Burn for You

by Jillian Leeson

  “And it may sound selfish, but I didn’t know if I could do that. I love my family, and this life is all I’ve ever known.”

  “So you broke up. And what happened to him?”

  “The last time I heard he had started a computer hardware business in China. And he’s been very successful, he’s opened a chain of stores in all the major cities. He’s done very well for himself, and if I’d stayed with him, I’d want for nothing.

  “But here I am—alone—, maybe forever. I don’t know if I’ll ever love anyone else.”

  Ying closes her eyes, and we remain quiet. I think of Ryder and me. I know I’d never be able to love anyone as much as I love him. Perhaps Ying is right—if I’m sure about him, I shouldn’t put off taking the next step. However much it scares me, I have to take the plunge: move in with him. As soon as I make the decision, I feel a sense of calm wash over me.

  I almost jump when I feel a vibration at my hip—my phone is ringing.

  “Yeah?” I bark, annoyed at the rude intrusion.

  “Elle, it’s Alex. Can I speak to Ryder?”

  I furrow my brow. Why would Alex call me? Isn’t it after midnight in New York?

  “He’s not here. He’s attending some business meetings today. Have you tried his cell?”

  “I tried to call him, but he doesn’t answer. Listen, you have to find him. It’s urgent.”

  At detecting the panic in his voice, a feeling of dread claws its way into my stomach.

  “What’s going on?”

  “The company is facing major problems. If I can’t get hold of him soon, he could lose it all.”

  Chapter 7

  Elle

  “What the hell do you mean, lose it all?”

  Tightly clenching my phone, I sit up straight.

  “We’re having a problem with the computer system. Remember when we had that technical fault a few weeks ago?”

  “I guess. Ryder’s mentioned some computer glitch.”

  And I clearly remember he waved it away, as if it were of little importance.

  “Before you left on your trip, we thought we had it under control. But I’ve just found another problem with the system. It appears to be some kind of virus.”

  “I don’t get it. Don’t you have some kind of security set up, like a virus scanner or something?”

  “Of course. Our security is ironclad. That’s what we thought, anyway. But it’s still managed to creep in, so I suspect it must have been an inside job. If we don’t solve it right now, the whole system will be wiped out. And your trip will be for nothing.”

  I furrow my brow. “Our trip? What does that have to do with it?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  Alex’s silence makes the hairs at the back of my neck stand.

  “Because of that computer error, we’ve lost a lot of money. And some big clients. That’s why Ryder’s arranged the trip to China, to find new investors. Without them, we’re finished.”

  I swallow. It all becomes clear to me now—Ryder’s lack of sleep, his nervousness, his preoccupation with work. I remember how exhausted he looked when I found him working this morning, and how anxious he seemed when he was waiting for the elevator to go to his meetings. A flare of regret slices through me. I should have realized something was up. I should have insisted he’d tell me what was bothering him.

  I clear my throat. “But what can Ryder possibly do from here?”

  “I’ll have to reset the whole system and get a backup running. But only he has the password and the authority to do it.”

  “Okay, let me find him and I’ll get back to you.” I scrape my seat backwards and stand, all set to start my search.

  “And Elle?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m serious. It’s critical you find him.” Alex lets out a deep sigh. “If not, it could be the end for all of us.”

  A click, and the connection is broken.

  My fingers grip the edge of the table. My mind is in turmoil, trying to process the bomb that Alex has dropped on me.

  Ying raises her brow. “What’s going on?”

  “I have to find Ryder. That was his company calling. They need him urgently. The future of his company is at stake.”

  “I’ll help. Did you try his cell?”

  “They already tried. There was no reply.”

  But I dial the number anyway, and it doesn’t even ring; it goes straight to voice mail. While I’m leaving a message, Ying is already paying the bill, and before I know it, we are back in the cross-harbor tunnel, heading to the hotel.

  When we get there, the receptionists on duty claim they haven’t seen him, and their computer system also shows Ryder’s key card hasn’t been used to enter the suite since last night. Nevertheless, we go up to the suite, finding it quiet and empty. In the bedroom, I open his suitcase and inspect the pockets of his pants and suits, but don’t find anything of significance.

  Ying opens the desk drawer and closes it just as quickly. “Did he mention who he’s meeting?”

  I shake my head, racking my brains to think of anything that could be relevant. I curse loudly, regretting I’ve never shown much interest in his work.

  I open my bedside table drawer, finding nothing but a Bible, and climb across the bed to check his, when I spot something red on the floor—his Ferrari cap. Suddenly it dawns on me.

  “I think he’s meeting with some of the members of the car club. Most probably with Cecil.”

  As soon as I mention his name, Ying is on the phone, speaking rapid Cantonese. She turns to me after she hangs up.

  “You were right. Ryder met up with Cecil and the car club in a restaurant. They parted ways after lunch, and he hasn’t been in touch since.”

  “Where did they have lunch? Maybe someone’s seen him there.”

  Ying nods, and we get back into the car. When we arrive at the restaurant, in the middle of the financial district, I pull out my phone to show a picture of Ryder to the maître d’, who shakes his head. “No, don’t think I’ve seen him.”

  He looks up, waving his hand to a waitress in a red cheongsam. “Hey Winnie, come over here.”

  Watching her hip-swaying approach in the ultra-tight dress, I take an instant dislike to her. She flicks her long hair over her shoulder while the head waiter shows her the picture. “Yes, he come in today. I take him to private room upstairs.”

  Her head snaps up, her icy gaze settling on me. “He your boyfriend?”

  I nod curtly, and a smirk blossoms on her face.

  “He ask, meet after lunch. You know, have dessert. With me.” She points her long red nail at her chest.

  A flash of fury invades my veins, and I step forward, fists clenched, to punch the bitch in her ugly mug. By the way she licks her lips, I can tell she’s likely to be lying. He must have rejected her advances, for there is no way Ryder would be interested in a woman like that.

  Would he?

  I raise my fist, but Ying, in a surprising show of strength, grabs my wrist and yanks me behind her.

  In a calm voice, she asks, “Did you see him leave after lunch?”

  “No. Too busy.”

  The bitch spins around and strides away. Still seething, I want to follow her and do some serious damage to that smug face of hers, but Ying pulls me out of the building until we are back in the crowded street.

  The noise, the smells, the mob of people—it’s suddenly overwhelming, and I feel like I’m about to throw up. Leaning over, I put my hands on my knees and drop my head. What am I going to do? How am I ever going to find Ryder?

  I feel a warm hand on my shoulder.

  “Hey,” Ying says, “we’ll find him.”

  “But what if we don’t?” The thought makes my stomach churn.

  When Ying remains quiet, I straighten up, and find her staring at her cell phone.

  “I have an idea. He has a phone, right? We’ll track his GPS signal. I know someone who’ll be able to trace it.”


  I give her his cell number, and after a quick call, she grins at me.

  “My guy’s going to put on a trace and he’ll call back once he’s got a location. Come on, let’s have a cup of tea. You look like you need one.”

  She drags me into a nearby café where she orders us Hong Kong milk tea, which turns out to be black tea sweetened with evaporated milk. Not exactly my first choice for a pick-me-up, but I admit its smooth, creamy texture is soothing somehow.

  Ying picks up her tea cup. “Don’t worry, okay? We’ll sort this out.”

  I sigh. “I should have known something was up. He’s texted me a few times this morning and his last text was before lunch, at half past eleven. I was having a such good time with you, I didn’t even think to call him. But I should’ve.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have done anything.”

  The ringing of Ying’s phone makes us both jump. She answers it, talking rapidly while scribbling on a paper napkin. When she puts down the phone, I grab it:

  35 Johnston Road

  Wanchai

  I raise my finger. “Wait. Isn’t that the address of the restaurant where we just came from?”

  Ying nods. “Yeah. He must still be in the building.”

  We retrace our steps back to the restaurant, and Ying manages to get the bitchy waitress to show us the private room where Ryder and the car club members were having their lunch. But of course, there is no trace of him. While we comb all four floors, including the other private rooms, I ask Ying, “Are you sure the GPS signal came from here?”

  “Positive. He has to be here.”

  “How about the restrooms?”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  We decide to split up, checking both the ladies and the gents on all the floors. But again, our efforts are in vain. We find nothing, not even a shred of paper, that could give us a clue to his whereabouts.

  With each step, a touch of worry nudges my chest. A chilling thought crosses my mind, and no matter how much I want to suppress it, I can’t rule out the possibility.

  Something could have happened to him.

  I rush down the stairs to find Ying, to ask her if we should take the next step—to call the police. Even though I doubt they are willing to help; he has only been missing for a few hours.

  I find Ying down by the exit with a phone pressed to her ear, and she briefly lowers it when she spots me. “The GPS signal is moving. It’s no longer here. It’s gone outside on the street. We have to hurry.”

  I follow her while she dashes down the sidewalk on her high heels, shoving people away as she runs. Once in a while, she growls into the phone, and when we reach a busy intersection, she turns left in a quieter street. Two blocks later, she turns left again, and we find ourselves in a narrow alley where the overwhelming smell of garlic from restaurant kitchens mingles with the stench of the overflowing dumpsters pushed against the brick walls.

  It is quiet and empty apart from a short plump woman who is walking a dozen yards or so ahead of us. A worn green backpack slung over her shoulder, she is dressed in a simple black-and-white suit, similar to those I’ve seen in the kitchen of Fook Lam Moon restaurant.

  “Hey you,” Ying calls out in Mandarin. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

  Ignoring her, the woman speeds up her pace. But Ying, zips to her side and grasps her arm. A flash of fear flickers across the woman’s wrinkled features, but she instantly recovers.

  “What do you want?”

  I can tell by her accent she is from the northern part of China, one of the many who made the long trek south looking for a better future.

  Ying glares at her. “Do you have anything that doesn’t belong to you?”

  “I—no.”

  “Give it to me.” Ying holds out her hand.

  The woman keeps on shaking her head and Ying keeps on repeating the question, increasing her volume each time. It may be Ying’s iron grip or her threatening gaze, but eventually the woman caves in.

  She slowly lowers her backpack and unzips it. Her hand disappears in the bag, and when it emerges, I immediately recognize the leather casing: it’s Ryder’s cell phone.

  Ying snatches it from her and hands it to me.

  “Where did you get this from?” she snaps.

  The woman holds up her hands. “I—I found it in the restaurant. I swear I didn’t steal it. It was just there.”

  “Where? Where did you find it?”

  “It was in the hallway. I was just coming out of the restroom when I saw it lying on the floor.”

  “Was there anyone else in the hallway when you saw it? Did anyone else come out of the restrooms?”

  “No, it was just me.”

  “And you didn’t think to report it?”

  The woman hangs her head and breaks into a wail. “Please. I have two children to feed. My husband is sick and he can’t work. We have rent to pay. I know it’s wrong. Please don’t tell anyone. I can’t afford to lose my job.”

  Ying closes in on her with blazing eyes, ready to give her a lesson, but I put my hand on her arm.

  “It’s okay. Let it go. We’ve got the phone now.”

  As she takes a step back, I reach into my pocket to retrieve a handful of coins and crumpled notes. Ignoring Ying’s scowl, I hand it to the woman. Instantly her wrinkled face lights up and she starts bowing to me. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  Stubbornly unforgiving, Ying points her finger at the old woman.

  “Your life may be hard, but it won’t help you to be dishonest. What you do to others will come back to you, your family, your children. What goes around, comes around. Remember that.”

  Waving the woman away, she turns on her heel, and I follow, my eyes fixed on Ryder’s cell phone.

  She says, “What did you find? Any unusual calls or messages?”

  “No, nothing. I just checked the last time he texted me, which corresponds with the time on my phone. He hasn’t made any calls or sent texts since.”

  We reach an intersection, and Ying stops in her tracks, her eyebrow arched. “Could the phone have slipped out of his pocket?”

  “No, that’s very unlikely. He’s always careful with it.”

  Ryder is one of the most cautious people I know. He’s sharp, organized, on the ball. He wouldn’t just drop his cell. It wouldn’t have slipped out of his pocket. Because he would have made sure it wouldn’t.

  Then it hits me.

  Something is definitely very wrong.

  I drop down on my haunches, staring at the phone’s wallpaper of the two of us on his motorbike—he’s pulling a funny face and my head is tossed back in a laugh as he’s taking the selfie.

  The memory burns a hole in my chest, and I press his phone tightly against my heart, closing my eyes. I only notice the warm vibrations against my skin when they’re followed by a familiar ringtone. I yank the phone off my chest, flicking open my eyes to read the screen: “Unknown number”.

  My shaking finger swipes to answer it. I hope, I wish with all my heart it’s Ryder. To tell me he’s okay; that he’s back at the hotel waiting for me.

  But when I put the phone to my ear, it’s not the voice that I long to hear. It’s a low, ominous voice that sends chills down my spine.

  “Miss O’Halloran?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I have Ryder De Luca. And if you want him back, you’ll have to do exactly what I say.”

  Ryder

  Something is very, very wrong.

  My eyelids feel like lead. And every time I try to open them, a dream pulls me under. I am caught in the eye of a howling storm, I sink into the depths of the inky ocean, I soar into the sky toward the scorching sun. And Elle, her face is always there with me—smiling warmly as if she doesn’t notice the state I’m in. Her lips move, but I can’t work out what she is saying. She is so close, I desperately want to touch her, but for some strange reason, I can’t move my arms. I open my mouth, wanting to call out
to her, but my throat seizes up, and no sound emerges. Elle smiles again, mouths a few words, and vanishes into a cloud.

  No!

  I plunge down, down, down, into an abyss, the weightless free-fall making my stomach drop. Bracing myself for the inevitable crash, I jolt awake, my heart thumping out of my chest.

  And then the pain comes. My head feels like someone’s drilling into it from all sides with some blunt object. I have to make it stop; I’d do anything to relieve this horrendous ache. I try to rub my head, but I can’t seem to move my hands—they’re stuck behind my back. Teeth clenched, I try shifting my legs, but am unable to move them independently; they can only move in unison.

  Then I realize: I’m tied up.

  Is this a joke? Is this Elle’s doing, subjecting me to some crazy game of hers? This wouldn’t be the first time. I once woke up in the dark to find that she had blindfolded me. When I tried to take it off, she took my hands and pinned me down.

  “I want you to feel,” Elle said in her husky voice. And then she started tantalizing me with her tongue—starting from my mouth, down to my throat, my chest, all the way down, until she’d stripped me of all thought and reason.

  But this doesn’t feel like one of her games—the musty smell and the uncomfortable mattress I’m lying on suggest I am not where I should be. I try to open my heavy eyelids again, and this time I succeed. Dimness surrounds me, and I confirm my suspicion: I am in a strange place, definitely not at the hotel. Lying on my side on a bed, I can just make out a table in the middle of the room and a closet against the far wall, which is about fifteen feet away. The only faint source of light is from the gap under a door somewhere to my right. In the far distance, I hear a muted scream, and a chill comes over me.

  This is not a game.

  I have been abducted.

  I never expected this would ever happen to me. Of course, I realize that being wealthy has its risks. But I never wanted to become paranoid, like many of my peers whose homes are secured according to CIA specifications and do not leave them without their posse of security guards. Admittedly, I am not as much in the public eye as they are—deliberate on my part—but some of them take it to extremes. What is the point of living in a bullet-proof glass bowl? I refuse to live like a prisoner. I want to live.