face is angled to the left. To me, the picture looks like a selfie. Probably the last one she ever took.
Wow, she sure was beautiful, I think as I take in her flawless skin, her soft features, and her wide grin. Was she happy? It sure appears so. I also get the impression Annemarie was quirky and fun—much like Haven. Her long, dark hair is streaked with vivid blue, and her eyes are sparkling. Although I can’t tell if they are green or blue, since she’s wearing a lot of heavy, dark eye makeup.
The next few pages I pull from the folder are extremely difficult to view.
Pages and pages filled with specifics of what happened to Annemarie, all in gory detail. Farren has already told me the overview—Annemarie was abducted from her home, sold into sexual slavery, abused, tortured, and eventually murdered—but these pages tell the story in much more graphic detail.
I scan through the pages quickly…
Police reports—abducted at 2:00 a.m., no alarms were tripped. Conclusion: It was a job conducted by professionals.
