Say the Word

by Julie Johnson

  With a gentle hand beneath my chin, Bash tilted my face up.

  “It doesn’t matter.” He smiled at me for the first time since I’d handed him the red envelope from Jamie. “All that matters is we found each other again. We have a whole lifetime to make up for the years we lost.”

  “Who says I want a lifetime with you, huh?” I teased, trying my best to contain the happy tears threatening to leak from my eyes.

  Bash laughed. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in the matter, Freckles. Because I’m never letting you walk away again.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise,” he whispered as his lips descended on mine, sealing his vow with a kiss.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Now

  Bash helped me from the dark sedan, his body shielding mine from the sudden onslaught of camera flashes and yelling paparazzi at the curb. I forced my face into a smooth expression, tried my damnedest not to trip on the sweeping train of my dress, and focused on the feeling of Sebastian’s hand gripping mine as he led me through the gauntlet of media who’d camped out around the blue carpet leading into Harding Tower. Ignoring calls from the photographers — Mr. Covington! Sebastian! Over here! Who’s your date? This way, sweetheart! How ‘bout a smile? — my gaze flickered up to see that the looming skyscraper was illuminated by dozens of blue and pink spotlights — Luster colors — in honor of the gala inside.

  We traversed the carpet and arrived at the atrium, its glass doors propped wide to receive us. When my eyes had cleared of haze caused by too many camera flashes, they swept the hall to take it all in. One glance around the huge lobby told me the company had spared no expense for Centennial. It was just as grand and girly as Jeanine had promised it would be.

  Huge swathes of pink fabric hung from the ceiling, elegantly draped from the overhead steel beams like Cirque du Soleil ribbons. I did a double take when I realized there were, in fact, aerial artists performing on each suspended strip of material. Spotlight beams shot up from each corner of the room, illuminating the high vaulted ceiling with colorful lights that pulsed and changed with the beat of the music blasting from the lofted DJ booth across the hall. Waiters dressed in avant-garde pink costumes wound their way through the crowds, trays held aloft as they offered a custom, Luster themed cocktail — which was, of course, pink.

  I grabbed two from the nearest waiter and took an immediate sip. Despite the girlish coloring, the concoction wasn’t terrible — it tasted like strawberries covered in whipped cream, the sharp burn of vodka somehow tamed by the sweetness of the fruit juice. Taking another gulp, I offered the second martini glass to Bash.

  His face twisted into a grimace of disgust. “Men don’t drink things that are the same color as cotton candy.”

  I shrugged, taking another healthy swallow from my first glass. “More for me. God knows I’ll need it to get through this night.”

  “Let’s find the bar,” Bash suggested, wrapping an arm lightly around my body and guiding me across the room.

  It took us a while to navigate through the throng of Luster employees, all dressed to the nines in glamorous gowns and sophisticated suits, who’d gathered in numbers around the bar — as was the norm for any company party with mandatory attendance and free drinks.

  When I heard familiar boisterous laughter coming from the center of the crowd, I glanced over at Bash and grinned. He chuckled as we broke through the crush of people and spotted Simon and Fae, both looking extremely chic as they sat on two barstools holding court for their many admirers. Their inappropriate jokes and sordid stories had the entire crowd in stitches.

  “Baby!” Simon squealed when he spotted me, throwing out a hand and waving me forward. I smiled sheepishly as the cluster of people parted so I could approach, Bash hovering close at my back. “You look fabulous! Whoever made that dress is a marvel!” Simon winked at me playfully, squeezing my hand when I reached his side.

  “You two clean up pretty well,” I said, grinning as my eyes swept their outfits — Fae’s red beaded gown was heart-stopping and Simon looked dapper in a dark gray suit, his red tie exactly matching the shade of Fae’s dress.

  “And how does Mr. Covington feel about the gown?” Simon asked, his eyes on Bash.

  “Right now, I’m wishing there was a little more of it,” Bash muttered, glancing around at the men in the crowd, some of whom had their appreciative eyes fixed on my naked back. “But I can’t really blame them for looking. She’s the most beautiful woman in this room — I’d look too.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, love,” Fae said, a small smile on her lips. “Most of the men here are gay.”

  “True,” Simon added. “In the world of fashion, it’s probably a five to one ratio, gay to straight. Not that I’m complaining.”

  Bash laughed as he leaned forward to place his drink order with a passing bartender.

  I cast another glance around at the crowd. There were at least four hundred people gathered here, along with more food than I’d ever seen in one place and enough alcohol stocked behind the huge bar to send the whole place up in a fiery inferno if someone were to strike a match.

  “This is a pretty elaborate spread,” I noted, tilting my head back once more to examine the acrobats entwined in the ribbons overhead. Their costumes were nude spandex, affixed with thousands of clear gemstones that glittered like diamonds each time they caught the light thrown by a pulsing spotlight.

  “It had to be — it’s Centennial! The most important night of our lives!” Fae gushed in a fake British accent, mimicking Jeanine.

  Simon snorted. “Where is that old cow, anyway? I haven’t seen her yet.”

  “Let’s hope that trend continues,” I muttered, in no rush to see my boss any time soon.

  Bash, a fresh scotch in hand, nudged me with his elbow and leaned down until his mouth brushed my ear. “There’s Mr. Harding,” he said in a low voice, gesturing toward the entryway where an imposing, white-haired man had just stepped into the atrium. “And Cara,” he added, nodding subtly toward the opposite side of the room where a group of models had taken up residence in front of the DJ.

  “And there’s Jeanine!” Simon hissed in a hushed tone, nodding toward the raven-haired woman approaching from our left. “Crap, she’s spotted us.”

  “Great. That woman hates me with a passion,” Fae mumbled.

  “She hates everyone,” I said, sighing as I watched our boss move closer, her eyes narrowed on me.

  “She likes me,” Bash contradicted with a grimace. “I’ll distract her. You three make a break for it. I’ll meet you on the other side of the bar as soon as I can get away.”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down for a lingering kiss. “You’re my hero,” I whispered in a thick Georgian accent, batting my lashes in a coquettish manner. “How ever will I repay you, sir?”

  Bash grinned roguishly. “I can think of several ways.”

  “Well, think long and hard. I want you to feel like you’re getting your side of the bargain.” With a tinkling laugh, I pressed another kiss to his lips and winked at him. “See you in a few, handsome.”

  “Come on, lovebirds, time to break it up.” Fae snapped her fingers in the space between our faces. “The shrew is closing in — any more of this sappy banter and we’ll never get away.”

  I blew Bash a kiss as Fae and Simon tugged me from him. We rushed for the bathrooms on the other side of the hall, quickly losing sight of Bash in the crowd. Mercifully, no one we knew was in the ladies room to eavesdrop and no one made a fuss about Simon’s presence. A few models and makeup artists chatted by the small mirrored lounge area, but otherwise it was surprisingly quiet. Then again, I suppose it wasn’t such a surprise — trays of appetizers had just started floating around the crowd and most people were out gorging themselves, descending on the cater waiters like scores of vultures on a single dead carcass.

  “We have a few minutes. Jeanine can talk for at least a half hour without coming up for air,” Simon
said, chuckling at the thought. “Poor Sebastian. He really must love you, if he’s willing to put up with her.”

  I smiled and a happy flush warmed my cheeks.

  “What did you do today?” Fae asked me. “No work again, right?”

  My smile faded slightly. “No, Conor said I shouldn’t go.”

  Fae rolled her eyes at the FBI agent’s mention.

  “I met with Conor, watched four episodes of Say Yes to the Dress on TLC, ate an entire bag of Doritos, and forced myself to read last month’s issue of Luster — which nearly sent me over the edge. I mean, I know we’re a ‘women’s magazine’ but, seriously, who the hell approved that story about cup size directly correlating to marital satisfaction?” I huffed.

  Simon and Fae glanced at each other. “Jeanine,” they chimed simultaneously.

  “Of course,” I muttered.

  “Why’d you meet with Agent Gallagher?” Fae asked, her nose wrinkling in distaste.

  “He wanted to discuss the surveillance plans for tonight. Apparently, he ‘has a man on me’ somewhere inside the gala. He also insisted I wear this,” I gestured to the simple bracelet on my right wrist. “Just as a precaution.”

  “What’s that?” Simon asked, leaning closer to examine the silver chain.

  I grinned. “Supposedly, it’s a tracking device. So they can find my body when it washes up on the beach after I’m abducted and killed.”

  “Not funny,” Fae murmured, leaning close to stare at the bracelet. “It doesn’t look like a tracker. Maybe Gallagher just gave it to you so you’d feel better about the prospect of another abduction.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Well, it sounds like you had a very fulfilling day,” Simon said, laughing.

  “Oh, that was all before noon.” I studied my cuticles. “This afternoon I got bored, so I spent the rest of my day writing a story.”

  “For next month’s issue?” Fae asked.

  I shook my head.

  “For the December 100 Years issue?” Simon’s brows raised in curiosity.

  I shook my head a second time. “No. It’s something I’ve been working on for a while now, just a bit at a time. It’s about my investigation. Details about Red Hook, Labyrinth, the auction, the missing girls. Photographs, to substantiate everything.”

  “But…why?” Simon asked, his brow furrowed.

  “I want you to publish it if…” I trailed off and cleared my throat. “Well, if for some reason Conor doesn’t come through on his word. Or… if something happens to me.”

  Fae and Simon stared at me with serious expressions.

  “Nothing is going to happen to you,” Fae said, her tone firm. “And Conor might be an ass, but he’ll follow through.”

  “I hope so,” I said in a quiet voice. “But, if you’re wrong… The file is on a memory stick in the lockbox. Just make sure it finds its way into the hands of someone at the Times. Please.”

  Simon nodded. “You know we’d do anything for you, baby. But I don’t like you walking around worried you’re going to disappear.”

  “I know. I’m just being paranoid. Let’s head back, I bet Bash is in need of an intervention by now.” I forced a smile, pushing down the strange feeling I’d been carrying around all night. I couldn’t explain it — this wary, foreboding sensation deep in my core — but I couldn’t dismiss it, either.

  We were halfway back to the bar when I felt my phone buzz in the confines of my small purse. The bag was tiny — a jeweled, ice blue clutch that Simon had designed to perfectly match my dress. Nearly half the inside compartment was occupied by the clear plastic “emergency kit” Simon put together and insisted I bring. The small zip-lock bag was stocked with makeup brushes, the tiniest mascara bottle I’d ever seen, a nail file, a tiny sewing kit for dress malfunctions, breath mints, and even a miniature pair of razor sharp scissors. I’d laughed when I’d first seen it, complaining there was barely enough room for my cellphone. Privately, I’d been amused by his utter preparedness to handle anything that could possibly go wrong tonight.

  I paused to fish my phone from the clutch, its insistent vibrations signaling an incoming call from an unknown number. Glancing away from the screen, I looked up to tell Fae and Simon to wait for me, but they’d already disappeared into the vast swarm of people in the atrium. I assured myself I’d find them in a minute, maneuvering my body toward the edge of the crowd where it was quieter and hitting a button on my screen to accept the incoming call.

  “Hello?”

  “Lux!” The voice was well known to me — young, feminine, filled with fear.

  “Miri?” I asked, feeling my stomach flip. My eyes scanned the crowd, looking for Bash and my friends, but I spotted no familiar faces. “Is that you?”

  “Please, Lux. You have to come.” Her voice was hushed and trembling with terror. “I have to tell you something.”

  “Don’t worry, Miri, it’s going to be okay,” I told her, trying to conceal the tremors in my own voice. “Tell me where you are, I’ll send someone to pick you up.”

  “No!” Her voice was shrill with panic. “It has to be you! You’re the only one I trust!”

  I felt my heart turn over as I heard the fright in her voice. “Calm down, Miri. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I know where they’re keeping Vera,” she whispered.

  The breath halted in my lungs.

  “They saw me. I think they’re after me.” Her breaths were ragged. “Please, come. I need you to come. Right now.”

  “Miri, I’ll bring help. It’ll be okay. Just tell me where you are.”

  “Please,” she pleaded. “Come alone. I need your help. I’m at the coffee shop — you know the one, in the Village where we met before.”

  “Why do I have to come alone?”

  “I don’t trust anyone else,” Miri whispered into the phone. “If you don’t come alone, I’ll run. Please, Lux. I don’t want to disappear like Vera.”

  The line went dead.

  ***

  I didn’t think.

  I should’ve considered all my options. I should’ve been logical. Should’ve planned better, thought harder.

  But I didn’t.

  I don’t really have any excuse, other than the fact that, as adrenaline and fear pulse through your veins and your heart races at twice its normal speed, rational thought becomes difficult. I heard the fear in Miri’s voice and something inside me snapped, like a twig placed under so much pressure it finally cracks in two. Phone clutched in one hand, the skirt of my dress held aloft in the other, I rushed for the exits.

  I didn’t think about going to Bash or my friends. I didn’t even consider the FBI agent milling about the room with me somewhere. Instead, I moved on instinct, my thoughts consumed by the image of a young girl I had an obligation to protect. Stupidly, I thought I might just slip out for a moment to see her — my absence so brief my friends wouldn’t even notice I was missing. I thought I might call Conor on my way, and have him arrange some kind of safe location for Miri to go until this was all over. I thought there’d be more time to plan, to phone for help if I needed it.

  I was wrong.

  There’s a moment in every horror movie when the young, nubile heroine hears a scary noise from the dark, dank basement and decides to go down alone to check it out. And you, watching at home, are screaming at your television as she descends the creaking stairs, straight into the arms of a waiting serial killer.

  Go back, you idiot! you yell, shaking a frustrated fist at the screen as the heroine meets her predictable, gruesome end. I’d been that person, rolling my eyes at the girl in the movie and fully convinced I’d never be so foolish. Which made it all the more ironic that, when that moment came along in my own life, I failed to recognize it.

  Running for the front doors, I skirted around several arriving guests and held one hand up to shield my eyes from the mob of cameramen eager to snap my picture a second time. I could only imagine tomorrow’s headlines:

  S
EBASTIAN COVINGTON’S DATE FLEES GALA

  But, in my mind, that was better than the alternative:

  YOUNG IMMIGRANT GIRL FOUND DEAD IN CENTRAL PARK

  I wasn’t a total idiot, nor did I have a death wish. I simply knew that, with each passing minute, the likelihood something might happen to Miri increased tenfold. As I hailed a taxi, I scrolled through my contacts until I found Conor’s name. The yellow cab slowed to a stop before me just as the phone began to ring in my ear.

  “Gallagher,” he clipped, as I pulled open the door and slid into the backseat.

  I opened my mouth to speak but the taxi lurched forward, peeling away from the curb so fast my phone slipped from my hand and landed on the cushion next to me. My eyes flew to the driver’s seat, growing wide when I saw who was sitting there.

  I’d been neatly trapped — sprinted straight into my enemies’ snare. There would be no call for back up made during this ride. No warnings or words of goodbye.

  “Hands in the air, whore,” Smash-Nose sneered at me from the front passenger seat, one bandaged hand holding a gun against the thin plastic partition between our seats. The Neanderthal grunted as he sped down W 57th past the park, the steering wheel clutched tightly in his fists.

  I raised my hands into the air slowly, my mind occupied by thoughts of what a fool I’d been. Miri wasn’t at the coffee shop — she was somewhere in the custody of Labyrinth thugs, probably forced at gunpoint to call and get me outside… into their waiting taxi.

  “We’ve got you now, bitch.” Smash-Nose’s grin was full of malicious anticipation. “Boss is gonna have a fucking field day with you.”

  I felt my stomach clench. A quick glance down at my seat revealed that my cellphone was still connected — I prayed Conor was listening. “Where’s Miri?” I asked in a loud voice.