by Alexa Wilder
“No. But that’s the best I have for you. You know I don’t have any expensive jewelry or a big TV. That car is the only thing I own that you can turn into cash by tomorrow.”
Steven studied the ground between his feet, thinking. My heart thudded in my chest. If I gave him my car, I’d be screwed. Thanks to his raid on my savings account, I didn’t have enough for a down payment on a new one. But that was the least of my problems at the moment. I needed to make Steven happy enough to leave me alone. And to forget about using that video. Finally, he looked up.
“Let’s go inside and get the key and the title.”
Relief and dismay swamped me. Relief that he’d take the car. Dismay at being alone in the house with him. I didn’t trust him. He’d hit me already. And his admission about jerking off to the video creeped me out. Who knew what he’d do when we were alone?
“I’m not going in the house with you,” I said. I wasn’t budging on that. Out here I had Mrs. Carmody next door. She was sleeping, but if I screamed, she’d be on the phone with the cops in a second. Once I was inside the house, all bets were off. “You go in. The title is in my file cabinet, top drawer. In the file labeled Honda Accord EX-L. The spare key is in the same file. You can take them and go.”
Steven eyed me warily. “You’re not going to ask me for the video?”
I rolled my eyes. “Is the only copy on that phone?” I asked. Steven scoffed at me.
“Of course not.”
“Then what’s the point of getting the phone from you? You could have a hundred copies of the video stashed all over the place. But you know what would happen if you used them, right? The only thing keeping me from calling Dylan is that I don’t want that video to get out. If you release it, he’ll come straight for you. You do know that, don’t you?”
Steven glared at me, his jaw clenched tight. He knew I was right. A single woman with few resources was a good target for his brand of petty blackmail. But if he drew Dylan’s attention, he was fucked. Once that video was released, Dylan would have no reason to hold back. And I had nothing left for Steven to take.
“I want your 401k,” Steven said. I shook my head. He didn’t know when to give up.
“Steven, you don’t have time for that. It’ll leave a huge paper trail. And Dylan will want to know why I ran out on him. He’s going to come find me.”
As I said that, I realized it was the truth. Dylan would be pissed. He might hate me and want nothing more to do with me. But he’d at least track me down to get an explanation. My heart sank. If I told him the truth, he’d go after Steven. And as twitchy as Steven was, he might release the video the second he caught sight of Dylan. He could have already uploaded it to streaming sites, just one click shy of going wide. I needed to convince Steven to get out of Vegas.
“You need to take my car, trade it for cash and get lost. Find the rest of the money you need somewhere else. Like New York. Or Miami.”
“I told you to stay away from Kane,” he said. “You go near him, I’ll release the video.”
“I’m not going back to him, okay? But he knows where I live. He may come here. I can’t control Dylan Kane. This is your only chance. Take my car, get as much cash for it as you can, and run like hell. Don’t bother coming back for more. This is it. I don’t have anything else to give you. It’ll take me years to make up for what you’ve already taken.”
“Fine. But I’m not leaving you alone out here. Open the door and get in the house.”
27
Leigha
I wasn’t expecting Steven to move so quickly. Before I could dodge him, he was behind me, one hand over my mouth, the other trapping my wrists. Steven wasn’t a big guy, or a powerful one. He didn’t need to be; he was stronger than me. He shuffled me up the two steps to the deck and toward the sliding door of my kitchen.
“Open it,” he ordered.
I yanked on my right wrist. I couldn’t unlock the door without a hand free. At that moment, I wished I’d invested in some self-defense classes. Steven had me immobilized, and I had no idea how to get away. If I’d been wearing my heels, I would have had some kind of weapon, but in bare feet all I could do was kick his shin. He let go of one wrist and I fished the key out of my back pocket. The door slid open, letting out a puff of cool air.
Pushing me toward the table, Steven hooked one foot around a chair and pulled it out. He let go of my mouth and wrist to shove me down in the chair. I scrambled to get my feet under me. His fist caught my already bruised jaw in a flash of pain, sending me back down into the seat. A drawer opened behind me and I heard the rasp of duct tape being peeled off the roll. That seemed to be my luck tonight. Steven hadn’t done a single dish or cooked one meal in that kitchen. But he’d taped up a tear on his favorite tattered sneakers, and apparently he remembered where I kept my duct tape.
No more men, I told myself. It would take me years to forget how badly I’d fucked up my life by picking Steven. He taped my wrists together behind me, then wrapped the tape around my torso over and over so I couldn’t get up. When he was sure I was secure, he left me, disappearing down the hall off my kitchen.
It didn’t take him long to find the title to my car and the spare key. I was organized and everything was exactly where I’d told him it was, the file folder complete with a neatly printed label courtesy of my handy little label printer. When this was over, I was going to try being irresponsible. No more savings, no more 401k. Fuck my tidy filing cabinet. What had all that gotten me? Heart broken and victimized by a two-bit con artist. Tears pushed at the backs of my eyes. I fought them back. I wasn’t going to cry in front of Steven.
He held out the title and my urge to weep vanished. I’d have to sign the title over for him to sell the car. In Nevada a transfer between private citizens required a bill of sale and a title, but no notary. I’d looked into it for an elderly client who’d been newly widowed and had never sold a car before. I’d let Steven worry about the bill of sale, but he had to know I’d have to sign the title. Not easy to do with my hands duct taped behind my back.
I didn’t need to say anything. Looking from me to the title, he realized his mistake. Again displaying his maturity, he slammed the paper on the table and kicked the leg of my chair. What an ass. It wasn’t the chair’s fault he was an idiot. I had a moment of triumph before my brain kicked in and reminded me that I was currently taped to a chair in my kitchen and about to sign my car over to this moron. So who was the stupid one? Steven wasn’t a genius, but neither was I.
Cursing under his breath, Steven yanked open drawers until he found one with a knife. Then he did the same looking for a pen. When he had both, he slashed at the tape on my wrists, freeing them with one slice that cut the side of my wrist along with the tape. I felt a cold burn, then blood began to well on the side of my free wrist. He cursed again. Yanking the title away, he snarled,
“Don’t bleed on it.”
“Then get me something to wrap this up,” I snapped. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t cut myself.”
More evidence that I wasn’t as smart as I thought I was. Mouthing off to an angry guy with a knife was not the best idea. He grabbed a dishtowel, wrapped it around my bleeding wrist, and taped it in place. It hurt like a bitch, worse than my jaw. It wasn’t bleeding fast enough to be dangerous, but it was bleeding more than I’d like. Quickly, before blood could soak through the towel and stain the title to the car, I scanned the document and signed it over to Steven.
The second the pen left the paper, he snatched the title away from me, folded it up and shoved it into his back pocket. Tossing the knife in the sink, he wrenched my arms behind my back and taped them together for the second time. Standing back, he examined me before saying,
“You look good like that. Tied up and helpless. Makes your tits look bigger. I always liked your tits. They made up for your fat ass.”
A sharp bolt of fear hit my heart. No, not this. He could have the money, he could have anything. I didn’t think I could take it if he to
uched me. Steven grinned at the terror in my eyes. I flinched back, trying to get as far from him as I could. Taped to the chair, I couldn’t move very far. One hand reached out to stroke my bruised cheek. I jerked my face away, looking down at my lap, shamed by the tears leaking from my eyes. He laughed, dropping his hand to cup my left breast. I’d managed to put on a bra in the dark, but it was thin. No barrier from the harsh squeeze of Steven’s hand. Desperate, I said,
“Touch me one more time and I’ll scream so loud Mrs. Carmody will be on the phone with the cops in a second.”
His hand fell away. Steven knew Mrs. Carmody. She’d come out on her front porch and yelled at him more than once when he’d parked his car too close to her yard.
“That old bitch,” he murmured. “I could just do this.” He ripped off a length of tape from the roll and held it out, moving toward my face. If he gagged me, I couldn’t do anything. I opened my mouth to scream, and he punched me again, this time on the cheekbone. My jaw snapped together. Tape slapped across my mouth, sealing it shut.
I panted through my nose, heart racing. If he tried anything else, I was going to fight. Forget about the knife, forget about the fucking video. Steven could take the car, but he wasn’t taking anything else from me. Maybe he sensed my resolve. After staring in my eyes for a long second, he shrugged.
“You’re not worth the trouble. Not for a fat chick.” He turned for the back door and said over his shoulder, “You’ll get yourself loose eventually. Don’t even think about calling Kane or anyone else.”
I didn’t respond, just stared at my knees and waited for him to leave. He hesitated, as if thinking of saying something else, then he was gone, sliding the glass door to the deck closed behind him. I sat there, taped to the chair, fighting tears. I wanted to let go, to sob out my frustration. Crying wasn’t going to help me. My wrist was bleeding, and I was pretty sure it needed stitches. Since I didn’t have a car, I’d have to call a cab to take me to the ER. At least I had my health insurance, though the ER co-pay was going to cost way more than an office visit. But I didn’t think this could wait until Monday.
Before I could get to the hospital, I had to get out of this chair. Wiggling back and forth, I eased the chair back toward my kitchen cabinets. One thing at a time. First, I had to get my wrists free, then get a cab to the hospital. After that, I could worry about the rest of my life.
28
Dylan
I rolled over and stretched, my arm extended for Leigha. I’d been dreaming of her. Of taking her from behind at the end of the bed while she wore nothing more than those gold heels. I reached out my hand and met cold sheets. My eyes flashed open, and I scanned the bed. No Leigha.
Sitting up, I looked to the bathroom. Dark and empty, the door hanging open. Aside from the startled rasp of my own breath, the penthouse was silent. It felt empty. Swearing under my breath, I leaned over and flicked on the light beside the bed and checked the clock. Three seventeen am. Getting out of bed, I took a quick walk through the rooms of the penthouse. Nothing. But then, I already knew. I felt her absence in the quiet, cool air. Leigha was gone.
I was not an emotional guy. In business and in my personal life, I was all about logic. At the realization that Leigha had walked out on me, logic went out the window. Anger hit me first.
What the fuck was wrong with this girl? Had she seen an old lipstick in the bottom of a drawer and decided I was hiding a secret wife? Was I not good enough for her? I was Dylan fucking Kane for fucks sake. Women panted to get in my bed and this one little accountant, who lived in a bungalow and drove a beige sedan, thought she could walk out on me? Fuck that. Fuck her.
I paced my bedroom in a fury, dragging on discarded clothes as I went. I may have knocked over a lamp in the process. I know I threw our champagne glasses at the fireplace. Not my most mature moment. Fumbling with a button down the shirt I’d worn that afternoon, I caught a whiff of her perfume. This was the shirt she’d been wearing while we’d eaten lunch. While we’d talked all afternoon. That girl wouldn’t have walked out on me without a word. She’d gotten nervous that morning, but everything had changed between us. Hadn’t it?
Taking a steadying breath, I went to the second bedroom and opened the hidden storage closet in the back corner of the room. Her suitcase was still there, her purse and car keys sitting right on top. I could see her walking out on me. No, I couldn’t. But I could accept that it had possibly happened. But even if she’d decided to sneak out in the middle of the night, what woman would take off without her purse? Or her house keys? Something here wasn’t right. Forcing myself to stop and think, I ran through the options in my mind.
Then I went to my desk. Opening my laptop, I picked up the phone and dialed the number of the security office. As I listened to the phone ring, I clicked on my email and pulled up the preliminary report Axel had sent me on Leigha. I’d had him look into her, that Steven guy, and her new boss. The report was nothing in depth, Axel hadn’t had time for that. But it had the basics: home address, social, license plate as well as make and model on her car, and employment history. It was a start. On the other end of the line, I heard, “Delecta Security, this is Randall.”
“Randall, it’s Dylan. I have a situation. I’m on my way down, but I want you to get started right away. I need footage of anyone leaving the penthouse floor after midnight tonight. And I need you to locate a vehicle in our garage. A Honda Accord EX-L, beige, Nevada plate NGT947. If the car isn’t in the garage, find footage of it leaving the garage. And last, have someone check the entrance for an individual getting picked up or getting into a taxi. I’m sending a picture to your email.”
“Yes, sir. I’m on it. Anything else?”
“No. I’ll be right there.”
If she’d left the casino, I’d know in minutes. And if she was still here, I’d have my security team pick her up and deliver her to my office. For a second I wondered if she’d sneaked off to gamble downstairs. As soon as the image hit my mind, I laughed. Not Leigha. I couldn’t imagine Leigha gambling her hard earned money for fun, much less sneaking out of my bed to do it. She was my good girl. And as my head cleared, worry made a tight ball in my chest.
She was my good girl. If she was going to leave me, she’d at least tell me goodbye. She wouldn’t disappear in the night like this unless something was wrong. I was dressed in the jeans and button down I’d been wearing earlier in the day, but I needed shoes. Flicking on the light to the bedroom, I noticed that everything was in place.
Her jewelry was still on the bathroom counter, her dress neatly hung up in the closet. There were two empty hangers among the clothes Melissa had bought her. Probably jeans and a shirt. If she’d taken a dress, only one hanger would be empty. Pins littered the sink. And her phone was missing. The last I’d seen it, she’s left it on the bedside table. Now it was nowhere to be seen. Had someone called her?
Shoving my feet in a pair of worn sneakers, I grabbed my wallet and keys before heading for the door. I was going to find her. And when I did, she’d have some serious explaining to do. I was worried, but I was still pissed off.
I tried her cell in the elevator and got her voicemail. I thought about hanging up, but decided not to. Instead, I waited for the tone and said, “Leigha. I woke up, and you weren’t here. Call me.” Calm and thoughtful. Nothing that would piss her off if she’d decided she was mad at me. I didn’t like that she wasn’t answering her phone.
29
Dylan
The security room was hopping when I got there. It usually was on a Friday night, no matter that it was past three o’clock in the morning. I ignored the bank of screens in the front and went straight for the back office. Up a half-flight of stairs, the office was sealed off with glass and overlooked the rest of the security nerve center. Randall glanced up from the screen in front of him when I opened the door. He’d been with me since I opened the Delecta. With thirty years in the business and a kid’s enthusiasm for the newest tech equipment, he was the ideal head of s
ecurity. Every potential card cheat or scam artist was a new puzzle for him to solve. I knew he’d track Leigha down at warp speed if just for the rush of answering the question of what she was up to.
“I got her, sir,” he said. I sat beside him and studied his monitor. Divided into four sections, he had Leigha on one, frozen in the act of pressing the button for the casino floor inside the elevator. The second frame showed her outside the door to the casino, getting into a taxi. The third was scanning cars in the garage. I glanced to my left and saw one of Randall’s top techs examining the cars on his own monitor. The fourth frame showed vehicles exiting the parking garage.
“She got in the cab at two twenty eight. Went straight down to the lobby and outside. Didn’t stop or talk to anyone on the way. Nothing in her hands but a cell phone. Not even a purse. Here, I’ll show you.”
Randall clicked open another screen on the monitor and clicked a tab. The cameras tracked Leigha from the moment of pressing the elevator button, through her ride to the lobby. A different camera picked her up as she left the elevator, the frames changing quickly now as she moved from camera to camera on her path to the exit. The last shot showed her carrying only her phone, getting into a cab. Through it all, her face was blank, her jaw set. She looked pale and shaken. If I’d doubted it before, now I was certain. Something was very wrong.
“Find the car,” I said to Randall. “If it’s still here, keep eyes on it, just in case.”
Standing up, I pulled out my phone and paced to the far corner of the room, dialing Axel. Everyone would hear my conversation, but these guys were smart enough to pretend not to listen. I didn’t have time to go to my office for privacy, I needed to be here until I got another lead.
