by Kendra Leigh
“Hey.”
She responds with a half smile.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting. I wasn’t sure what time we were leaving.”
I wondered if she might realize what was happening before I had to tell her. I’m glad she has.
“I’ve cleaned the refrigerator, thrown out the perishables.”
“Oh. Why?”
“Basic hygiene. We can’t just go and leave everything to go bad. I mean, this place belongs to someone.”
“You didn’t need to do that. There are people who … it doesn’t matter.” Suddenly, the little things seem inconsequential. “I’ll take a quick shower. Then we’ll go.”
A look of alarm passes briefly over her face, but it’s gone, replaced with indifference all too quickly. I stride past her into the bathroom and shut the door.
* * *
By the time I’m ready, she’s already sitting in the passenger seat of the car, her backpack and folder on the rear seat behind her. I actually feel emotional about leaving this place—what kind of wuss am I? I want to take my time saying goodbye—the lake, the porch, the woods, everything with a memory attached to it—but instead, I stride with purpose to the car without even so much as a backward glance. Have a word with yourself, Jackson, I chastise myself under my breath.
Sparrow, or Savannah as she should be known now this is all over, sits in silence for the entire journey, her head turned away from me as she glares through the passenger window. I don’t know if it’s that she’s mentally checked out, her mind already back in Brooklyn with her husband or like me she’s quietly contemplating the effect this past week’s had on her. There’s so much I’d like to say to her, things that I almost blurt out several times but suppress at the last moment deeming them inappropriate. As the journey nears its end, I feel almost panicky inside, desperately thinking of something to say but nothing seems right. Just before we enter the city, I receive an oddly worded text message—the handover location and address where I’m to take Savannah, which seems odd, but it’s the finer details of how which are even more bizarre.
I’m not about to start asking questions now, I’m almost done with this, so as instructed, I pull over and rummage through my hold-all on the backseat until I find what I need. The midnight blue woven silk tie is one of my favorites, a gift from Angel, but nothing else will suffice.
When I climb back in to the driver’s seat, Savannah is eyeing me curiously. “What’s that for?”
“It’s, um … they told me to—”
“Are you going to blindfold me?”
I shrug. “I’m sorry, I have no id—”
“Are you? Sorry?”
I’m not certain I know what we’re talking about anymore, but it’s my opportunity—probably the last I’ll get—to say something. “What happened between us … well, it shouldn’t have … not in the way it did. I crossed the line, broke every rule in the book, and took advantage of what is obviously a confusing and raw situation for you. And for that, yes, I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” She speaks with such conviction it surprises me. Her expression void of any resentment, she gazes at me, icy blue eyes misted with sadness.
Reaching out, I touch her face, peaches and cream complexion perfect in every way. She leans into my touch, a subtle gesture, but I know it’s her way of saying we’re okay, a silent goodbye. Her gaze trails off as she seems to mull something over.
“You said it shouldn’t have happened in the way it did. Out of interest, how should it have happened?”
I search for the right words, not wanting to degrade the situation further. “Exactly how it says on the tin, I guess. I should have stuck to the code of behavior. Just as you expected me to.”
“I didn’t know what to expect.” She looks utterly confused.
“I know. And that’s when I should have brought you back, but instead I took advantage and allowed our feelings to get tangled. It was wrong of me.”
“You don’t have to see it that way.”
“I have no choice. You’re married.”
Her reaction is like I just threw cold water in her face, as if the reminder of her marital status comes as a surprise to her, her skin visibly bristling from my words as she shuffles back away from me.
“Yes. I am.” Her gaze falls to the tie in my hands. “Should I be afraid?”
“Honestly? I have no idea what this is all about, but don’t be afraid. I taught you to be fearless, remember?”
As if my words embolden her, she nods, and I stare into Sparrow’s eyes for the last time before she turns and I cover them with silk. When I’m done, I take her face in my hands, lean forward and kiss her gently on the lips. I close my eyes, inhale, and commit her to my memory.
We arrive bang on time despite the traffic in Midtown Manhattan. A tall skinny guy in a suit presses in a code to lift the barrier to a hotel parking lot then bends to tap on my window. As it lowers, he glances first at Savannah, then smirking, he winks at me. “Basement. Through the door in the far left corner. Then back here.” He pats his pocket. “Natalie wants me to settle with you directly.”
I couldn’t give a damn what Natalie Leonard wants. I don’t even want her cash. I just want to get out of here. Long drawn-out goodbyes are not my thing. The venue still confuses me. I don’t understand why I couldn’t just return her to Brooklyn, but I don’t ask questions. I can do that later. Right now, my stomach is almost nauseous with nervous tension, and a glance at Savannah tells me she’s feeling the same. The sooner this is over the better.
In the left corner of the lot is a single door. I pull up alongside and reach across, taking her hand in mine. “You ready?”
“Yes.” It’s barely a whisper.
I squeeze her hand reassuringly and climb out, opening the back door to gather her things. It’s a mess, everything unsettled from the uneven road up from the cabin, my shit all over the place from me poking around in my hold-all looking for a suitable blindfold. Her backpack has wedged itself behind the passenger seat. I yank it and pull it free then reach down to retrieve her folder where it’s slid just under the seat, popping it inside the bag and closing it. Then I open her door and take her hand, guiding her toward the door in the corner. When I open it there’s a corridor about ten feet long, a second door at the other end. It’s a walkway through to another garage exclusively for VIP parking. Standing by the door is a big ugly guy, his hands clasped in front of him, his demeanor that of a doorman, like he’s guarding what or whoever’s in there.
“We’ll take it from here.” His voice is big like him, his tone somewhat menacing as he starts toward us.
I hold up the flat of my hand against his advance. “Hold on a minute, mate, where are you taking her?”
“I’m not your mate. And, like I said, we’ll take it from here.”
I feel Savannah tense up beside me, tucking further into my side.
“Don’t worry, he sounds more beefed up than he is,” I lie quietly into her ear. Then to him, “Is all this really necessary?”
“Your job here is done. Go back to Joe. He’ll settle with you.” He starts toward us again.
“Okay, just give us one second. Please.” He’s pissed, but he halts and turns sideways, back against the wall, his stance resumed.
Turning my back on him, I face Savannah. My hand moves to her face, and I want to remove the blindfold, kiss her again, but we have an audience. My nerves are rattling like tin cans in a breeze; I’m not comfortable with any of this shit, and I can see by the way she trembles that Savannah isn’t either.
Leaning close to her ear, I whisper, “Looks like our time’s up. It was nice knowing you, Savannah Harper.”
As I’m about to step away, she grabs for my arm, pulling me back. “Wait. You didn’t break all the rules. You never told me your name. I’d like to know.”
She’s right. It’s about the only rule I didn’t break. Fuck it. I’ve nothing to lose now.
“My name’s J
ackson. Jackson Dean.”
Chapter Sixteen
Savannah
JACKSON DEAN. JACKSON DEAN.
I say it over in my head as I hear his footsteps recede, the weight of his gaze heavy on my back as the door opens and gently closes behind him. Inside, I feel empty, like the door has just closed on my world, locking me out in the cold, homeless and abandoned.
I like it. Jackson. It suits him. It’s solid, strong yet has a soft sibilance to its sound. I play it over again and again, the gentle way it undulates through my mind, drowning out the trepidation I feel when the man with the hulky voice takes my arm and guides me through this damp enclosed space. A gush of cold air steals my breath as a second door opens and vulnerability claws its way inside my skin. The area I’m in feels vast and cavernous, the gloom seeming to settle on my skin like a damp mist. Small sounds echo large and ominous—the click of the door as it closes, the drip of dank water somewhere deep within the yawning space.
The man releases me, his steps seeming loud and thunderous to match the beating of my heart as he leaves me standing there waiting to be swallowed.
Jackson. Jackson Dean. Jackson Dean.
The sound of a car door opening alerts me to the presence of someone else: slow precise movements, the tap and click of heels moving closer—a woman, the waft of her scent enveloping my senses. Familiar.
I feel the tug as the tie is released, falling away from my eyes, my blurred vision clearing to reveal the person standing in front of me. The person responsible for my abduction, for the way I feel like a part of my life just crumbled away only minutes ago. For Jackson.
“Happy birthday, my dear friend.”
Ava stands before me, painted lips stretching across her face, pure joy mixed with genuine affection glistening in her eyes.
“Ava.” My mind can’t compute a thing. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to check on my best friend and to make sure she enjoyed my gift.”
“What are you talking about? What gift?”
“You said you wanted to get swept off your feet and fucked until you screamed for mercy. You wanted a fantasy. I got you one.”
I shake my head, struggling with the fog that won’t clear. “All this … wasn’t real? A fantasy?” She nods and I notice movement behind her, Grace and Megan moving into view from a parked limo I only just notice.
“Happy birthday, Savannah,” they say in unison.
“I hope you don’t mind that I told them what you said. We came up with this together,” Ava explains.
“Well?” Megan squeals. “Tell us? Was he worth every cent?”
I suddenly feel light headed. “I have to sit down.” Megan signals to the car, but I lower to the ground, folding my arms around my knees. “I don’t understand.”
“What’s not to understand?” Grace asks, the question soaked in disbelief. “You just spent a week of hot sex with a perfect sexy stranger who’s bound by a confidentiality clause never to divulge your dirty little secret. All courtesy of your dearest friends. That’s pretty much it in an unequivocal nutshell.”
Ava crouches by my side, concern transforming her features. “What is it, Savannah?” she asks me quietly.
“Is there anything money can’t buy these days?” Megan continues their conversation. “I know what I want for my birthday, anyway, ladies.”
“Savannah?” Ava prompts me again. “Everything was okay, wasn’t it? He didn’t hurt you?”
“What?” The question seems bizarre. “No. He would never hurt me.” I’m finding it hard to focus on her face or the conversation still going on around me, Grace announcing we have rooms booked, a night of champagne and dancing ahead, something about a beautiful dress for me to change in to—but somewhere from the fog in my mind, a question rears large and foreboding. “But if I wasn’t really abducted … where does Nick think I am?”
“I must admit that has been tricky. We considered texting him, telling him we’ve whipped you off to a spa, no cell phones, no contact with the outside world, but after what you said, we thought we’d let him sweat. Let the bastard think you left him. He did try my cell a few times and then he tried Liam, who told him I was out of town for a few days and had no idea where I was.” She pauses for breath, watching as my expression turns to one of horror. “Don’t worry so much, Savannah. You deserved a break, deserved to feel special for a few days. He doesn’t need to know your every move. So what if he worried about you? It might make him appreciate you more.”
“What have you done?” I glare at her in utter disbelief.
“Just stick to the spa story. He’ll never know any different. Tell him we kidnapped you, made you leave your cell behind. Hell, tell him you left a note and the housekeeper must have cleared it away.”
“Housekeeper?” I hiss. “You really have no fucking clue about my life, do you? Any of you?”
“Oh, come on.” Grace looks appalled at my behavior. “Don’t make more of this than you need to. Just make something up. From what Ava said, he’s in no position to ask really, is he?”
“Christ, you don’t feel guilty, do you?” Megan laughs. “It’s just sex, babe. We all need to live out a fantasy now and then. If you’re not getting it at home … go buy it.” She laughs again, like what she just suggested is the most normal thing in the world.
Ava lays her hand on my arm. “It was just sex? You didn’t—” Her eyes scan mine, reading me. “Shit! Savannah, you weren’t supposed to fall for him.”
The three of them stare at me in horror.
I push her away. “You have no idea what you’ve done.” I search frantically for my backpack, throwing it over my shoulder, my eyes searching for a way out. “I have to go. I have to get home.”
“We’ll drive you,” Ava says.
“You’ve done enough.” I turn and head toward what looks like it could be an exit, before turning back to her. “I need some money. For a cab. Please.”
“Savannah, we’ll drive you,” she repeats.
“I just need some money. I don’t want a ride. Please, I have to go.”
Reluctantly, she grabs a handful of notes from her purse and hands them to me. “Savannah, I’m sorry. We were just trying to—”
I turn and run.
* * *
My head is so crammed full of this train-wreck situation that I can’t think straight. The only thing that seems important right now is getting home, so I vow to put all other thoughts aside until I deal with what’s immediately ahead. I have no idea how I’m going to explain where I’ve been, my mind flips from one hopeless excuse to another, each one as pathetic as the last. The idea of seeing Nick is hellish, repulsive. Every part of me feels like it’s twisting into a knot.
I ask the cab driver to let me out one block over, just up from the Beetle. When he turns the corner out of sight, I dig my keys out of the front pocket of my backpack and grab what I need from the trunk before climbing in the passenger side. After changing into the sweats and hoodie, I leave everything else inside the trunk, lock it, and then hide the keys under the wheel arch. Then I make my way to the park.
It’s almost completely dark when I reach the steps up to my house. Nick’s car is parked outside; the lights are on in the house. He’s home. And I feel sick to the core. My hand shakes as I reach for the handle, press down, and push open the door. The sound of the TV is the first thing I hear, the low rumble of conversation and muted laughter. Forcing my feet to move, I step inside and turn toward the entrance of the sitting room. Nick sits in a chair, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, his eyes widening in surprise as they make out my shape. He stands and takes a few steps toward me, taking in my appearance. My oversized clothes are disheveled, my hair matted, face streaked with dried on dirt, a result of rubbing myself down with damp earth from beneath the park trees.
He opens his mouth to speak, confusion causing him to hesitate briefly. “Where the fuck have you been?”
My mouth is dry as dust when I answer, the words
scraping past my nerves. “I … don’t know. Someone took me. Bundled me into the trunk of a car and took me some place. Tied my hands and feet and locked me in a room.” My knees buckle and he reaches out for me, his face aghast with this unexpected information. He kneels with me, his hands on my shoulders as he attempts to read my face.
“Took you? Who took you and why? Why the fuck would anyone take you?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“He?”
“They. Two or three, maybe. I heard them talking. Said you owed them money, that snatching me would be a warning to you.”
His face pales, eyes widening in shock. “Fucking assholes. It’s a few lousy grand. They put me through all this for a few lousy fucking grand.”
As usual he’s concerned only with himself. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am and I speak before I think.
“They put you through all this? Nick, they took me and locked me in a room for days.”
“I thought you’d left me,” he spits. “I was so angry.”
I note the word angry—not sad or heartbroken or worried. Angry.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, unable to stop the customary apology falling from my lips.
His expression softens. “At least you’re home now. They didn’t hurt you?”
I wonder how far to push it. I now know he does owe money. My story could be convincing, but I don’t want to give cause for a police investigation. I shake my head.
“Did you inform the police? Report me missing?” Is that shame creeping up his face, staining his cheeks red? I know the answer. Even though it’s what I want to hear, what kind of man is he to have his wife missing for a week and not report it?
“No, I didn’t report it. Like I said, I thought you’d left me.” He pushes to his feet, leaving me on the floor, and wanders around the room, scraping his chin thoughtfully.
“Probably best,” I mutter as I take in the room for the first time. There is mess everywhere. Used glasses and plates, even items of clothing just discarded and strewn on the floor.
