“So you're trying to tell me that you came to Miss Astbury's aid because you had a carnal interest in her?”
“I came to her aid because that's the kind of man I am. Whatever this other...Elite thing is? I have no idea. I'd like to know more though, because now you've piqued my interest.” Mattias played the aloof card, unsure just how much the silver haired man knew about his activities during the gala. If they didn't know who was a part of the group, then it would have been impossible to keep track of every single guest. There was a slim chance that Mattias could be telling the truth, and that these men had 'caught' the wrong person.
Or that's what he wanted the man to think.
After a few minutes, the gentleman pivoted on a heel and walked to the door. Using a keypad built into the doorframe, he entered a series of numbers and let himself out. He marched away along one of the cobbled paths, posture stiff, as if he was annoyed with the results of his conversation. Mattias made sure to mark the direction until the man was out of sight.
Maybe, just maybe, he'd bought himself a little more time.
When the door opened again, Alannah didn't waste a second making her needs known. “Excuse me, but I have to use the restroom. Please. I can't wait any longer.”
“After you've answered my questions, I'll be happy to let you do that,” a masculine voice said.
“What questions?” Alannah asked. This wasn't the same man who'd threatened her with a gag. The voice of this man was deeper, cultured.
“I'd like to know everything you know about Mister Ahtissari's business. What you might have seen while in his company, who might have called him, or who he called, for that matter. Anyone at all who interacted with him on any level in your presence at the gala you both attended.”
Bounce, bounce, bounce. Alannah's knee twitched and jerked in her effort to stifle the painful ache of her bladder. She didn't like the questions this man wanted answered. If he was the assassin in the plot Mattias had discovered, he might be inclined to do her in faster if she didn't oblige his whim. A disquieting thought.
“Well, let's see. I saw him with many people at the ball. He spoke to perhaps fifty guests--”
“I meant more personal interactions. People he seemed taken with, or very interested in. You know what I'm talking about, I think.”
Alannah knew what he wanted. Which was ironically the same thing she wanted. To know more about Mattias's 'acquaintances'. To know more about Mattias himself, and any unusual activities he engaged in. She would burn before she told this man anything substantial. Either about who she'd seen Mattias interact with on a 'personal' level or otherwise.
“Please, Mister--”
“You don't need to know my name.”
“Sir. I can't concentrate on fine details like this. If you'll just let me use the restroom—and I'll be quick, I promise—I'll tell you everything that might be relevant.” Alannah felt like she was making deals with the devil, a concept she disliked.
A moment later, the bindings on her wrists loosened and the man helped her up. The bindings on each wrist remained, though the blindfold disappeared. As she'd suspected, they were in a decently large bedroom decorated with a masculine theme. Dark colors, a leather trunk and studded chairs near a far window provided a soothing, rich ambiance.
Guided to an adjoining bathroom door, the man, remaining behind her out of sight, gave her a small push and enclosed her inside.
“You have two minutes,” he said.
Alannah hurried to use the facilities before her time was up. Just as she snatched a towel off the holder to dry her hands at the sink, the door opened. The man who stood there wore a fine suit, silver hair combed away from his face. Handsome for his age, he exuded an austere air of authority. He looked far from Alannah's idea of a man bent on murder.
“Let's go,” he said with a gesture toward the chair.
Exiting the bathroom after tossing down the towel, wishing she'd had time to scoop water into her mouth, she padded back to the hateful chair and sat down.
“Start talking,” he said as he secured her wrists once more.
“Please, can we leave the blindfold off?”
“Start. Talking.” Enunciating each word, the man stood in front of her chair with the blindfold in one hand and a cell phone in the other.
“Well. There was a blonde woman--”
“Names. I want names.”
“I don't know her name. I'm trying to help you, but you have to realize that I don't know three quarters of the people that attended the party. I can only describe who I saw him with.” Alannah latched onto that excuse for all she was worth. She could 'describe' handfuls of affluent people and it wouldn't be a lie that Mattias had interacted with some of them. It might throw the man off the trail of the two she had seen Mattias with. Ahsan and the long haired man that came to their aid during the shooting, Chayton.
“But you know some names. I'll never believe that you're ignorant to the same peer group you've grown up with your whole life.” The man crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her with an inscrutable expression.
“The Tinsdales, Mister and Missus Shoemaker--”
“The Tinsdales and Shoemakers are all upward of seventy-five years. I hardly think that's who a virile Prince spent most of his time with.”
“What does age have to do with it? You asked for names, I'm giving you the ones I know.” Alannah hated to name anyone, but at least the Tinsdales and Shoemakers had excellent security that could rout any kind of attack this man chose to send their way. She knew they weren't in cahoots with the Prince, not in the way the silver haired man meant, and so, Alannah hoped it would distract and derail him long enough for her to escape.
The man stared long and hard at her, then turned to the dresser. He set the cell phone and blindfold on the surface. Alannah frowned, hearing a few thumps as he sorted through things inside the top drawer. When he turned back around, he held a pair of wicked looking pruning shears, a length of string and a wad of gauze. Instantly, her hackles went up and she darted a wary look at his face. He seemed too refined to use the implements in a nefarious way. Then again, she didn't know him, or what he was capable of. The look in his eyes, straight-forward and precise, suggested he would use them if he had to.
Unsettled, Alannah twisted her hands against the binds. There was no give in the material.
“Once more, Miss Astbury,” the man said, setting the string and gauze atop the dresser. He kept the shears in his hand. “Names.”
“I...I told you. Tinsdales, Shoemakers, the blonde woman—who I think he took to his bed a night or two—several young men whose identities I'm not familiar with—wait!” Alannah stiffened in the chair when her captor took two strides forward. “I'm telling you everything I know.”
“I think not, Miss Astbury. You shouldn't miss the tip of your ring finger, or pinky. Hm?” He arched a silvery brow and took another step.
“No, no. I'm telling you. Ask anyone—I don't mingle with these people. I'm not best friends with any of them and I hardly talked to anyone while I was at the gala.” Alannah fell back on her social awkwardness to save her. If this man inquired at all with anyone at the party, he would find she told the truth. Alannah did not have a reputation for mixing well with the upper echelon.
Paused halfway between her chair and the dresser, Alannah waited while the man seemed to consider her answer. Reaching back, he yanked the blindfold off the dresser and approached. Squirming, terror freezing her muscles, she could do nothing while he wrapped the blindfold around her head once more. Doused into darkness, Alannah clenched her fingers into fists, worried she might feel the cold steel of the shear blades against her skin. Being shot at during a car chase seemed a cakewalk compared to this. She hated not knowing what he was doing and, unable to see, couldn't discern his mood from watching his eyes or his expression. Nervous, she nibbled the inside of her lip as he moved to stand somewhere in front of her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
She couldn't help herself. Unnerved, she needed to keep him talking so she could at least place him in the room.
“Deciding if an earlobe will do instead.”
“Please. I'm telling you the truth. Just call anyone at the party. They'll tell you.” Alannah didn't know what to think when she heard footsteps retreating. A quiet scrape and thump followed.
“I'm going to make a few calls. I'll know within five minutes whether you've been stalling on me, Miss Astbury, and if you have, I'm going to take a small souvenir off your body for every minute you've made me waste.”
Alannah shuddered as the door opened and closed. The moment she was alone, she struggled with the binds on her wrists, desperate to be free.
She couldn't think about the consequences if she failed to remove the bonds and flee the room before he returned.
Chapter Twelve
The presence of a security man smoking on the walkway just outside the pagoda prevented Mattias from actively searching for a weak point in the room. If he looked like he was plotting an escape, they might send someone to stand guard for the rest of the night, hindering his ability to systematically check the panes and the door.
Watching the guard through his lashes, feigning sleep, Mattias waited for the security man to move on. Once the cigarette burned to the filter, the guard tossed it beneath his shoe and headed away from the pagoda.
Perfect. All Mattias needed was a few minutes to himself.
Just as his thigh muscles flexed, preparing to scoot the chair, the silver haired man returned. Mattias muttered a quiet curse but otherwise said nothing while the man closed the door and faced him. He pretended to wake up, going through the motions of grogginess and disorientation. Mattias wanted to make the man feel non-threatened, as if Mattias was too 'out of it' to do anything other than sit there and stare.
“The woman you're attempting to woo into your bed has proven inept and unhelpful,” the man said. He strolled closer and pulled his cell phone from a front pocket. “However, since you informed me that you're the kind of man to come to a woman's aid, then perhaps this will coerce you to speak a little more freely.”
Mattias dropped his gaze to the phone when the man turned it around. A video clip played, featuring none other than Alannah Astbury. Blindfolded, bound to a chair much like himself, she wore a terrified expression, clearly distraught and afraid. Unexpectedly, his stomach clenched. Furious, it was all Mattias could do not to lose control, which would be a disaster of monumental proportions. This man needed to believe that Mattias had no other connection to Alannah, that the Prince wouldn't fight under these circumstances to save her. Sparing her from a kidnapping was entirely different than facing possible murder.
Memorizing what little he could see of the room beyond Alannah's chair, Mattias decided she must be here somewhere, in a dwelling eclipsed by the dense foliage of the garden. It was too convenient that the man left once, then returned with a short video. The silver haired gent had gone to tape it in an effort to get him to talk.
“She doesn't look too happy,” Mattias said, nonchalant. He cocked his head and arched a brow at his captor.
Pocketing the phone when the video ran out, the man stared down at Mattias with a hard expression. “I want to know the name of every person you've spoken to since arriving at the gala. Give me details, descriptions, and snippets of conversations you overheard. Did you notice anything unusual? I might add that I don't believe your denials, but we'll start here. If I don't have one of the Royal Elite in my possession come midnight? Then your 'acquaintance' will start losing body parts, one every hour until there is nothing left.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” Mattias replied, inflecting a bored tone into the words. “I really wouldn't want such a pretty thing to lose precious...pieces...so maybe you'll find something useful in what I have to tell you. Ready?”
The man thinned his lips with obvious displeasure.
Mattias proceeded to recount his time at House Morano, lazily describing encounters and giving names. He made sure to use people he knew had no connection to the group, people obscure enough to force the man to do some background investigation. Mattias needed time to get himself, and Alannah, out of this situation. Now more than ever, he worried for her safety. And the thought of anyone carving away little pieces of her threatened to unravel his carefully maintained control.
Once done, he licked the split in his lip and regarded the dubious expression on his captor's features.
“Are you positive that's all you know?” the man asked after a moment.
“That's everything and every one.”
“It won't take me long to discover whether you're lying.”
“I expect not. You'll soon find out I've given you all I know. Will you then release us? Taking her won't have the same repercussions as taking me. Even now, I guarantee people are hunting you down. If you allow us our freedom, perhaps there will not be such severe consequences once my men show up on your doorstep. If nothing else, believe me when I say—they're coming.”
Posture stiffening, the man stared hard at the Prince, then departed the pagoda at a brisk pace.
Mattias guessed he had maybe a half an hour before his story unraveled and the man returned, prepared for vengeance.
Thump. Alannah's chair landed hard on its side. Pain shot through her shoulder and across her collarbone, resonating in waves that made her dizzy and breathless. Somehow, she managed not to scream. In her effort to get to the dresser, she'd scooted too fast, the leg of the chair catching on the corner of a rug.
Breathing through noises that would have otherwise been whimpers, Alannah struggled to get the chair upright. Her torso wasn't roped to the seat, which gave her a little more wiggle room.
Not enough, it turned out, to finagle the chair onto all four legs.
Frustrated, unable to see, she used her feet to scoot along the floor, inch by agonizing inch, until her shoe made contact with the dresser. She gave the dresser a hard kick, hoping the shears the man set on the surface would tumble to the ground.
How in the world she would manipulate them without the use of her hands was beyond her at the moment. Maybe she could roll the chair over, get the material near the shears, and cut it away. With that in mind, she kicked the dresser again. Something tumbled off and landed with a thud not far from her knee. Scuttling around, wrenching her shoulder in the process, she maneuvered herself into a position to feel around for the shears. With her range of motion so severely limited, it seemed an eternity passed before her fingers made contact with cold metal. Two minutes later, she pried the handle apart, exposing the wickedly sharp curve of the blade.
In her younger years, Alannah had reveled in activities that challenged her. Although she preferred them to be centered around archeological digs or other rural hunting grounds for her beloved artifacts, she nevertheless engaged in physically demanding situations that required strength of will and determination to complete.
This was another of those situations.
Sliding her wrists back, she missed the correct angle and poked the meat of her thumb on the sharp tip of the blade. She didn't think she'd drawn blood. On her third attempt, just as the material touched the shears, the sound of footsteps outside her door blew her concentration.
Pausing, she held her breath. She was so close. So close to escape.
The footsteps halted and the doorknob turned.
Tipping his head back, Mattias stared at the space between the timber beams making up the roof of the pagoda. There were glass panels and also screens, allowing him to hear the sounds outside and smell the scent of green flora that surrounded the room in every direction. He noted the ability for staff to slide the glass panels in place when it rained to keep water out, and he also noticed that the screens themselves appeared easy to remove.
The problem with that escape route was reaching the roof to begin with. It was high enough that he didn't think he could touch the beams even standing on the chair. Sweeping his gaze to the
two doors, he assessed those as well. The one that led outside would be the prime way to exit the room. It gave him direct access to the grounds without the need to jump from the roof or bash through a window. The bathroom, which only had one window and no other exit point, was option number two. He thought he could squeeze through the window after kicking the glass and screen out, a risky—noisy—venture. Still better than using the chair on a full pane.
His gaze landed on the main door again. As close as Mattias had watched the keypad entry, the silver haired man knew better than to leave it wide open to Mattias's gaze and had obscured most of it with his hand. He shifted his wrists against the thin but strong wrap of rope. Earlier he had tried to squeeze his hands out to no avail. The rope was too snug, his hands too broad. If he got his hands in front of him, however, he knew he could get free with no problem.
Flattening his feet against the ground, he shoved backwards as hard as he could, using his body to help with the momentum. Made of wood, older rather than newer, the chair couldn't take the pressure and several slats across the back cracked. Rolling right, bringing the remains of the chair with him, he slammed the legs against the floor next, destabilizing the seat even further. From there it was a matter of strong arming his way clear of the wood and tucking his legs to slide his hands under his body, up over his feet to the front. Being agile had its advantages.
Glancing up, he checked the cobbled walk. Clear. No guards in sight.
On his way to the bathroom, he twisted and pried at the ropes, rubbing the skin of his wrists raw in the process. Dropping into a crouch by the sink, he finally removed his bonds and threw down the rope. Gripping a pipe connecting the sink to the wall, he strong-armed it loose, twisting and turning until it came free. The threaded end would do nicely for his next job.
Carrying the pipe across the pagoda to the main door, he braced the threaded end up against the rim of a hinge and banged the other end. That the hinges were located on the inside rather than the outside suggested this space had never originally been intended to hold prisoners. Likely, the silver haired man put him here, not realizing Mattias's skill in escaping. It also blocked site of whatever other structures might be on the property, an advantage his captor seemed to need.
The Royal Elite: Mattias Page 14
