“It’s my hotel!” Greyson argued. “I have to make sure everyone is safe.”
“They are. The fire was in a bathroom sink.”
“How do you know?” he asked before the realization dawned. “You could have burned down my hotel and killed someone!”
“I still have time,” I replied, pressing the gun harder. “It’s time to go. Head to the south parking lot. If you make any attempt to escape or fight, I will shoot. It seems a waste to kill you, so I might just shoot you in the leg. You remember what if feels like to be shot, don’t you? Remy showed me where a bullet would cause the most pain.” My voice sounded eerily calm, even to my ears. Of course I had no intention of causing him pain, and I had no bullets to carry out my threat, but the lies were chilling nonetheless.
Fiona turned to find Greyson surrounded. We blocked the guns with our bodies.
“Tell her to go ahead,” Remy warned.
“Fiona, start assessing damages and make sure everyone is okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Her eyes targeted mine as she spoke to Greyson. “You’ll need to come.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
“But . . .”
“Go!” he ordered.
She sent a seething glare in my direction and then turned to leave.
“There are witnesses. You won’t get very far,” Greyson said to us.
“Everyone is watching the firefighters and worrying about their luggage,” Remy countered with a grin. “I think we’ve wasted enough time.”
I nudged Greyson, and we were soon crossing to the quiet end of the lot.
“Why are you doing this?” Greyson asked, shooting daggers my way.
“See Remy’s car up ahead?”
“Yes. I suppose you’re going to abduct me now.”
“There’s someone in there that needs your help,” I said.
“In case you haven’t noticed, my hotel needs me right now!”
“That is a building; I’m talking about people . . . or can’t you see past your ledger?”
A few more feet, and we were next to the car. Greyson slowed to a dead stop.
“Please,” I said, feeling the fatigue of the day finally hit me. “Just see who’s in the car. Once you hear the story, you can go.”
Before he could argue, the passenger window rolled down. “Greyson Floyd Miller! Get your butt in the car this instant before I come out and make you!”
“Mom?” Greyson stepped to the car. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call?”
“Floyd?” Remy and I grinned at each other.
“We’ve all tried to call you!” Mrs. Miller gritted. “How can one man be so smart yet so stupid? That bimbo has been intercepting your calls for months.”
“I talked to her.”
“It didn’t help. If you haven’t noticed, she’s crazy! Who else would work around the clock with you?”
Greyson ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been so busy, I hadn’t noticed. I guess I’ll have to let her go.”
He guesses.
“Let me take care of the hotel situation. We can grab a drink tonight,” he offered and then looked pointedly at Remy and me. “I won’t press charges.”
“Good thing, because it was your mom who set the fire,” Remy said with a shake of his head. “Sending your mom to jail . . . not cool.”
Greyson stared open-jawed.
“Get in the car. We’re not done yet,” I ordered.
“I said I’d fire Fiona. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Once again, this isn’t about Fiona or me!” I snapped. “Your brothers are being held hostage!” My plan was to break the news gently, but instead I roared like a lion whose meal had escaped.
Greyson froze. The only sign he was still coherent was a single blink.
“Honey, please get into the car,” Mrs. Miller pleaded with a sniffle. “You’re the only one who can help. The plane leaves in two hours. We don’t have much time.”
Greyson nodded and slipped into the backseat. Remy hopped in on the driver’s side, and I slid in beside Greyson but kept my distance. When Remy drove out of the parking lot, I felt it was safe to return the borrowed gun.
“Tell me everything,” Greyson said, glaring at the returned gun.
Mrs. Miller relayed the story from the beginning but had to pause as she searched for a tissue. Remy then took over until Mrs. Miller was able to tell the rest. I watched Greyson’s face turn from panic to fury and then to business. The switch was amazing. No longer was he thinking of his hotel or casinos. His attention was solely focused on the task at hand. His barrage of questioning delved into the particulars and never got caught on the tangled path of the why’s or what if’s that the rest of us were battling.
“So, the plane leaves in two hours, and I need fifteen million dollars,” he summed up as if he was in a business meeting. I watched his features retain a professional mask while his eyes saw beyond the road and into a world of calculations. He might be sitting in the car, but his mind was in a million other places. “Where are we going now?”
“To the airport,” Remy said. “I don’t suppose you have your passport on you?”
“It’s on the jet.”
“What jet?” I asked.
“My jet,” he answered as if everyone had their own personal jet. Greyson gave Remy the directions to the hanger. “I’ll message the crew to return and file an emergency flight plan and visa. I can take cash from the casino and refund it when I return.”
“I was thinking . . . I don’t suppose you have any of the counterfeit money left,” I said. I’d hate to fund a war with legal tender; perhaps they could be fooled.
“We handed over everything. However,” he paused in thought, “there was a bundle that was found recently in Jason’s old office. I’m pretty sure it’s counterfeit. I can filter it in with bundles of real money.”
“We’ll have plenty of time to do that on the plane,” Mrs. Miller stated.
We all gaped at her.
“You don’t have your passport with you, and it could be dangerous,” I said, knowing none of her boys would want her to risk her life.
“I’ll stay on the plane. I’m not leaving Greyson to do this on his own.”
“I’m going alone,” Greyson stated. “There’s no reason to let anyone else come to harm.”
“I’m going. I won’t have all three of my sons held for ransom or killed,” she insisted.
“And how would you stop that from happening when you can’t leave the plane?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I’ll be on the plane when you bring them back. They might need medical attention.” She pulled out another tissue. “I’m going, Greyson!”
Greyson’s jaw clenched, and I could see him formulating an argument. “Where’s Dad?”
Simple, but effective. Mrs. Miller paled and clutched her tissue.
“How much farther to the airport?” I asked Remy, stalling Mrs. Miller’s answer. The last thing Greyson needed to think about was his parents’ separation. Of course, I’m sure he’d have a solution for that too.
“Only a few more miles,” he answered, glancing in the rearview mirror.
“If I stay here,” Mrs. Miller said, grasping at words, “promise me that whatever happens, you will come home.”
“Of course I’ll come home.”
“But if you find there is no way to rescue David or Ian . . .” she stopped.
“I’ll find them and bring them home.”
“David is resourceful, and Ian knows the country. You don’t . . .” A tear fell.
Greyson rested his hand on his mother’s shoulder. “And you are a housewife that set a hotel fire to abduct her son,” he said with a smile. “We all have our talents. Mine is negotiation with a huge bank account to support me. I will bring them home.”
Mrs. Miller nodded.
The next mile was quiet until Greyson said to me, “I thought I saw you yesterday, but I wasn’t sure.
I should have stopped.”
“It’s okay. Frankie and I wouldn’t have made sense at the time. Your martinis pack a punch. And we would’ve never figured out Ian’s gate code without the taxi driver. Everything happened for a reason. I’m just glad you’re helping now. I can’t think of what we’d have done without you.”
“You’re resourceful. I’m sure you would have stormed Sierra Leone and saved David and Ian,” he said, a smile hinting at the corners.
A wave of warmth filled me as I listened to his teasing tone; a hint of the Greyson I remembered.
Remy pulled in front of the hanger. The crew was already assembled and performing their flight checks.
We stepped out of the car and walked with Greyson to his plane. Remy and I lingered behind, allowing Mrs. Miller as much time with Greyson as possible.
“I’ll need your phone,” he said to his mom. “I’m sure they’ll call with instructions.”
She handed over her phone with trembling hands. He gave her a hug and stepped onto the plane. “I’ll see you in a day or two,” he promised. Turning to duck inside, his eyes caught mine.
A small smile. That was all I could see before he disappeared inside.
We returned to the car and watched as the plane positioned itself on the runway.
“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Mrs. Miller asked, shaking with streaming tears.
The plane raced down the runway until it shot off into the sky.
Remy glanced into the rearview mirror at me. His eyes were hard.
“I’m sure they will be fine,” I said, though the words felt hollow. We knew it’d take a miracle for all three to return unharmed. There was nothing we could do but wait.
Chapter 24
As I was heading out of the hotel, Muffin barreled toward me with shopping bags hanging from her arms and mouse ears propped on her head.
“Did you have fun at Disneyland?” I asked.
“That mouse sure knows how to have fun. You should have come. It would’ve perked you up. You’ve been a bear these last two days,” she said, jostling past me. “I have to get upstairs and sort these bags.”
“I’m heading to the beach,” I said to her as she raced into the hotel.
The sun was about to set, and the beach seemed like the only peaceful place to be. It had been two days with no word from the Miller boys.
Mya and Mrs. Miller waited at Ian’s house. Frankie was busy taking Hollywood by storm. And I made my home on the beach.
I sat down and dug my feet into the sand, watching as the sun melted into the ocean. My pocket jostled, sending me scurrying to my feet. I looked around to see if a crab had picked a fight with my shorts. It was only when my pocket vibrated again that I realized it was my phone.
“It works!” I pulled it out and stared in wonder. “It finally works!”
I quickly answered the call.
“Hi, kitten,” Caleb said. “I’ve been trying to reach you. How’s your vacation?”
I laughed. It was the worst vacation ever, but hearing his voice brightened my somber mood tenfold.
“My phone took a swim. I haven’t been able to use it until now.”
“The hazards of a beach vacation. I’ve lost several phones that way.”
I didn’t correct him or fill him in on the details. It was wonderful just to hear his warm, smiling voice.
“What have you been up to?” I asked, switching the subject.
“Just keeping the table warm,” he said. “And dodging Jessica. I don’t recommend it.”
“Why is she chasing you this time?”
“There was a photo shoot last night for a new website I’m promoting. I refused to use the model she hired.”
“That must have set her off. What was wrong with the model?”
“Nothing. She was very pretty.”
“Then why didn’t you stand in the photo with her?”
He paused, and then said, hesitantly, “She’s not you, kitten.”
* * *
“It’s been three days, and no word from anyone!” I said, taking a gulp of my martini. “I’m not sure how much longer I can last without a sliver of news.”
“They’re probably on their way home right now. Have you heard from Mya?” Frankie asked.
“She’s been calling every few hours now that my phone works. Except her last call was a while ago. Maybe she’s having dinner with Mrs. Miller.”
“Or maybe the Miller boys are back and they’re having a reunion while you’re stewing,” Frankie said. “Did that rhyme?”
“Are you two still drinking?” Muffin plodded over.
“We’re on vacation. Of course we’re drinking,” Frankie said. “Actually, I haven’t touched a drop since G Day. I’ve been too busy shopping. We should go to my room. I’ll show you all my purchases.”
“No, thanks,” Muffin and I said in unison.
He tisked. “Mya would have.”
“What’s G Day?” I asked.
“The day we took down Greyson. That’s a day that will be immortalized as G Day.”
I drank the last sip of martini and stood. “I’m heading to the beach. The sun is about to set.”
“You’ve watched the sun set every night. Let’s dress up and go clubbing,” Frankie pleaded. “I need a wingman, and you’re the closest thing I’ve got. We’ll just spruce you up a bit. Maybe brush your hair, for starters.”
“It’s the ocean breeze,” I said, attempting to rake my fingers through the snarls. “I can’t seem to keep it from getting tangled.”
“Come to my room. I have a great hair product that will work wonders,” Frankie said.
“What about me?” Muffin asked. “I’m a great wingman. If you want a man, I can get you one.”
“Without threatening bodily harm and dragging him like a caveman?” Frankie asked with an arched brow. “That only works during role play.”
She waved him off. “I only act tough so men know I wear the pants in the family. I don’t want them thinking I’m a submissive wife.”
We both stared at her.
Frankie cleared his throat. “I choose Nadia to be my wingman. It’ll help boost her confidence.”
“Are there any of your fancy-pants men here?” Muffin asked.
“Nope. None.”
“He’s had his eye on that guy over there at the bar,” I said, smiling at Frankie’s open-jawed scowl.
“The one with the leopard-print pants?” She arched her brow and cracked her knuckles. “We’ll have to work on your taste in men later. This one will bleed you dry with expenses for clothing and hair gel.”
We watched as she maneuvered over to the man. His eyes widened when he realized he was her target.
She leaned over to talk to him. He flinched at first, but then began listening intently.
“Did he just smile?” I asked.
“Just look at those beautiful teeth,” Frankie sighed.
“But Muffin made him smile. She’s probably giving him the same line she gives all her victims.”
“Do you think so?” Frankie perked.
“That’s not a good thing!”
“Oh. My. God! They’re walking over here. How do I look?” He patted his hair, checked his breath, and smoothed his Hawaiian shirt.
“You look . . .” I never finished. Frankie jumped from the table, jostling the glasses, and lunged for the man’s hand to shake it.
“I’m Frankie. You must be Brad Pitt,” Frankie shamelessly flirted.
The man beamed as Frankie offered to buy him a drink. Before they headed to the bar, Frankie said, “Nadia, go watch your sunset; your services are no longer required. Muffin’s on deck.”
“What lie did you tell Brad?” I asked Muffin when they left.
“He doesn’t look anything like Brad Pitt,” Muffin stated. “If there are any lies, it’s that one.”
“Muffin,” I warned.
“I just told him that Frankie has a successful business.”
“And, he
’s inheriting money from a dead grandfather,” I filled in the missing piece.
“No. That’s my thing.”
“Then what did you tell him?”
“I might have said that he only has a few weeks to live and has no one to inherit the business. The idiot bought it.”
I shook my head. “I’m heading to the beach. Have fun being the wingman.”
“I can be your wingman too,” she said. “There’s a man in the lobby that keeps looking at you.”
I scanned the lobby.
“Ian!”
He smiled as I bolted from the table and raced over to hug him.
“Ian, is it really you?” I asked, inspecting him for mishandling.
He chuckled. “Yes, of course it is. I’m fine.”
“I was so worried. Is everyone safe?”
“Everyone is fine. Just a few scrapes, but nothing a Band-Aid won’t cure.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I dropped off Greyson and then spotted you.”
“Do you have a few minutes? I was going to watch the sunset on the beach.”
“That sounds wonderful. Let’s grab a bottle of wine,” he said, flagging down the concierge. “We’ll bill it to Greyson.”
My smile slipped. Poor Greyson was going to receive lawyer bills and bar tabs . . . after he just forked out fifteen million dollars.
“Will you tell me what happened?” I asked as we headed to the beach with a bottle of the hotel’s finest wine.
“I was caught in the beginning of an uprising. I had a feeling it was about to happen, but I had a few things to do before I could leave Africa. Luckily, I’d had the sense to hide the necklace.”
We settled into the sand and each took a swig of wine from the bottle.
“Those postcards were complete crap. Next time, send easier clues.”
“How hard is ‘A is for Alligator’?”
“Quite hard.”
He chuckled. “Well, you saved the day.”
“No. Greyson did. How is he?”
Ian smirked. “Still have a soft spot for him?”
I shrugged.
“He’s fine. Just a few bruises. Unfortunately, the Internet can be a useful tool for terrorists. Once they discovered who he was, they demanded more money for our release. By that time, David and I were brought to a different building for holding while the transfer was made. It was less secure, and we were able to escape without too much bloodshed.”
Cashing Out Page 20
