by Alexa Wilder
He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, as if ready to lunge. Still frozen in place, I fought my rising panic. What did he mean, Game Over? What game? As far as I could tell the only one of us playing a game was Adam. I was doing a job. And as long as he was between me and my laptop, all the work I’d put into that job could be in jeopardy.
"Adam, I don't think you understand," I said, backing up another step. He moved closer and I tensed, somehow knowing that running from him was not a good idea.
"I understand just fine," he said, his voice hard. "I understand that you're a thief and a liar."
A thief and a liar? I wasn't the one who was lying.
"You don’t know what you're talking about," I said, getting desperate as he took another step closer. "I'm not a thief and I’ve never lied to you."
"You're lying to me right now." Adam opened the handcuffs, ready to slap them on my wrist at the first opportunity. My stomach turned to ice. I’m fairly tall for a woman and in decent shape, but I was no match for Adam. If he wanted to get the handcuffs on me, he would. My mind raced, searching for a solution to Adam’s unexpected threat. What did I know that could help me?
I knew Adam wasn't who he said he was because the Adam I knew had no reason to go looking for encrypted files on my laptop.
I also knew that Adam thought I was someone I wasn't because he’d called me a thief and a liar. I knew I was neither.
Third, I knew that those handcuffs implied he planned to take me somewhere. I had no intention of leaving my apartment with him, but the fourth thing I knew was that he was bigger and stronger than me. The look in his eyes indicated that he didn't care what I wanted, I was going to do whatever he wanted me to do.
Every muscle tense, my eyes locked on Adam, I considered my options. The best scenario was that I could get both myself and my laptop away from Adam. Either of those things seemed unlikely to happen at this point. The next best option was to escape long enough to put on some clothes because I had no intention of going anywhere as I was, naked beneath my thin pink robe.
I couldn't get past Adam, but maybe I could get back into my bedroom and lock the door. That would buy me time to get dressed. Breathing a silent prayer of thanks that I’d managed to copy and send out a backup of the data before I came home that evening, I took a deep breath, whirled on the balls of my feet, and dove down the hall and into my bedroom. I slammed the door and turned the almost useless lock in the handle just as the wood shuddered under the impact of Adam's body.
He went straight for the handle, which refused to turn. Before I did anything else, I grabbed the wooden chair at my vanity and jammed it under the door handle at an angle. I had no idea if that would really keep the door shut, but I’d seen it in movies, and it was the best option I had because there was no way I could drag my dresser across the room to block the door before Adam broke it down.
Tossing off my pink robe, I quickly pulled on underwear, jeans, a t-shirt, and a sweater. They were weekend clothes, more comfortable than stylish, but I wasn’t worried about looking good. I didn't bother to brush my hair, just pulled it up into a messy bun. As long as I had a ponytail holder I could do something better with it later if I had the chance. Tugging on my socks, I shoved my feet into a pair of sneakers and tried to figure out what to do next.
The door handle rattled, then gave a hard jerk before it stopped moving. He must have let go. A second later the door shuddered again in its frame. I imagined Adam throwing his shoulder into it, determined to get through.
My apartment wasn’t luxurious, but the place wasn’t cheap either and it was fairly well built. Looked like the chair under the door handle trick worked. At least, it was working for now. I had no illusions that it was a viable long term solution. Adam wanted me out of this bedroom and he would eventually get what he wanted. I had to come up with a plan.
Nothing was coming to mind. Randomly, I wished I’d listened to my mother and bought a fire escape ladder for my bedroom. My mother was always convinced that disaster lurked just around the corner. She had fire escape ladders in all of her second story bedrooms, just in case a fire should break out while they were sleeping. She’d told me I should get one since my apartment was on the third floor, but I’d thought the idea was ridiculous though I hadn’t told her that.
It didn’t sound so ridiculous now, did it? If I’d had the fire escape ladder, I could have hung it out of the window, climbed down, and been free. Granted, I wouldn’t have had my purse or my car keys, but, at least, I would have been able to put some distance between me and Adam’s shiny metal handcuffs.
Briefly, I thought about tying some sheets together to get out of the window, but I discarded that idea almost immediately. Not only did I have a single set of sheets in my bedroom - the linen closet was in the hallway - I did not trust my life to my knot tying skills. A girl scout I wasn’t.
Just as I was beginning to face the fact that I was surrounded by dead ends, Adam's voice came through the door, low and persuasive.
"Emma, I know you're guilty. I have the evidence right there on your laptop. The best thing you can do at this point is come with me to talk with Mr. Harper. If you're lucky, he won’t press charges as long as you come clean about who you've been working with. If you stay in here, this whole situation is just going to escalate, and no one wants that."
"Are you working for William Harper?" I asked. My first instinct was to confess everything. Despite all that had happened in the past few minutes, the last three weeks with Adam had given me every reason to believe he was a good man. Intense, scorchingly hot in bed, definitely bossy, but in his heart a good man.
If he was working for William Harper, all bets were off. William Harper was not a good man. William Harper was at best involved with the mob, shipping drugs and weapons, and at worst delivering women to white slavers.
It didn't get much worse than that. If Adam was working for him, then everything I knew about Adam was a lie. And if Adam wasn’t really Adam, then I shouldn’t tell him anything he didn't already know.
If I couldn't figure out a way to escape, Harper would get my laptop. So far, nobody knew about the evidence I’d sent to Summer. Even she didn't know what she had, only that I’d asked her to keep the packages safe for me. So my work wasn't lost. I’d also told Summer that if I went missing, she should turn everything over to the FBI. Not an ideal solution, but it gave me the comfort of knowing that eventually the evidence would end up where it belonged.
That still left me with no good escape plan on the short-term. If Adam brought me to William Harper, I didn't feel good about my chances. What were the odds Harper would call the police on me?
Considering he was up to his neck in criminal activity and had ties to the Russian mob, not very good. Whatever Harper was going to do with me, it didn't involve prosecution. I would've welcomed prosecution and the police. I could've just called Agent Tierney and this whole problem would go away.
Agent Tierney. That was my answer. If I could get Adam to let me make a phone call, I could call Agent Tierney for help. I don't know why it hadn't occurred to me sooner. Oh, yeah, the handcuffs. The sight of those handcuffs had freaked me out so much it had put a hitch in my normal thought processes. Too bad my phone was on the kitchen table.
"Emma," Adam said again, this time sounding less persuasive and more irritated. "I'm only going to –"
"Adam,” I interrupted, “just wait a second. I'll come out and talk to you. But I need to make a phone call before we go anywhere."
“To whom?” he asked, suspicious.
“I can explain everything if you’ll just give me my phone for a minute,” I evaded. I felt sick at the thought that I couldn’t trust Adam, but I didn’t think I should mention the FBI unless I absolutely had to.
“Fine,” he said. “You can make a call. Just open the door and I'll give you your phone."
I didn't believe him. He’d agreed too easily. The part of me that still hoped we could work things out wanted to tr
ust him. Wanted it desperately. I wanted Adam to be the good guy. If Adam was the good guy, then this was just a misunderstanding with an easy solution.
I was sure he was lying about giving me the phone, but I still had to open the door. I couldn't just sit here in my room indefinitely. Eventually, Adam would figure out a way to get to me. Sitting on my bed and hoping for rescue wasn’t going to save me.
"Okay,” I said. “I’m going to open the door a little bit, and you're going to slide my phone through. Once I make a quick call, I'll come out."
A long pause.
"Fine."
I went to the door and wiggled the chair back just enough so I could crack the door open an inch. I didn't touch the handle until I heard Adam coming down the hallway towards my bedroom door.
"You have it?" I asked, wishing my voice didn’t wobble with fear and hurt. Adam was so cold and in charge, and all I wanted was to climb under the covers and hide. Maybe I should have been better prepared for something like this to happen, but betrayal by my boyfriend was the last thing I’d expected when I agreed to help the FBI. Maybe I should've known a man like Adam would have to have an ulterior motive to go out with me.
I'd always been out of my league with Adam, and here was my proof. I wasn't his girlfriend, I was a job. For a moment, the sinking sensation of loss chased away my fear. Being with him had been like nothing I'd ever experienced before. The way he listened to me, the way he knew exactly what I wanted in bed. Now, not only was it over, it had all been no more than a lie. With adrenaline fired nerves vibrating through my body and a sick, leaden feeling in my stomach, I reached for the door handle and unlocked it.
"I'm going to open the door now, just a crack," I said. "Slide my phone through, and I'll get this cleared up in just a few minutes."
Adam didn't say anything. I turned the handle of the door and opened it less than an inch, looking for the gleam of my phone in the strip of light leaking in from the hallway.
The door exploded into me, and I flew back, the solid wood slamming into my forehead and nose, sending a bolt of pain through my face. It hurt so badly I barely noticed as I landed on my rear end on the carpet and fell to the side. I didn't have time to get my bearings before Adam was on me, rolling me over, wrenching my arms behind my back, and slapping on the handcuffs.
10
Emma
I really should've seen that one coming. Now I knew - the chair under the door thing didn't work quite as well if the door was already open. Or maybe it was just the angle of the chair. It didn't matter now.
Adam hauled me to my feet and growled in my ear, "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself. You really had me fooled, Emma. I was sure Harper was wrong about you."
"Adam,” I gasped, trying to talk through the pain in my face. “This isn’t what you think. You need to let me make a phone call. I'm not a criminal. I haven't done anything wrong. I just need to call the FBI. I have a contact at the FBI. He can explain everything. I swear, I haven't done anything wrong."
I was babbling, pain and fear roiling inside me. Telling Adam I was working with the FBI was my last resort. If he was in deep with William Harper it would make everything a lot worse. But if he was bringing me to William Harper, things were about as bad as they could get. And if mentioning the FBI helped at all, I had to take the risk. I tried again.
"Adam, please,” I cried out as he shoved me in front of him down the hallway, my feet tangling beneath me. "Please, you need to listen to me. You have to let me make one phone call. I need to call the FBI. If you really think I'm a criminal, if you're not working with William Harper, and you believe that this is about me breaking the law, please listen to me and let me call the FBI. I'll even give you the name of the agent to ask for and you can call. Please, don't bring me to William Harper like this." Adam kept dragging me to the door, relentless.
"I might've fallen for the innocent act yesterday, Emma, but now I know better. I've seen everything. The video of you selling company secrets. I have the files on your laptop - everything Harper told me to look for. And he said you’d claim you were working with the FBI. He warned me not to fall for it. Your ‘FBI’ contact is really one of Harper’s competitors. So, no. You can’t call him.”
“He’s not!” I protested. He wasn’t. I’d met with Agent Tierney at his office at the FBI. I’d seen his badge, checked the number with the bureau in D.C. I wasn’t his biggest fan, but Agent Tierney was legit. Adam was too pissed to listen.
“I know you're fucking guilty,” he went on, “and I know you’re a fucking liar. I don't want to hear anymore of your fucking excuses. I just want to deliver you to Harper and then never see you again."
Was it possible there was hurt beneath his angry words? Or was that more wishful thinking on my part? As he shoved my bound hands into my back and pushed me down the hall, I couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d stood behind me like this. A wave of shame chased off any hopeful thoughts that Adam might be hurt, might have some feelings for me other than his job.
He’d used me. I’d trusted him in ways I’d never trusted another man, and he’d been using me the whole time. I’d thought Adam wasn’t the usual kind of asshole guy I attracted. I’d been right. Adam was worse. He was the King of Assholes.
He propelled me through my apartment faster than I would've imagined possible, especially considering I wasn't a willing participant in the journey. He snatched up my laptop on the way, tossing it into a bag he slung over his shoulder.
The hallway was deserted when we left the apartment. I thought about screaming, had my mouth half open, when Adam said, “Make a fucking sound and you're going to regret it. I don't want to get your neighbors involved in this, but if you don't give me a choice…”
Then I saw the gun. When did Adam get a gun? Had he always had a gun? Or was it just tonight? I didn't like guns. They freaked me out. I especially didn't like guns when one was poking into my back. That didn't just freak me out, it terrified me.
I snapped my mouth shut.
I had to accept the fact that I didn't know Adam, and I had no idea how far he was willing to go. Taking me to Harper was bad enough. I'd never be able to live with it if he hurt someone else. My nose throbbed along with my forehead, and I felt something hot and sticky on my face that could only be blood.
Stunned by the lightning shift in my circumstances, by Adam’s transformation from the boyfriend of my dreams into the cold, hard King of Assholes, I fell silent and let him manhandle me into the car. I’d have to hope inspiration struck on the way to wherever we were going, because just then, I was out of ideas and out of luck.
Adam buckled me into the back seat of his black SUV, his hands rough. I gasped in pain when my face bumped the door frame, and I thought I saw him wince, but he didn’t apologize. He was angry, that much was clear. I don't know what he thought he had to be so angry about. He wasn't the one who was being manhandled, handcuffed, and treated like a criminal. Criminal. That was a loaded word, and he kept throwing it around like he knew something I didn't. Who was he, really?
"You work for William Harper?" I asked. I didn't think I'd be able to believe his answer, but if I didn't ask, I'd never know anything.
"William Harper is my client," Adam said, grudgingly.
Great. Well, if he worked for Harper, he wasn’t going to help me. Still, it was worth a try.
"Adam, please listen to me. You keep calling me a criminal, but I'm not. I haven't done anything wrong. Harper is the one who's a criminal. He's the one breaking the law, and I've been working with the FBI to help them build their case. If Mr. Harper has you bringing me in, it has to be because he knows what I've been up to. You’re sending me into danger. Please, please don't do this. Please let me call the FBI."
Nothing from Adam. Not a denial, not a request for more information. Nothing. The words I'd spoken echoed back in my head, and I realized the truth of what I said. William Harper had sent Adam after me, and that meant he knew what I’d b
een doing. If he wanted me in his custody, I was in big trouble. Seriously big trouble.
Adam had grabbed my laptop off the coffee table before he'd hustled me out of my apartment, which meant Harper wanted the evidence I’d been collecting. He probably thought he was getting it before I’d given it to the FBI. Which was true, in a sense. Except that Summer also had a copy. Or she would when she picked up her mail in a few days. Thank God I'd never mentioned her to Adam.
He picked up his phone and made a call. His words were cryptic; I’m bringing her to you, I’ve got everything. I thought I understood who he was calling and what it meant. I was going to William Harper, along with all the evidence I’d been collecting against him.
The ramifications hit me in a rush. The handcuffs on my wrist were too tight, the metal cold and hard. Terrifyingly hard. I didn’t know what William Harper had planned for me, but I’d seen the pictures of the girls they’d trafficked, I knew where those girls had ended up. I didn't want to end up like that.
I wasn't sure I had control over my own destiny any longer. Adam wasn't listening to me. Adam wasn't even Adam. Despair swept through me, and my eyes welled with tears. I'd been so stupid.
Thinking I could help the FBI make a case again somebody working with the mob, thinking it wasn't going to come back on me, thinking that out of nowhere I could suddenly have this amazing boyfriend. The FBI part, that could have been real. But I should have known Adam was too good to be true. With my life shattered around me, I wanted to know the truth.
"Who are you?" I asked, needing to know who he was. "Is your name really Adam Stewart? Do you normally work for Harper or is this just a one time thing, like he called you in to fix a problem?"
My voice shook with emotion and tears, and my cheeks flushed red. I hated crying, hated that he saw me falling apart. Desperation clawed in my chest, fear over what was going to happen to me when he left me with William Harper and walked away. I couldn't escape, I couldn't do anything.
