14

THE ESCAPE

(Present Day)

You might think that being tied to a chair for hours on end would bring a calm reflection about one’s life choices. After all, there’s nothing like the passing of time to put things in perspective and force a little worldly wisdom on your head.

Wrong. The longer I sit here, struggling against Grant’s damnably tight bonds, the further I get from calm and wise. I’ve spent more than enough time inside air ducts and kitchen cupboards to know that reflection time is rarely good for me. I don’t get philosophical. I get annoyed.

And I’m very annoyed right now.

My fingers twist at an odd angle, working a knot near my side. I’ve almost got it to the point where I can nudge the jagged edge of my fingernail under the loop. I may end up with bloody nubs for hands when all is said and done, but I won’t care as long as I can still use those nubs to wring Grant’s neck.

Before I can rip the rope—or my fingernail—to shreds, there’s a knock at the front door.

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus.” My cry is half surprise, half relief. For all my illegal and hard-edged ways, I didn’t really relish the thought of bleeding my way out of this situation. “Hello? Who’s there?”

“Don’t be stupid, Pen. You know who it is. Let me in.”

I didn’t know who it was before, but that irritated shout could only belong to one man. “Sorry, Riker—I can’t let you in. I’m a little tied up at the moment.”

I can’t help it. I snicker. Now that the cavalry has arrived, I’m turning giddy.

“Not amused. I have about three thousand other things I should be doing right now. Either let me in, or I’m going home.”

I kick my legs in a panic before I remember that no amount of kicking is going to loosen these Boy Scout knots. “No, I’m being serious. Don’t leave—don’t go—wait.”

The following pause goes a long way in turning my stomach to—what else?—knots, but Riker’s weary voice eventually picks up again. “What’s going on?”

“I’m literally tied up. As in, to a chair, with real rope. You’ll have to break a window.”

“Any window I want?”

He makes it sound as if he’s thought about this before. “Don’t get too excited. I’d prefer if you could avoid drawing attention to it. You might be able to get in through the kitchen one.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and I’m afraid he’s going to leave me here as punishment for not taking the necklace when I had the chance, but the sound of shattering glass in the kitchen soon puts those fears to rest. Not all my fears, since the string of curses Riker releases indicates that he, too, might leave me here to stew in my life’s mistakes.

“Goddammit,” he mutters, taking his sweet time on his way to the living room. “I sliced open my jacket trying to get in. It’s brand-new Italian leather. Look.”

I do look, but only because that’s the direction my head is pointed and I don’t have any other choice. The jacket is sleek and cut close to his body, as most of his clothes are, but I’m not in the mood to admire it. “You look like a bargain bin mobster.”

“What are you talking about?” He frowns at himself. “Jordan said this cut is very classy on me.”

“Jordan is the queen of conciliation. She’d say you look good in the actual skin of a cow if you asked.”

It’s only then that he glances up to see me. His surliness and irritation disappear in an instant, and I know he’d have taken a knife to his precious leather coat himself for a chance to enjoy the sight all over again. “Holy shit, Pen. You’re tied to a chair.”

“Am I really? How odd, when that’s exactly what I told you five minutes ago.”

He responds with a crack of laughter that causes Grant’s stupid red-and-orange abstract painting to tilt even more from where it hangs askew over the open safe. I’m really starting to dislike that thing.

“Laugh it up, my friend. Get it out of your system. I’ll give you this one time, and then we’re never speaking of it again.”

“Oh, we’re speaking of it again. We’re speaking of this every day for the rest of our lives. What the hell happened here? Why aren’t you gagged, too?”

I tactfully ignore the second question and nod at the safe. “We were robbed, that’s what happened. Now, would you get me out of this chair, please? My thighs are chafing.”

Riker’s mouth opens, about to spout a thousand questions, but his eyes light with understanding as he takes in the crime scene. Considering how much energy we’ve spent arguing about that safe lately, it’s no wonder he takes this moment seriously. Flipping out his switchblade, he begins sawing through the rope.

He works deftly and silently, freeing my limbs much more slowly than I’d prefer. It’s probably for the best, since my hands and feet lie limply as they prickle back to life. My skin is raw where the rope rubbed against me, but there doesn’t seem to be any blood. Which is disappointing, in a way. I want battle wounds, scars, physical signs of my captor’s cruelty.

All I get is one sore fingernail and a few sleeping limbs. Go figure.

“Okay,” Riker says. “Grab a bag and start tossing what you’ll need in it. Clothes, shoes, any personal items you don’t want to leave behind. If there’s money somewhere—an emergency fund or jewelry we can hawk—be sure you grab that, too. What else?” He takes a slow turn, eyes roaming over every horizontal surface. “Is it worth going through Grant’s office? Any papers that might come in handy for blackmail purposes? A gun he keeps in a locked drawer?”

At the mention of a gun, I stop massaging my foot. We’re not ones to resort to armed violence, and we never have been. With the right amount of planning and foresight and safely controlled explosives, there’s no need.

“Whoa—slow down, Riker. It’s not like that. There’s no need to make a run for it.”

He looks at me as if I’m the stupidest person on the planet, which, to be honest, I feel like right now. “I know you think you can bend the mighty Mr. Romance to your whims, but not even the best blow job of your life is going to get you out of this one. The second he comes home to find that necklace gone, you’re culprit number one.”

Um… “Actually, that’s not true. This is the one time in my life he’ll believe I had nothing to do with it.”

“Forgive me if I don’t stick around to find out if you’re right.”

“Oh, I’m right.” I can’t help it—I’m a little smug as I deliver the next part. “He’s the one who stole it.”

Riker’s mouth opens and closes again. This has to mark the first time in our long history that I’ve ever rendered Riker speechless, and I take a moment to bask in it.

My triumph is short-lived as I try to get to my feet. My nerve endings are still firing up, and the adrenaline of my capture is ebbing away, leaving me shaky. I have to sink once again into that stupid chair to avoid another maidenly swoon. No way am I fainting twice in one day.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Riker asks.

I know my sense of humor can be dark sometimes, but I don’t joke about my husband running off with a two-million-dollar necklace. I don’t think I could. “I wish,” I say.

“Grant really stole it?”

I nod.

“Which means Grant also tied you to that chair?”

I nod again.

“But that doesn’t make any sense.” The scowling side of his mouth takes over, but I can tell he’s not angry. He’s perplexed. “Why would he do that? He’s the one who called me to come get you.”

I’m stunned for all of five seconds before realization creeps over me, slow at first and then gaining speed. It leaves a fiery path of indignation in its wake. “Oh, hell no. What exactly did he say?”

“Not much. Just that you might need a friend right about now.”

“That motherfucking bastard.” I make a vain attempt to reattach my bonds, but Riker did too good of a job cutting them. “It would serve him right if I died in this chair. Withered away and left him nothing more than my dusty bones.”

“What are you doing?”

“Tie me back up. Make it even tighter this time.”

“I’m not tying you back up.”

“Then I’ll do it myself.” I know I’m working myself up for no reason, but I can’t stop. What I feel isn’t just anger. Anger is hot and explosive and makes my head feel tight. This is a full-body emotion, fury taking up residence in every nerve ending I possess. “He knew the whole time he was going to send you to free me. The stupid jerk. He wanted me to think I’d be stuck here forever so I’d do something drastic like gnaw through the ropes to escape.”

Grant had been laughing at me. I’d been betrayed and abandoned and overwhelmed, and he had the audacity to turn it into a joke.

“I’m going to end him,” I say. “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to impale him with a stick and carry him through town for everyone to see.”

“I don’t understand most of what you’re saying right now, but I like that last part. Let’s do it.”

That’s when the laughing starts. It’s mostly hysteria, the sound of hundreds of tangled threads working into a knot and slamming into my gut, but once I get going, I can’t seem to stop. Grant, Tara, the necklace…it’s too much.

After a minute, Riker joins in, which just goes to show what a good friend he is. He has no idea what’s going on, but that won’t stop him from breaking down right alongside me. That’s solidarity, right there.

“Okay, Pen,” he finally says, laughter fading. “What really happened today? Maybe you better start this story from the beginning.”

“I will, but the beginning goes a lot further back than you think. Before today, before me and Grant, before me and you, before everything.”

Riker’s jaw doesn’t fall, but it does tighten. “Back to your dad?”

“Back to my dad,” I confirm with a nod. “And a certain someone I once called stepmother.”