Unraveling Emily (Valla Series Book 1)

by Anna Rezes

  “Weird, huh?” My voice comes out a little raspy.

  “I knew you were different but . . . but . . .” He leans his forehead on mine. “I would do anything for you, but I can’t let you walk away knowing you’re in danger.”

  “Don’t,” I whisper, turning away before it becomes too difficult.

  “Emily, I love you.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Emily,” he pleads, reaching for me.

  Mentally, I block his movements, freezing him in time. I ignore his shock at his sudden paralysis, as I walk to the door.

  “I care about you too much, Ben,” I whisper. “That’s why I have to say goodbye.” Without looking back, I slip out the sliding glass door, closing it behind me.

  Leaning against a pillar down the way, Patrick is waiting expectantly with Maggie beside him. My phone is smashed into several pieces on the cement. I don’t question him. I nod for him to lead the way and I follow, letting go of my mental hold on Ben. As we walk away, I hear something crash against the inside wall behind us. I turn and think about going back, but Patrick steers me away.

  “He’s upset,” Patrick says. “Going back won’t make it better.”

  We ascend a cement staircase and wind our way around the house to Patrick’s car. He opens the passenger door for me, and I climb in. He lets Maggie in the back before taking his seat behind the steering wheel. As he drives, I sob quietly into my knees. I’ve lost track of time, but after a while, Patrick reaches over to caress my neck.

  “Do you think my dad’s okay?” I mutter into my knees.

  “If he were okay, you wouldn’t have received that text,” Patrick responds without any sugar coating.

  Being cautious, Dad set his phone to text me if he was ever in trouble.

  Get to base. Ask for Chris. Bring Patrick.

  Base means his office and Chris is his assistant. I’m not sure why Patrick received an invite, but I try not to think of the worst-case scenario; yet, my mind drifts without concession.

  I lift my head to Patrick. “Why did you smash my phone? Did you get the number? They have my dad. God, Patrick, we have to get him back. We have to call them.”

  “I got the number. We’ll trace it when we have a secure computer. I took the sim card out so they couldn’t track your location. I smashed it and left it behind so Ben would know there is no way to contact you.”

  “But the last location will lead them to Ben!”

  “Ben will be fine. Once we get to the office, we’ll reroute the tracking device to a different location.”

  “They have my dad. They must know where he works.”

  “They won’t find us,” he says with confidence.

  “How can you say that?”

  “Emily, do you trust me?”

  “No.”

  He sighs. “Yes, you do.”

  We turn into the parking lot and Patrick parks the car. He notices me watching him and raises an eyebrow as if to question what I’m thinking.

  “They made us watch our mothers die,” I whisper. “I don’t want my dad to die because of me.”

  “Mark knew what he was getting himself into.” He says with his natural calm facade.

  While I’m thinking of all the ways these people have infected my life, I recall Patrick’s question, and this time, I have an answer for him. “You asked me before if I hate them and yes. My answer is yes. I hate them.”

  “Good to hear,” Patrick says, before exiting the car. Maggie and I follow.

  The two-story brick structure embellished by dramatic floor to ceiling windows looms before us. It’s been years since I’ve been to Dad’s office. Our footsteps are the only noise as we cross the deserted foyer and approach the unoccupied front desk.

  Maggie growls a warning just before Chris appears in an open doorway.

  “Phones?” Chris requests with his hand out.

  Patrick answers, “Out of commission. We left them behind.”

  “This way.” Chris leads us down a hallway with glass-encased offices all around us. We enter an elevator at the end of the hall where Chris swipes a card through a slot where the elevator buttons should be. It’s only a few seconds before the doors open on the second floor and we unload out of the small space.

  The second floor is similar in color and style to the first except no walls separate the offices. I wonder again what exactly my father does. Something with computers, right? I look around to see if I can figure out which desk belongs to Dad.

  Chris stops when we reach a set of solid oak doors. He puts his finger on a scanner and one of the doors open. We step into the room, and I’m immediately blown away by the size of the space. The entire wall to the right appears to be a computer screen displaying multiple surveillance images. I recognize the outside of the building we just entered and the elevator we just left, but the picture of the pool in Ben’s backyard is disconcerting. I stare in amazement as the image is replaced with the front of Ben’s house.

  “What is this?”

  “Your father’s office,” Chris says, as he closes the door behind Patrick.

  “But what is this?” I ask again, pointing at the wall-sized display ahead of me. The giant screen is broken up into dozens of small screens, and the majority of them are showing various places around the Cetrone’s mansion. I see a closeup image of the garage doors and another on an entrance I don’t recognize. Chris takes a step toward the wall and taps on an image, expanding it. I suspect it’s a live feed as I watch the wind blow the leaves outside Ben’s house. It shows a perfect view of the pool in the Cetrone’s backyard. Those giant glass doors slide open and out steps Ben. He begins picking up the shattered pieces of my phone. I turn away from the wall and glare at Chris who I realize still hasn’t answered my question.

  “Do you know what your dad does?” Chris asks, registering my bewilderment.

  “He works with computers,” I reply.

  “His job requires computers because he runs a high-end security agency.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” I say, sounding every bit as angry as I feel. “Why do you have Ben’s house under surveillance?”

  “We installed their security system.”

  “But you . . . he . . .” I look around the room. “Is this really my dad’s office?”

  “Yes, he’s the head of the company.”

  “But . . . but isn’t this . . .” I point to the screen. “Isn’t this against the law or an invasion of privacy?”

  “Our clients are aware our business has access,” he says in a professional manner.

  I shake my head. “We don’t even have a security system in our house.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I’ve never seen it.”

  “Only because Mark wanted it to be invisible.” Chris pulls a remote from Dad’s desk and hits a button. Images of my house replace all the pictures on the screen.

  “But . . .” I’m confused how we could have a state-of-the-art security system. “But our house is so crappy!”

  “All the more reason not to break in,” Chris returns. “Besides, your dad is a very busy man.”

  “I guess so,” I say with disbelief, staring at the view outside my bedroom window. You can’t see into my room, but you would be able to see if anyone was trying to get in.

  “There are motion sensors in all the windows and doorways,” Chris continues.

  He’s trying to make me feel safe, but I feel stupid for being left in the dark for so long. I take a staggering breath and sit down on the edge of a black leather sofa as Maggie rests her head on my lap.

  “Chris,” Patrick says, “she’s already overwhelmed. You may as well show her downstairs now.”

  Chris glares at him while Patrick returns an arrogant grin.

  “How much did Mark tell you?” Chris asks.

  “There’s not much I don’t know,” Patrick responds.

  Chris looks at me before he places the remote back on the desk and walks to a bookshelf. My attention is di
vided between him and the giant screen with pictures of our house. The image outside my bedroom window has me remembering Dad’s warning to check my windows. It dawns on me that Patrick couldn’t have gotten into the house without Dad knowing. I open my mouth to ask when I’m rendered speechless as the bookshelf turns away from the wall and a secret staircase appears behind it.

  Judging by Patrick’s expression, I’m alone in my surprise.

  “Come on, I have something to show you,” Chris says.

  Patrick moves before I do. He walks to the edge of the staircase and waits for me. I stand and follow him with Maggie at my side. I peer down the skinny stairwell before I descend. Chris follows, closing the bookcase behind us. Nothing about the space is creepy or exciting like one might expect a secret passageway to be. In fact, I would think nothing of it aside from it hiding behind a bookcase.

  At the bottom of the stairs, it opens into a large room looking similar to the office we just left. There appears to be no other way into or out of this room aside from the set of stairs. I look to Chris for an explanation, but he’s not watching me. He’s opened a panel in the wall, revealing a keypad and a screen surveilling the office above. Chris punches in a code, and the staircase we just climbed down begins to rise, revealing another stairwell below. I look to Patrick who appears amused. Without a word, he follows Chris down the new set of stairs.

  As we go deeper underground, our surroundings change. The finished space looks like an average living area with a leather sectional that wraps around an ornate glass coffee table. A state-of-the-art television hangs on the far wall proving my dad had a hand in the decor. I wonder how long he has been working on this hidden space. I nudge open a door next to the staircase to find a domestic tiled bathroom. Beside the bathroom is a small kitchen with all the amenities. The artificial lighting overhead does a poor job compensating for the lack of natural light, but it is, after all,a basement.

  Patrick walks into the kitchen with purpose and begins opening cabinets and drawers while I stare conspicuously at Chris.

  “What is this?” I question.

  Chris moves forward. “I told you. Your dad has been very busy. He built this as a safe house for you. He thought you might need it one day.”

  I look around the room again. “He thought I’d need a safe house?”

  “Yes, he did. Do you know where he is?”

  “No.” My heart sinks and I feel dizzy on my feet. I lean against the sofa, attempting to look casual instead of feeble.

  “Your dad told me someone is looking for you,” Chris says, coming to my side.

  I shake my head, trying to fight this nagging lightheaded feeling.

  “Anything you know would be helpful. I can be more efficient if I know everything you know.”

  “She needs to eat,” Patrick says from the kitchen.

  Chris’s worried eyes are on me. “When’s the last time you ate?”

  My head is foggy, but I recall my last meal from lunch yesterday. “Umm, I haven’t been hungry.”

  Chris sits on the back of the couch next to me, gently wraps an arm around my shoulder, and squeezes me. “I know you’re overwhelmed. We’ll get you something to eat.”

  What’s worse than feeling weak and pathetic and clueless is actually being weak and pathetic and clueless. I’m an adult. I shouldn’t need someone else to take care of me, yet it seems I’ve acquired a team to do just that.

  Patrick watches from the kitchen. His impatient look gives me strength. “Here,” he says, tossing me a granola bar. It’s the same kind of granola bar he saw me eating the first day we met, and I can’t help but smirk. I’m about to comment on it, but Patrick turns away. He passes the stairs and enters a room full of computers I hadn’t previously noticed.

  “This is the compact version of your dad’s security station,” Chris explains. “It shows security footage from this building as well as all of the other properties we monitor.”

  “Is someone always monitoring my house?”

  “That’s normally your dad’s job, but I help out when he’s out of the office. If the motion sensors are tripped, we get an alert and we access the feed,” Chris answers.

  “So, you see when anyone comes and goes?”

  “You mean does your dad know you’re spending nights at the Cetrone’s?”

  Great, I hadn’t even thought of that! My cheeks feel hot. “I mean, did he see Patrick break in?”

  “Which time?” Chris asks.

  My head spins toward Patrick. “Which time? How many times were you there?”

  “I told you to be vigilant.” Patrick shrugs. “I was checking on your progress.”

  “You said you stayed away!”

  “I say a lot of things, love. Incidentally, you failed on being vigilant.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Chris cuts in, “Emily, your dad trusts Patrick. I reported his movements, but your dad said he was taking care of it. As for the nights you stayed at the Cetrone’s, I reported that you were safe, and he didn’t ask your location.”

  “Coward,” Patrick coughs.

  “You try telling Mark his baby girl is staying at her boyfriend’s,” Chris says with irritation.

  “First of all, I’m eighteen! Secondly, Patrick, you were with me last night.”

  “Nonetheless, he should’ve reported it to Mark.”

  As a vein in Chris’s temple starts to throb in frustration, he counters, “I was in charge of her safety, not you.”

  “I can’t believe you!” I interrupt, “Either of you! I’m not a child!”

  “Emily, I know you’re not a child, but nothing is more important to your father than your safety,” Chris says. “Your father is obsessive about your protection.”

  “Well, guess what? Dad is missing! So how about we stop talking about my safety and start worrying about his!”

  Chris gets down to business. “Mark dropped off the grid at seven-fifteen last night. His phone shut down and hasn’t come back on.”

  “Did he get on the plane?” I ask.

  “No, we believe he was abducted from the airport. It’s the last location on his phone’s GPS, and his truck is still in long-term parking.”

  “Can we track the number that sent me the picture?”

  “I’m already on it. I started monitoring your phone after your dad’s text. The number is a dead end, registered to a dead guy. I have men working a few leads.”

  “What do we do next? Can we go to the airport?” I ask Chris.

  Patrick cuts in, “You’re not going anywhere. You need food and rest. Chris and I will continue conversing upstairs while you open that granola bar and start eating.”

  “There is nothing more to discuss.” Chris counters. “My men are on it. You guys get situated and we’ll talk later.”

  Chris provides a quick tour of the basement. Aside from what we’ve already seen, he shows us two furnished bedrooms, a workout space, and a storage area. He provides us with an untraceable replacement phone for emergencies and gives us the codes to enter or exit.

  “I’ll check in every day.” Chris instructs, “Patrick can take Maggie out for bathroom breaks, but Emily, you stay put. I’ve already notified your employer of your resignation and I informed the school you’d be dropping your summer classes.”

  He is stripping my entire life from me. I know he’s not to blame, but his words make it real. No more work, no more school, no more whiffle ball with friends. I can’t talk to my sister or Morgan or Ben. For my own protection, I’m stuck in this underground cage unable and unqualified to do anything to help my dad.

  “Emily,” I hear my name and look up, not realizing I looked away. “Emily, it’s important for you to tell me what you know. Who are these people? Why are they after you? What do they want?” Chris is persistent in his questioning.

  Before I can answer Patrick pins him with a glare, saying, “If Mark wanted you to know, he would have told you. If he knew you were pumping Emily for information, what
do you think he’d do with you?”

  Chris pales but remains professional. “The only number programmed in your phone is mine. Call if you need anything.”

  When he reaches the top of the staircase, the stairs above descend, closing us off from the rest of the world, trapping us here in this underground tomb.

  Patrick comes to my side, opens the granola bar, and places it in my hand as his eyes level on mine. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I say before walking away.

  twenty-eight

  Sleep eludes me, so I curl up in a blanket and sit on the swivel chair in front of the wall of monitors. I’m watching, waiting for movement, hoping to get a glimpse of Ben through the glass sliding doors. I know it’s unlikely I’ll see anything at two in the morning, yet here I am desperately watching the monitors in Dad’s underground hideout.

  While exploring the space earlier, I found closets equipped with clothes and a safe filled with guns. Dad included a workout area complete with videos on self-defense. Patrick thinks I should spend my time training my mind. He tells me they fight with their heads and it’s futile to practice shooting or fighting because they’ll just use it against me.

  I watched the videos anyway, using them to distract me and to work off some of the growing tension. To appease Patrick, I also practiced reading his thoughts which proved to be mentally exhausting. By all rights, I should be sleeping, but worry consumes me. I’m afraid there is little chance of getting Dad or myself out of this alive.

  Movement behind me has me spinning around to see Patrick leaning against the doorframe. He nods at the computer. “This is a productive way to spend your time.”

  “It beats lying in bed waiting for the ceiling to crash down and suffocate me.”

  “Being a bit dramatic, aren’t we?”

  I shrug, looking back at the monitors, too exhausted to care what he thinks of me.