She disappears, and I close my eyes again. While I know she was only a figment of my imagination, I also know she’s right. Jackson will find me; I just need to stay awake.
Chapter 41
Jackson
Though I believed it was impossible, I fall asleep at some point. My body is exhausted. Then I feel the bed dip, and I half-open my eyes. It’s Corrine. I start to drift off again, but my eyes shoot open. Something deep within me sounds an alarm.
“Corrine?”
“Yes, baby. I’m right here.”
That’s not Corrine.
It’s Valerie. Holy fuck. I rub my eyes and realize she’s wearing Corrine’s lei necklace and her blue bikini. “Wha—What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry about our fight. I love you, sweetheart, and I’ll do anything you ask.”
She’s not making any sense. What the fuck?
Valerie’s hand goes to my cock, and she starts to play with it. It isn’t responding. I’m repulsed by her.
“Where’s Corrine?” I ask.
“I’m right here.” She shakes her head as she takes her top off. Her large, augmented breasts are in my face.
I get out of bed. “Corrine, where is my friend Valerie?”
“She’s not here.” She crawls across the bed toward me like she’s stalking her prey.
“I can see that.” I look around the room frantically and locate my phone on the nightstand. I never take my eyes off her, but I slowly inch toward the nightstand, pick up my cell phone, and slide it into my pocket.
“Come make me happy,” she purrs. “Please do that magic with your tongue.”
My stomach sours. We were together once, and it was anything but magic.
“Corrine, I need to use the bathroom. Why don’t you get ready for me while I’m gone.”
“Oh, baby, I’ll be here waiting for you.”
I slip into the bathroom and text Brian.
Me: 911 help. I’m in the master.
I push send just as she slides the door open. I casually tuck the phone into my pocket.
“Come on, you stud. Mama needs to feel your big, fat cock inside her.”
I’m physically sickened. Valerie’s wearing Corrine’s things and not acting sane. Somehow, I need to find out where she’s put Corrine.
“Do you know where Corrine is?” I ask her again.
She shakes her tits like a stripper. “I’m right here, baby.”
I take a deep breath. “Do you know where my friend is?”
She puts her hand inside the bottom of the bathing suit. Then she shows me her wet fingers. “I’m already wet and waiting.”
“How about my admin? She was here earlier, and she’s working on a big party I’m hosting. I just need to run a few details by her.”
“She’s gone. I’ll be taking over.”
My heart sinks.
There’s a commotion, and Brian comes charging in with Jim and the others behind him.
With wild eyes, Valerie turns to me. “How could you? I love you.”
I grab a T-shirt and throw it over her naked torso. “Where is Corrine?”
“I’m Corrine,” she keeps repeating.
I hear sirens approaching in the distance. I’m ready to throttle Valerie for information, but Brian and his team pull her away from me. We step out into the hall.
I pace back and forth. “I’ve asked her all different ways where Corrine could be, but she keeps calling herself Corrine.”
“What’s her name?”
“Valerie Knudsen. She works at Organic Energy, and I met her at a trade show. She’s the woman who’s been harassing Corrine.”
“Valerie Knudsen?” Jim looks at me, confused.
I nod.
Jim pushes a few buttons on his phone and shows me the screen. “This is Valerie Knudsen.”
I lean against the wall. The woman in the picture looks nothing like the woman I know as Valerie Knudsen.
“Who is she then?” I pound on the bedroom door. “Where is my Corrine?”
Inside, “Valerie” screams profanity at everyone around her. “He’s my fiancé. How dare you touch me?”
Brian steps back inside. “Ma’am, do you know where Corrine Woods is?”
“I’m Corrine Woods,” she roars.
I follow Jim back into the bedroom.
“Jackson, baby, tell these people who I am,” she pleads.
“I don’t know who you are. You told me your name was Valerie Knudsen, but it isn’t. Who are you, and what did you do with Corrine Woods?”
Her breaths are coming in short, staccato bursts. The police officers have handcuffed her. She squints at me, and I see an evil smirk, but she doesn’t say anything.
I’m crazy with worry and concern. I want to grab Valerie by her hair extensions and shake her until she tells me where the fuck Corrine is. She didn’t ask for this shit.
The police lead her away. “We’ll put her in an interview room and see if we can get her to talk.”
“I have a feeling she’s not going to say very much,” Jim says as they go.
I look at Jim. “How were we so off the mark on who was terrorizing Corrine?”
“I’m sorry. We talked to the real Valerie Knudsen. You did meet her at the same conference and actually spoke to her. She checked out. We just had no sense until now that your Valerie wasn’t the real Valerie.”
“Corrine always called her Jennifer, and I don’t know why. I wonder if her actual name is Jennifer? Fuck! What are we going to do?”
Brian comes in. “The police are taking her to Kahului. I’m going to follow. I have Gabe back at Clear Security looking through the state and federal databases for a match on her fingerprints.”
I nod.
Jim gets on his radio with the team who are sitting at the camera feeds. I follow him outside, and they alert us when they see us on the camera. We can see an impression in the mud where Corrine dropped to her knees and looked up at the cameras. Jim points to the garage. We try the door, but it’s locked.
As we walk around the house, he gets updates from his team as they look at different angles and watch us. We step inside the estate and walk out of the garage. With a gloved hand, Jim opens the garage door. “Can you see me?”
“No, sir.”
“What about now?”
“No.” Jim is in the bushes before the camera picks him up on the feed. “I see you now.”
“Shit! This is a big blind spot we didn’t catch.” He radios his team to be sure they pull fingerprints off the door handle from the door. We push through the bushes into my neighbors’ property and wander around the garage area. I know we looked here last night and didn’t see anything. “You guys think maybe she drove her somewhere?”
“The footprints stopped about halfway across the driveway, but we can’t be sure. We looked in the house, but everything was dark, and the gate at the road is locked.”
Jim picks up his phone. “Gabe, did we get the name of the owners from the gardening service?”
He listens a few moments, and as I look inside, suddenly I’m convinced Corrine is in there. I know it as surely as I know anything.
I try the door, but nothing. It’s locked, though I can see the panel for the alarm is green, which means the house alarm isn’t set. I notice a rock garden across the driveway. I pick up a rock as big as my hand and throw it as hard as I can at the window. It beams itself right at me. I duck seconds before it nails me in the face.
Jim turns and looks at me. “Gabe, call them and call me back.” He disconnects from his call. “What are you doing?”
“The house alarm is not armed—I can see the panel with a green light. I thought I’d break the window.”
Jim pulls a slim, zippered case from his back pocket. “Gabe is calling the owners in Japan to tell them we’re breaking in because we fear Corrine is being held hostage.”
Jim positions himself in front of the lock and manipulates his picks until the door pops open. He motions me
to stand back.
“Hello?” Jim yells into the house.
Three more from the Halona Moana security team follow us in. The house is silent, and my stomach is in knots. I was really hoping to hear Corrine call for help. We walk through the main level. The house is a good size, but between the five of us, we cover it quickly. Stairs lead down to the basement. We follow them and immediately fan out once we get downstairs. This house goes down the cliffs, so the view looks over the ocean.
We move from room to room. Nothing. There is a gated barrier, and I look through and see a door in the back. I have no idea what I’m looking at. There’s a lock on the gate. There are rows and rows of empty shelves for wine bottles.
I turn to Jim. “Why would they lock this gate if there isn’t even one bottle of wine?”
He looks over. “Good question.” He pulls out his tools and quickly picks the lock. We walk into the dark room with empty shelves, but I don’t see anything.
“Where is she?” I yell.
We hear a thumping, but I can’t quite tell if it’s someone upstairs. It’s very faint.
We hear thumping again. “Where is that coming from?”
Jim looks at each shelf carefully. Suddenly he pulls on a section of shelving, and a door behind the racks opens.
Immediately I see Corrine’s foot. “There she is!”
We rush in, and I see her tear-stained face. She’s bound and gagged.
“I’m here, baby.” I cradle her in my arms.
Jim cuts her free and removes the ball-gag. “Are you okay?”
Corrine nods and begins to sob. “I’m so glad you found me.”
Chapter 42
Corrine
Jim cuts my wrists free of the zip-ties, and it feels so good to be able to move again. Stretching my fingers to get the circulation running through them, I look at my wrists. There are cuts and bruises from my pulling on the bindings, trying to break them. My fingers are freezing, but I feel better.
“Are you okay, Corrine?” Jackson looks me over and inspects my injuries. I know I must be a complete mess.
“Yes,” I whimper. “I couldn’t scream loud enough to be heard, so I kept kicking the shelves behind me. Thank God it worked.”
There’s a flurry around me, and Jackson lifts me into his arms and carries me up the stairs.
“I can walk,” I tell him, but he’s not listening.
Jackson sets me down on the stairs outside the door. The staff comes running and surrounds me.
“Did she hurt you?” I hear someone ask.
I touch my face to feel how swollen it is. I must look absolutely awful. “It was that woman who told me her name was Jennifer,” I tell Jackson. “And you always called her Valerie.”
“I know,” he chokes out. “She was arrested but wasn’t telling us where you were.”
“Thank God you figured it out,” Leilani says.
Jackson puts his arms around me. “It was my fault. I’m so sorry.”
“How is it your fault?” Jim asks.
“I brought that woman into our lives.”
“I don’t think you brought her in; I think she snuck in. Her fingerprints came back as Jennifer Carlson. She’s been diagnosed with histrionic personality disorder, or HPD, which is characterized by a pattern of excessive attention-seeking behaviors. In her case, she stole identities and became other people to get close to the targets of her obsession.”
“That’s why she called herself Jennifer when I met her,” I say.
The crowd around me begins to disburse when the police arrive, and I explain what happened. I’m exhausted, and I just want a hot bath and some sleep. The paramedics look me over, give me a few stitches above my eye, and determine I’m fine. They take a thousand pictures of my bumps and bruises.
When the police begin to ask the same questions for the third time, Jackson holds up his hand. “Okay, guys, Corrine needs to get some rest. You know enough to hold Jennifer. If you need anything else, we’ll make arrangements to come into the station.”
Standing is not easy. After spending nearly twenty-one hours in the same position, my muscles are in total revolt—stiff, sore, and screaming at me. Jackson tries to pick me up. “No,” I tell him. “I want to walk. I need to stretch my muscles.”
Slowly I make my way into the house. The twins come crashing into me.
“Corrine, Corrine, we thought you were dead.”
You gotta love the honesty of children.
Melinda cringes and quickly admonishes them.
I lean down and say, “I’m too tough to die.”
“Good. What happened to your face? It looks scary. Are you a monster?”
I raise my arms up high. “And I like to eat little boys.”
They laugh and run away.
Melinda turns to go after them, but before she leaves, she pulls me into an embrace. “We were so worried about you. We’re glad you’re okay.”
Leilani is standing nearby with two of the groundskeepers. She steps in and gives me a huge hug, so tight I can hardly breathe. “Thank you for coming back to us,” she whispers. “We were all worried about you, but Jackson worried the most.”
“Thanks, Leilani.”
She pulls back but won’t let go. “Are you hungry?”
“No. The paramedics gave me what is probably a thousand-dollar Motrin, and now I just want to take a warm bath and go lie down.”
“Tomorrow morning, I’m going to make you my pineapple pancakes and an egg scramble.”
The groundskeepers both touch my arms as they leave. “We’re glad you’re back safely.”
Jackson walks with me as we climb the stairs to the master bedroom. “I’ll start your bath. I think I saw bath shit somewhere.”
I giggle. “Bath shit? What are you talking about?”
He shrugs. “You know, the shit you pour in the bath to make you feel better.”
“Oh.” I do my best to smile at him, but it makes the split over my eye hurt. “There’s a lemon and lavender bath bomb under my sink.”
“What the fuck is a bath bomb?”
I roll my one eye. “Just put it in the water and stand back.” I have to play with him a little bit.
While he starts the tub, I sit carefully on the bed. My tailbone is super sore, and my limbs don’t want to move fluidly. I can’t even pull my shirt over my head.
I get caught, and Jackson walks out to help me undress. Usually he’d make a few jokes about what he’s going to do to me, but right now he’s in caregiver mode.
He helps me into the tub. The temperature is perfect. I lean back on a towel he’s bundled up for my head to rest on. I love this tub. It’s enormous, and I sit deep enough that when I lie back, my feet don’t touch the end, and the water comes to my chin. Just what I need to repay my muscles for all they endured.
I shut my eyes. “Ahh.”
“Fuck. I forgot the bath bomb.”
I kick my feet in the water. “Just drop it in down by my feet.”
He picks it up. “It stinks.”
I open my good eye. “Go ahead, put it in the water.”
He looks at me skeptically.
“Please?”
He drops it in and steps way back, worried he’s going to get wet. The bath bomb fizzes and releases its scent. “What the hell?”
I watch him lean over the tub, inspecting the roar of the bubbles, and I can’t help but smile. I love this man. He’s the yin to my yang, and the cherry on the ice cream sundae.
He doesn’t say much and lets me relax. Eventually he disappears out into the bedroom, but I know he’s close by. When the water turns tepid, I pull the plug and stand, which was harder to do than I would have imagined.
After all my grunting and groaning, Jackson comes flying into the bathroom to help. “You could have called me; I would have helped.”
“I know. I just didn’t think it would be that hard.”
He helps me to the bedroom and dresses me in his MIT T-shirt and a pair of cotton
boxers. “I thought this might be more comfortable than a sexy negligee, and easier to get on and off.”
I glance at the clock, and it’s after nine. Exhaustion weighs on me like lead. I can’t stand or keep my eyes open. Jackson helps me crawl into bed and turns the lights off. Then he gets into bed behind me.
He spoons me close, and I whisper, “Please don’t ever let me go.”
I feel him kiss the back of my head. “Good night, my love.”
Chapter 43
Corrine
I slept most of Sunday, and by Monday, the first guests have begun to arrive for the poker tournament. People are staggering their arrivals all week, and despite all that’s happened, I’m excited to have everyone at the estate. I don’t want anything to derail this event we’ve spent weeks putting together.
We spend the next few days doing final preparations, though Leilani doesn’t let me do much. She keeps insisting I take the time I need to recover. It’ll be embarrassing to have to explain to everyone why I look so bad during the tournament weekend, but thankfully, Leilani has given me an old Hawaiian remedy. It’s warm and wrapped in a banana leaf when she brings it to me—twice a day like clockwork. It doesn’t smell the greatest, but it has brought the swelling down.
Even that can’t do much about the wound and stitches, but I temper the green bruises with makeup. As the end of the week approaches, I’m looking better.
By Friday afternoon, everyone has arrived. I’ve been relieved of all duties. Leilani and Gillian have the weekend under control, and I’m just supposed to play hostess and enjoy myself. And that’s my plan.
As our guests wander from the pool deck to the living room, drinking mai tais and enjoying soft Don Ho music piped in over the speakers, we take in the sunset. A professional photographer takes pictures, and there are Hawaiian arts and crafts, which everyone seems to get into. Jackson makes me a puka shell anklet and makes a big deal about putting it on.
Royally Flushed: Tech Billionaires Page 31
