I clenched my jaw. “Rochelle fucking Atwood.”
I fast-forwarded, watching as she hesitated, scouring around, and then she slipped down the hallway between reception and the elevators.
“Where the fuck is she taking him?” I muttered.
I opened a few more files that would bring up other cameras, searching, scanning. She had to be here somewhere. It was only a matter of time before she appeared on another security tape.
“There she is,” Christa and Draven exclaimed simultaneously on the fourth one I tried.
I frowned as I tried to place her location. She wasn’t in what I’d call the public areas of the building. The hallway showing up on screen was of the more functional variety.
“Where is that?” Draven asked.
“I’m trying to place it.”
“It’s your building.”
I glowered over my shoulder. “And it’s fucking huge. I don’t know every goddamn inch.”
“Stop!” Christa cried out. “Please stop, just find him.” She twisted her hands over and over. I placed mine on top of hers, stilling her.
“We’ll find him,” I said. “I promise you.”
I tracked Rochelle to another hallway, zooming in as I spotted a door at the far end. My heart plummeted, and a shot of ice water rushed through my veins.
“Shit.” I leaped to my feet. The chair I’d been sitting on tipped over with a crash. “She’s on the roof.”
The three of us dashed back out into the lobby. I spotted Cole getting out of a car outside and gestured to him to hurry.
“Rochelle Atwood has got Max,” I hollered the second he entered. “She’s on the roof.”
“Then let’s go.”
Christa clutched my arm, her nails digging through my jacket into my skin. “Dayton, she hates me, she’s insane with grief over losing Sutton, she’ll want to exact her pound of flesh. Do something. Don’t let her hurt my baby.”
I clasped her hand and marched down the hallway, shooting her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “She wouldn’t hurt him. He’s just a child. She wants attention, that’s all, otherwise she’d have left the building. She wants to be found. She’ll know that the first thing we’d do would be to check the security feed.”
All four of us dived into the elevator. I jabbed the button, willing the doors to close faster. The car jerked as it set off.
“Now listen,” Cole said, his eyes on Christa. “When we get there, you are to stay back. Hear me?”
She shook her head violently. “No. She has my baby. It’s me she really wants.” Her eyes filled with tears which then spilled onto her cheeks, but she didn’t crumble. Far from it. Instead, she hit Cole right where it would have the most impact. “If this was your child, would you just sit back?”
He visibly winced. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“Then you shouldn’t expect me to either.”
Cole blew out a resigned breath. “Okay, but please, follow my orders. If I tell you to do something, you do it without question. Got it?”
“Yes.”
The elevator stopped, and we dashed into the hallway. “Follow me,” I said, turning right. At the far end was the door that led to the roof, the one we’d seen Rochelle go through with Max. I pressed down on the door handle. It didn’t open.
“Fuck, she must have locked it from the other side.”
“Stand back,” Draven said, his gun already in his hand.
I yanked Christa away and put my arms around her. Draven shot the lock, the noise of the gun going off deafening in the narrow, closed-in hallway. He kicked the middle of the door, and it sprang open.
Cole and Draven ran forward, Christa and I right on their tails. I spotted Rochelle immediately. She had her back against the railings, Max between her legs, and she had the flat of her hand on his chest, holding him in place. A gun dangled from her right hand.
“Momma!”
“Oh God, Max.”
Christa launched forward.
“Grab her,” Cole called out.
I managed to catch her arm at the last second and haul her back. “Christa, wait.”
She struggled in my arms, trying to free herself, to get to Max. Understandable, but as panicked as I felt on the inside, I knew we needed to play this one carefully to avoid a bloodbath.
“Let me go!” she cried. “Max. I’m here. It’s okay, Momma’s here.”
Max wriggled, his arms out in front, wanting Christa. My chest tightened, and a burst of fury erupted within me. How dare this fucking bitch take my son. How dare she put Christa through yet more mental torture.
Rochelle’s eyes were trained on Christa. She didn’t waver, didn’t blink, just stood completely still, but there was a wildness, an unhinged air about her. The woman had clearly tipped over the edge into insanity.
“Let’s stay calm, Miss Atwood,” Cole said, inching forward.
Rochelle pointed the gun at him. “Get back. Get the fuck back, or I’ll kill him. I’ll kill her. I’ll kill every single one of you.”
Cole froze. “Relax, Miss Atwood. Everything’s okay. You’re in charge.”
“Let him go, Rochelle,” I said. “You don’t want to hurt Max.” I couldn’t believe how calm I sounded. Inside, I was a burning mess of fear and rage, but outwardly, I exuded serenity.
“Let the boy go,” Cole said. “Then we can talk.”
“I don’t want to talk!” Rochelle screamed. She shifted the direction of the gun to Christa. “I want her to die!”
“No!” I shouted, pushing Christa behind me. “Take me. Swap me for Max.”
“I don’t want you. You’re nothing to me. But she… she killed him.”
Christa moved so fast, I didn’t have time to grab her. She pitched forward, right into Rochelle’s line of sight.
“Please, Rochelle,” Christa said. “You can have me. Let Max go, and I’ll stay here with you. Just us.” She gestured to me, Cole, and Draven. “I’ll tell them to leave. You can do whatever you want to me, but please, Max has nothing to do with this. Sutton wouldn’t want any harm to come to him.”
Terror for Christa’s safety paralyzed me. If I tried to grab her, to pull her back to safety, Rochelle might fire the gun. I couldn’t risk that, even as my instincts screamed at me to save her. I shot a helpless look at Draven.
His silent response: Don’t do anything stupid.
Rochelle’s eyes flashed with fury at the mention of her brother. She cocked the trigger. The barrel of the gun was pointed right at Christa’s chest. If Rochelle fired, Christa would die. My heart pelted my ribcage. Thud, thud, thud. I swallowed past an obstruction in my throat. I couldn’t lose her. Not now, not after everything we’d been through. Not like this.
“It’s because of you he’s dead. You killed him. He meant everything to me, and you took him from me.”
Tension buzzed off Draven, waves of heat rolling over me. He shifted to my right, catching Rochelle’s eye.
“Don’t move. Any of you move, and I’ll kill her.”
“Easy,” Draven said, his voice surprisingly soft.
Christa took a tentative step forward. “Let him go, Rochelle,” she repeated. “I’m the one you want. Max is innocent. I’m the guilty one.”
I sucked in a breath, keeping my focus on Rochelle, watching, waiting like a coiled spring, ready to move if I saw my chance. I didn’t dare to look at Max. If I saw a hint of fear in his eyes, I’d lose it.
“Shoot me if you must, but let Max go,” Christa said.
The air crackled with tension. I couldn’t breathe properly. My lungs wouldn’t expand to give me a good dose of oxygen.
“I know you, Rochelle,” Christa continued. “You’re not a bad person, and I know you’d never hurt a child on purpose. Let him go, and we can talk. You can beat me, shoot me, pull out my fingernails, slice my flesh. Whatever you want. But first, you have to release my son.”
Rochelle’s eyes glazed over. “I miss him,” she whispered. Her breath hitched, and a
single tear fell onto her cheek followed by a second and a third. “He was the only one who loved me, who cared, who knew what I needed. The only one who understood what goes on up here.” She let go of Max to poke herself in the temple, but before he could move, she clamped her hand on his shoulder. “And now he’s gone, what will I do? Who will help me now?”
“I’ll help you,” Christa said, her voice incredibly calm, although tears slowly trickled over her cheeks.
I had no idea how she was keeping it together when I was on the edge of losing my mind. Any second, this might all turn to hell, and I could lose the two people I cared for more than my own life. I was helpless, powerless to stop the nightmare unfolding in front of me.
“We were friends once,” Christa said quietly. She inched closer to Rochelle. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Liar!” Rochelle screamed.
“I’m not lying. I’ll help you. Whatever you need, I’m here for you. Please, Rochelle, he’s your nephew. He’s innocent of any crimes. I’m the one who deserves to pay.”
Rochelle’s lips mashed into a thin line. “Get over here. Right here, next to me,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Oh God, no,” I muttered.
Christa held her hands out in front. “I’m coming. Whatever you want, Rochelle.”
Christa’s steps were sure as she walked to Rochelle, away from me, away from where I could keep her safe. When would this family just let her go, let her be, let her live? Noise roared in my ears, as loud as the sound of rushing water.
Rochelle released Max and roughly grabbed Christa’s arm. I crouched and held out my arms. “Max, come here,” I said, pushing authority into my voice, showing him I meant business.
“Go to Dada, Max,” Christa said, a slight waver to her voice, the first sign she’d given that showed her fear.
For a split second, I thought he wasn’t going to come to me, and I couldn’t risk rushing forward to grab him. One false move, and Rochelle could pull the trigger.
And then he ran, right into my arms. I scooped him up, hugging him to me. His little body shook, and even though he was only three years old, he knew, he just knew he’d been part of a terrifying situation, and that it was far from over. I kissed him, then reluctantly passed him to Cole. If this ended badly—oh God, I couldn’t bear it—but if it did, I would not allow Max to witness his mother’s death.
“Run,” I shouted at Cole. “Go, please.”
Cole nodded, then left with Max. The door behind us clicked shut.
Rochelle stepped up onto the ledge that surrounded the building. “Get up here!” She hauled Christa next to her.
Oh no no no no.
I shot another desperate look at Draven. He widened his eyes and glared at me. Stay calm.
Christa’s eyes met mine, relief that Max was safe mixed with panic that her own life could end at any minute. She mouthed, “Take care of Max.”
My vision blurred. I blinked furiously. She wasn’t having Christa. She wasn’t taking my girl with her on her trip to Hell. I needed to switch tactics, and fast. I had to—somehow—find a way of reaching Rochelle, of getting her to trust me.
“Thank you for letting Max go, Rochelle,” I said, the merest trace of a quiver to my voice. “I know this is hard. I know you’re suffering. You loved your brother, I get it. I have a sister, and I adore her. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her. But you have to believe me when I say that Sutton’s death was an accident. Christa didn’t kill him. There was a struggle, and the gun went off.”
“No,” she bit out, her nostrils flaring. “No, she killed him.”
She roughly yanked on Christa’s arm. Christa’s eyes flared.
Fear clogged my throat. They were so close to the damn edge. Too close. Adrenaline flooded my system, pumping through my veins. I took a few shallow breaths, keeping my body still.
“You don’t want to do this, Rochelle,” I said. “I can help you. Whatever you need, it’s yours. You can trust me. I’m just like Sutton.” Even saying that fucker’s name knocked me sick. We were nothing alike, but I’d say anything, do anything to save Christa. “If he were here, he’d make it all better, wouldn’t he? He’d fix things for you. Let me be that person. Let me help you.”
Rochelle’s tears flowed, and she hitched a sob, gulped, then shook her head violently. “It’s too late,” she whispered, so quietly her words were swept away on the breeze. “I don’t want to live without him. I won’t make it without him.”
She shifted her body weight, glanced briefly over her shoulder. Her hand tightened on Christa’s arm.
Oh fuck, no.
Draven and I simultaneously sprang forward.
Rochelle toppled backward.
I grabbed Christa, dragging her off the ledge. We fell to the ground. She grunted as she landed on top of me.
“Jesus, fuck, are you okay?” My arms went around her. She didn’t utter a word. “Talk to me!” I shouted. “Tell me you’re okay.”
She finally nodded. Her hands fisted in my shirt, and black mascara streaked down her cheeks as her tears fell. Her entire body trembled violently, and she buried her face in my neck.
Draven peered over the side of the building then turned to us, a grim expression tugging his mouth down. “I’ll get Cole to call it in.”
He left us alone on the roof. Anger flooded through me. I gripped her face, staring her right in the eyes, my hands shaking as I held her. “Don’t you ever fucking do that again. Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again. Jesus… fuck…” I hugged her tightly to me. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought I’d lost you. God…”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “Oh God, Max. Please take me to Max. I need to hold my baby.”
I helped her to her feet, but when her knees buckled, I virtually had to carry her off the roof. Cole and Draven were standing about halfway down the hall. Cole was on the phone, Max settled on his hip. Christa tore out of my arms and ran to Max, scooping him into her arms. She covered his face in kisses while he clung to her, his tiny fists gripping her sweater.
“Oh, baby.” She buried her nose in his hair, smelling him, kissing him over and over. “I love you baby. I love you so much.”
I went to join my family, wrapping them in my arms. It was over. It was finally over.
30
Christa
One year later
I dropped my sunglasses back into place and smiled as I watched Dayton and Max splash around in the ocean. We’d been really lucky with the weather this weekend. It wouldn’t be long now before the leaves began to fall, and the warmth of the late summer sunshine would give way to clouds, and rain, and eventually snow.
I did love it at the Cape, though. Dayton had suggested flying to Europe, to the Mediterranean, but I hadn’t felt up to traveling that kind of distance, especially when I was this far along.
Right on cue, my daughter kicked as if to say “Don’t blame me.” I rubbed my belly, my scars barely visible now, and hummed a tune that always seemed to settle her when she became particularly active. Three months until I got to meet her, and I couldn’t wait.
I pulled up my knees and rested the small, leather-bound journal against them. I opened it and began to read.
“I thought you weren’t going to look at those anymore.”
I lifted my head and squinted up at Dayton. “I wasn’t, but I can’t seem to stop myself.”
He sat on the edge of my sunbed, his eyes briefly flickering to Max, who was digging in the sand a short distance away.
“I really wish you wouldn’t. What good can it do?”
I shrugged, glancing down at Rochelle’s journal once more. The police had found a stack of them when they’d searched the apartment she’d been renting in New York. Once they’d finished their inquiries into her death, I asked if I could have them. As no one came forward to claim her personal effects, they said I could. Dayton didn’t understand why I wanted to read her private thoughts.
I wasn’t sure I understood either.
“I guess I’m searching for answers that I know I won’t get. Closure maybe.”
He reached out a hand to stroke my belly. I closed my eyes and reveled in the bliss of his touch.
“She’s kicking,” he said, wonder and awe prevalent in his tone.
“Yeah, she’s doing a lot of that at the moment. Keeps me up half the night.”
“Well, if you get bored, I may have some ideas to keep you entertained.” He leaned across and planted a kiss right in the center of my bump.
I chuckled. “I’ll bear that in mind.” I closed the journal and set it on the sand. “Poor Rochelle. I feel kind of sorry for her. She had such a sad life. Another woman manipulated by Sutton. Her life was so tied to his that without him, she had nothing. She didn’t know how to exist after he’d gone.”
He glared at me. “She almost killed you. She could have killed Max. She was batshit fucking crazy.”
I shook my head. “She was sick. She must have been mentally ill to do what she did. I honestly don’t think she was evil, Dayton, just misguided and manipulated by Sutton. She turned on me because he turned on me. She was his puppet, without a mind of her own. She had no clue who she was deep down, and so when he died, she became rudderless.”
He drew my hand to his lips and kissed my palm. “Your empathy is wasted on her, but it’s another sign of just what an amazing woman you are. But you need closure. We both do. I think the best thing to do would be to burn these journals.” He caressed my belly once more. “It’s time to move on. To truly put the past behind you. We have so much to look forward to.”
My gaze drifted to Max, then back to Dayton, his expression pleading. I knew he was right. And maybe by destroying the journals, Rochelle would find her peace in death.
“Okay. Let’s burn them.”
I cleared away our dinner things, and Dayton put Max to bed. The stack of Rochelle’s journals sat on top of the dining table—all ten of them. She’d certainly been prolific, her ramblings starting at the age of sixteen, long before I’d ever met her. From what I’d discovered, writing was her way of trying, desperately, to find herself, yet all the while being controlled by Sutton, making self-discovery impossible.
Avenging Christa: A Billionaire Romance (Irresistibly Mine Book 2) Page 19
