by Jenni Wiltz
Ella blinked and fluttered her eyes, trying to figure out where she was and what was happening. But when she opened them, all she saw was a flood of deep, black darkness.
A flash of memory returned. With it came a jolt of fear that raced through her like adrenaline. Her right upper arm stung as if it had been pinched hard. The needle, she thought.
She tried to move her hands again. This time, she realized why they wouldn’t cooperate—she’d been tied up. Not good, Ella thought.
She took stock of the situation, one step at a time. There was something rigid behind her, like a pole or a wooden post. She was tied to it. Jostling her body from side to side, she could tell there was a thick rope looped around her and the post behind her. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she tried to find something that could tell her where she was.
She could barely make out a small wooden staircase that led up to a door. It looked like a basement of some sort. But whose basement? And where?
Peter, she remembered. He had injected her with something and taken her out of the Cherbourg house. A thrill of panic ran through her veins. How is Sébastien even going to know I’m gone? she thought. He’ll think I’m holed up somewhere, finishing my report.
Thinking of him made her heart hurt worse than the rest of her body. As afraid as she was for herself, she realized he was inside the house with a murderer. What if Peter O’Malley had been the one holding the gun that killed her father? Sébastien trusted him implicitly. He had no idea what terrible things the man was capable of. If Peter decided to harm Sébastien, too, there was nothing she could do to stop it. That fact made her feel helpless—and she hated feeling helpless.
Now, in addition to fear, she felt a surge of anger. How dare Peter O’Malley repay the trust Sébastien put in him with this? Sébastien was quick to suspect the people around him of betraying him or misleading him, but he didn’t suspect the one person who actually had deceived him. The one person who’d been with the family longer than he’d been alive.
Suddenly, she realized that Sébastien’s paranoia about the people around him was entirely justified. How could someone as rich as a Cherbourg trust anyone? If he let himself get too close to them, they might turn around and blackmail him or stab him in the back.
It made so much sense now, seeing it happen firsthand. Of course, it didn’t do any good for her to realize this while she was trapped in a basement somewhere. Especially not while Sébastien was still at home, in the company of a murderer he would never suspect.
I have to warn him, she thought.
It didn’t matter whether he forgave her or not. It only mattered that he stay alive. She’d never have another chance with him if Peter O’Malley killed him, too. The most important thing was getting to him in time to warn him. If she could do that, she’d have plenty of time later to try and make up for lying to him. And maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to forgive her.
Now that she’d seen more of the influences that shaped him, she was closer to understanding why he was the way he was. It only made her more intrigued, more caught up in the Cherbourg mystique. And more determined to tell Sébastien the whole truth, about everything.
He’d let her in once—and the searing heat from their lovemaking still sent shivers down her spine. They had something she’d never experienced before and she’d be damned if she let it go so easily.
Come on, Ella, focus, she told herself. If she could get untied and get out of here, she could warn Sébastien, win back his trust, and catch the man who’d killed her father.
That last thought made her pause for a moment. She’d been so worried about Sébastien that she hadn’t thought about her father once. It was strange to think she had the answer she was looking for…or at least part of it. If Peter O’Malley was one of the masked men, who was the other one? How could she have failed to ask O’Malley that? It seemed like all her priorities had gone out the window as soon as Sébastien came into her life.
“Dad, I’m sorry,” she said out loud. “I’ll get him. I promise.”
She wiggled her fingers and arms to find out how tightly O’Malley had tied the rope. She was able to move her wrists a little bit, but there wasn’t much slack available. Still, with a little time, she might be able to slide the rope up over her chest and shoulders and wriggle out beneath it.
Sébastien would figure out she was missing sooner or later. What would Peter tell him? Would Sébastien believe him?
They wouldn’t know where to find her, so she knew it was up to her to get loose and find a way back to the Cherbourg mansion. She had to work fast, though. Peter might not intend to leave her around long enough to ruin his plan…whatever that might be.
Ella paused, wondering just what the man intended. If he was the one who tried to run them off the road, who pushed the urn into the conservatory, and fired that shot into the library, he was obviously determined and resourceful. It made her cringe to realize she and Sébastien had planned their every move right under Peter’s nose, and almost always within his earshot.
But what did Peter have to gain by silencing her and stopping Sébastien’s exhibition? It seemed backwards. Shouldn’t he want to support Sébastien in everything he did?
It doesn’t matter, she realized. If O’Malley was willing to take the kind of risks that might have harmed Sébastien, too, he obviously wasn’t willing to support him. In fact, he probably didn’t care if Sébastien died. What if Sébastien was O’Malley’s next target?
Over my dead body, she thought. She wiggled her wrists up and down, working the little bit of play in the rope.
Chapter Sixteen
Sébastien tried to focus on the emails and faxes from journalists who hadn’t been able to make the press conference. Ordinarily, he’d have directed Lisa to handle these. But he needed something, anything, to make him forget about Ella and the way her body called to him even when she wasn’t in the same room.
Wherever she was, he could feel the magnetic pull she exerted on him. It was like gravity. And it was more than his body’s response to her soft, lush curves and the almost unearthly pleasure they’d found together in his bed. He knew it wasn’t possible to fall in love with someone in the span of a few days, but it was definitely possible to realize one woman could be all the things he’d never assumed he’d have.
Ella hadn’t been hardened by the world in the same way Amanda had. Whereas Amanda had seen everything in dollar signs, Ella saw everything through the eyes of a child—the child she still was, deep down inside. He adored that about her. The way she could lose herself in the simple pleasure of a book. The way she talked out loud when she thought no one could hear her.
She was so eager to find happiness wherever she could, unlike anyone in his own family. All they’d cared about was money and prestige. He would never be sorry they’d built such a magnificent empire to hand down to him, but he was beginning to see what he’d missed, what they’d all missed.
He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out Ella’s golden chain, the one she’d left behind on his nightstand. He knew she’d want it back, and that was exactly why he planned to keep it close to him. She’d have to come and find him—and talk to him—in order to get it back.
He looked at the two rings suspended on the thin golden chain. One large, one small, both in beaten gold. A pair of wedding rings, he thought. They must have belonged to her parents. The whole concept blew him away. He’d never needed another person so much that having their personal possessions near him would have brought him comfort.
Until now, he thought.
After all, wasn’t he doing the same thing with Ella? Keeping her necklace because it reminded her of him and brought him some comfort? He put it back in his pocket and told himself not to think about it any more. When she wanted it, she’d find him.
Sébastien looked down at the stack of faxed inquiries in his hand. The last thing he felt like doing was answering any of them. Until Ella finished her report, he couldn’t even be sure the exhi
bition would happen. He couldn’t be sure about anything, really.
He would never forget the look in her eyes as he’d accused her of lying to him. Why did I do that? he thought. I probably ruined everything.
He should have known he couldn’t sleep with her and then expect her to be someone different. He didn’t want her to be someone different. He’d let the stress of the situation get to him—and ruined his best chance at building something with the only woman who’d ever stood up to him when it mattered most.
He pictured her wide blue-gray eyes filling with tears as she stepped out of his room, still draped in the sheet they’d covered their naked bodies with. He should have gone after her, apologized and begged her to come back to bed. But once he’d make the mistake of letting her go, his pride had kept him away. And now all he had were the memories of their night together, of her pale thighs clasped around his chest as he buried himself in her velvety warmth…
Sébastien felt his body respond to the provocative images. Just thinking about Ella, warm and naked beneath him, got his blood flowing in all sorts of uncomfortable ways.
He groaned aloud. Had his grandfather and other ancestors had to deal with situations like this? Had they been put in positions (both literal and metaphorical) when family pride and the desires of their bodies clashed uncontrollably?
If they had, he could guess which solution they’d gone with.
And just as soon as he had that thought, he realized his choice would be different.
Cherbourgs followed their instincts and his all led straight back to Ella.
He tossed the stack of faxes to the floor. I need to find her, he thought. I need to tell her I was wrong.
Anxiously, he searched the top floor of the house but she was nowhere to be found. He began to worry, wondering if she’d wandered out of the house to clear her head. Had the shooter snatched her from the grounds? Or had she gone in search of Gertrude or Peter?
He decided to search downstairs, too, just in case. He checked the kitchen and dining rooms with no luck. Then, in one of the downstairs parlors, he saw her laptop case. Smiling, he moved forward into the room. But then he realized that she wasn’t using her computer. She hadn’t even started her report. The laptop case was closed and there was no laptop plugged in or visible anywhere in the room.
He stepped over to the case and picked it up. By its weight, Sébastien could tell the computer was still inside. Where is she? he wondered. Has she already finished the report? If she’d finished, why hadn’t she come straight to him or at least emailed him the report? She hadn’t left yet, or she would have taken the computer.
It didn’t feel right.
Sébastien left the laptop case where he’d first seen it and continued searching downstairs. All the bathrooms were open and he found no further trace of her. With every dead end and empty room, he felt his heart beat a little more quickly. What was going on? He didn’t think she would simply walk out the door without her laptop.
Something was definitely wrong. The strange twisting ache in his heart confirmed what he’d suspected all along—Ella was in danger.
His fingers slipped into his pocket and curled around his phone. He dialed Novochek’s number and waited for his head of security to pick up. One and a half rings later, he did. “Mr. Cherbourg? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know, Ed. I can’t find Ella. Have you seen her?”
“Negative, Mr. Cherbourg. But let me check in with the guys and see if any of them know anything. Hold on.”
Sébastien heard Novochek pull his walkie-talkie from his belt and relay his request to the four members of the permanent security patrol. He heard the first three men check in with Novochek, nothing new to report. But the fourth man buzzed in with something different.
“CSP 5 reporting,” the man said.
“Go ahead,” Novochek said.
“I haven’t seen the girl, but I did see Dr. O’Malley. He was in his car, heading from the garage to the gate.”
“When was this?” Novochek asked.
“About forty-five minutes ago,” the guard reported.
Peter, Sébastien thought. What was he doing leaving in the middle of a lockdown? He should know better than that.
He waited for Ed to put the phone back to his ear. “Ed,” he said, trying to control the fury in his voice. “Did you or did you not hear me put this place on lockdown? Lockdown means no one comes or goes, even staff. I thought you understood that!”
Novochek sighed. “I do, boss. It won’t happen again.”
“Damn right it won’t! Search the grounds. Maybe Ella wandered out of the house. Check back with me in ten minutes, no excuses this time.”
Ed acquiesced and Sébastien hung up the phone. He felt the anger building within him and looked around for an outlet. Breaking something wouldn’t help him find Ella, but it might keep him from snapping.
He grabbed a porcelain music box resting on the side table and hurled it to the floor. Why would Peter do something so stupid? He’d told the man they might need him, that he should be ready. What if the shooter struck again and Peter wasn’t there to help? What the hell was he thinking?
Then his mind began to take him all sorts of frightening places. Was it a coincidence that both Peter and Ella were suddenly missing? Could the shooter have gotten in the house and somehow coerced Peter out of it? But then why hadn’t the security patrolman seen Ella and someone else in the car? Why only Peter? Where was Gertrude?
“Gertrude,” he bellowed. He stalked through the lower story, slamming doors and calling for her. He finally found her in the conservatory, sweeping shards of glass out of the way. “Gertrude!” he yelled. “Where have you been?”
Frau Müller turned to face him, a worried look on her face. “I’ve been in here, Sébastien. Has something happened?”
“Peter’s gone and so is Ella.”
His housekeeper flinched as if she’d been struck.
He hadn’t gotten to the head of the Cherbourg empire without being able to tell when someone was hiding something from him. “What is it?” he yelled. “What do you know?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled.
“Gertrude, two people are missing. This is serious. If you know something…”
The housekeeper pushed her wire-rimmed glasses further onto the bridge of her nose. “It might not mean anything.”
Once again, he felt the urge to break something to control his anger. He forced himself to think of Ella to try and calm himself down. Screaming at her hadn’t gotten him anywhere—it only made her more determined to resist him. Maybe, he thought, he could learn something from her. “Gertrude, please,” he said. “This is serious. The security detail can’t find her and neither can I. I need to find her.”
Gertrude’s sharp blue eyes flickered over his brow, his eyes, his chin. Whatever she was looking for, he hoped she found it. She cleared her throat and stepped closer to him. “I saw Peter about an hour ago. It was just through a crack in the door as I passed by, but it scared me.”
“Why?” he asked quickly. “What was he doing?”
“He was in the Peacock Room. I saw him with his doctor’s bag open. He was checking for supplies. I saw him hold up a syringe.”
“Was Ella with him?”
The housekeeper shook her head. “He was alone.”
Sébastien clenched his fists and clamped his jaw shut. Breathe, he told himself.
“What is it?” Frau Müller asked. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know, but I found Ella’s laptop in the Peacock Room. She was already gone.”
Frau Müller shook her head in confusion. “You don’t think…”
“I don’t know what to think,” he said. Thoughts were whirling in his brain, and it was hard to grab hold of just one of them. Could his family’s most trusted employee really be the one who’d taken Ella? “But we need to find him. Now. Where might he have gone?”
Gertrude swallowed heavily. “Sébastien, I—”
“Do not lecture me, Gertrude. Not now, of all times.”
“I wasn’t going to.” She tilted her head, the ghost of a smile turning the corners of her lips. “I was going to say that you’ve been different since she arrived, in a good way. I saw your eyes following her every move, Sébastien. I know how worried you are about her.”
“Then help me find her. Where would he have gone?”
Gertrude bent her head. “He keeps a house, an old Victorian that used to belong to his son. I don’t know where else he could have gone.”
“Where is it, Gertrude?”
She repeated an address in the city’s southern grid, near the freeway on the way to Daly City.
His car keys were out of his pocket and in his hand before she’d even taken another breath. “Let’s go,” he growled.
Chapter Seventeen
She had no idea how long she’d been working the rope, but she’d finally managed to slip it up to chest level. Ella shook her shoulders one more time and then tried to slip beneath it, as if it were a limbo contest instead of a life-and-death struggle. She had to escape before Peter O’Malley returned. There was no telling what might happen if she didn’t.
Straining, she arched her back and pivoted her shoulders as she slunk to the floor. Her aching muscles cried out for her to stop but she forced herself to slide beneath the rope until she was free.
When her head dipped beneath the rope, she exhaled with a grateful sigh. Ella scuttled away from the rope and the post. She sat on the cold cement floor, panting and rubbing her arms. The basement was seriously cold and felt goosebumps break out up and down her arms. “Now where am I?” she said out loud. “And how the hell do I get out of here?”
Ella’s eyes darted from corner to corner, searching for a way out that didn’t involve the rickety wooden staircase leading up to the basement door. Surely there was someone upstairs guarding her.
That thought brought her back to Peter O’Malley. Why had he done it? What possible reason could he have for kidnapping her? Who was he working with? Maybe, she thought, whoever shot at me in the library blackmailed him into helping. Or maybe Peter really had nothing to do with it.
