Chapter Twenty-Eight
He couldn’t concentrate. All it took was one text sent to Hunter to blow his entire day. Andrew took a picture of the flowers he’d sent to Gabi in the trash and added the message: The card is in the fireplace, unread and smoldering.
The next message simply said, Duct Tape!!!
He needed to fix this. Admittedly, he had no idea how. All his life, money and power fixed his problems. With more money came more power and a quicker resolve. Andrew’s words stuck in his head. Slow down. He needed to slow his personal life down or watch it spiral out of control. Flowers in the trash were a sign of an impending tornado.
He twisted his desk chair until he was staring out over the city. It was gray . . . not at all the Southern California weather he’d grown used to. It matched his mood, he supposed.
Gabi’s, too, he guessed.
His goals were easily defined a few months ago, now they were mucked up with emotion and consequences. Having Gabi by his side, having his back with something as simple as decorating a nursery in support, was a priceless example of the depth of her heart. With all she’d been through, he’d think she’d be jaded and dead on the inside.
Her family and friends adored her, would think nothing of burying him if he harmed her. Even Andrew was squarely on her side of the swinging pendulum.
A conversation . . . flowers . . . these things weren’t going to duct tape his relationship back together.
He wanted it back together.
He took in his colorless office and thought of the penthouse condo that held the same empty, quiet life. He wanted more.
And he wanted it with Gabi.
A plan began to form in his head.
A plan that meant slowing down his objectives and speeding up hers.
The cell phone in his suit jacket buzzed. He considered ignoring it before he pulled it from his pocket to check the caller.
Hope flared when he saw Gabi’s name.
“Gabi,” he whispered her name as his answer.
Silence met his ears.
He was close to begging. “Talk to me, Gabi.”
He heard laughter . . . male laughter.
Hunter froze, looked at the screen again, saw Gabi’s name.
“Who is this?”
“Mr. Blackwell . . . I’m your new best friend.” The voice was deep, with a south of the border accent.
“Who is this? Where’s my wife?”
“Ah, your caring wife is right where she’s supposed to be . . . for now. That can change, my friend. I don’t take kindly to people stealing my money. Makes my fingers itchy to take from others. You understand, no?”
“What are you talking about? Who are you?” Hunter leaned over and took his office phone off the hook.
“Ten million, Mr. Blackwell.”
“Excuse me?”
The voice laughed. “Check your e-mail. Gabriella . . . beautiful woman your wife. She sent you a picture.”
Hunter started clicking, found a message in his private inbox, and opened it.
His stomach twisted. Gabi, from what had to be during the darkest days of her life, looked like the shell of the woman he knew. Dark circles under her eyes, the white dress hanging on her thin shoulders . . . her arm extended with a needle hanging out.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“A man who will be ten million dollars richer very soon, eh? And so you know not to fuck with me . . . I will give you ten minutes to keep your wife alive.”
Hunter gripped his desk and stood.
“Do I have your attention, Mr. Blackwell?”
“Yes,” he gritted out between his teeth.
“Aston Martins have been known to blow up in those Bond films. You might encourage your driver to end his driving lesson to watch the fireworks from outside the car.”
“What the—”
“I’ll be in touch.”
The line went dead.
His heart sped and the light inside him threatened to fade as he dialed his home number and yelled to the closed office door, “Tiffany?”
Andrew answered on the first ring. “Find some duct tape?”
“Put Solomon on the phone.”
“He’s not here.”
Tiffany ran into the room.
“Where is he? Where’s Gabi?” There was no mistaking the urgency in his voice.
Hunter glared at Tiffany. “Get Neil MacBain on the phone. Now!”
Tiffany fled the room as quickly as she entered.
“Driving around. Gabi wanted a driving lesson.”
“In the Aston?”
“Yeah. What’s going on, Hunter?”
Oh, God. “No time.”
He hung up as Tiffany scurried back in. “Line two.”
“Neil?”
“Talk to me.”
“I just received a death threat for Gabi. I have nine minutes to get her and Solomon out of the Aston.”
Fear kept Hunter’s hands moving. The cell phone sat on his desk, he took a chance and redialed Gabi’s number. It went to instant voice mail. He slammed his hand against the desk.
He heard Neil barking orders through the phone.
“Do you have him?”
“Not yet.”
“Eight minutes, Neil.”
It was a closed course, so why was Solomon gripping the side of the car with such intensity? Gabi let up on the gas and concentrated on avoiding the cones. She’d done rather well, when she kept the speed under thirty.
At fifty, things became a little dicey.
“You’re oversteering,” Solomon instructed her. “Relax your grip on the wheel and let the car balance itself out.”
The car jerked in the opposite direction.
“Relax, don’t let go.”
“Oh . . .” Gabi took the next curve a little faster and attempted to relax.
The phone in her purse rang, and she glanced behind her.
“Don’t even think about answering that.”
She looked at him with a frown. “Well of course not.”
Solomon swung his gaze out the window and gripped the door rail. “Watch it.”
Several cones went down as she missed the next turn completely.
She straightened the car as Solomon’s phone started to buzz. “Straighten her out and let’s try again. You can’t let phones and people distract you, Mrs. B., or you’re going to end up getting hurt.”
Gabi squared her shoulders and started again. They rounded the second turn for the umpteenth time. When Solomon’s phone went off again, Gabi praised herself on ignoring the noise.
She didn’t even look when Solomon answered his phone. “I’m a little busy right now,” he told whoever called.
“What?”
Ease into the corner; let the wheel do the work.
Perfect. Not one cone off course.
“Oh, fuck.”
Gabi wanted to look toward the passenger seat but thought Solomon was testing her resolve to avoid distractions.
She smiled and kept driving.
“Stop the car!”
The S curve was next. Gabi kept going.
“Stop the car!” This time Solomon grabbed the wheel.
Gabi hit the brake, hard.
As soon as the car rolled to a stop, Solomon hit the button of her seat belt. “Get out.”
“What? What’s—”
“Get out!” He reached over, opened the door, and pushed.
She couldn’t move fast enough before Solomon was out of his side and dragging her from the car. He grasped her hand and ran. She had no choice but to move her feet or risk taking them both down.
“What’s going on?” The words no sooner fell from her lips than noise, heat, and an unknown force pushed her off her feet.
Solomon tucked her into his side as the ground rushed to meet them. Her left arm took the brunt of her fall and pain shot through her.
She couldn’t hear, but the flames coming from behind told her why.
Gabi shielded her eyes when the second explosion went off.
Solomon forced his face in front of hers, his lips were moving but all she heard was ringing.
The Aston blazed in flames.
Solomon placed a hand on her chin. His mouth moved in what she thought was a question. Are you OK?
She nodded even as she began to shake. I can’t hear. She felt vibration in her throat but couldn’t hear her own words.
Solomon pointed to his own ears and shook his head. He lifted his hand that still held his cell phone and said something into it before dropping it to his side.
One of the back tires blew and Gabi’s entire body shook.
Her life could have ended today.
Solomon reached around her and held on.
She let him.
The closed driving course belonged to the police department, making them first on the scene. Gabi knew her hearing loss wasn’t permanent when she heard the high pitch of the fire department sirens.
Dazed, she watched a dozen officials running around the otherwise empty lot. The orange cones close to the Aston melted in a surreal slow death. Someone lifted her arm and encased it in a bandage. She looked down, noticed blood for the first time. Adrenaline must have taken over, because she hadn’t felt a thing after her first kiss with the ground.
Shock, she realized on a level outside her consciousness.
People around her were speaking, but she couldn’t hear any of the softer sounds.
It wasn’t until a paramedic attempted to get her to stand that the adrenaline left her system.
Pain shot in her arm, her knee, and her head was on fire.
The medics lifted her onto the gurney and laid her down.
Solomon shook off the men at his side and stayed close. Watching life, and feeling the pain begin a series of explosions inside her without all the sound that came with it, offered a twist in her conscious.
Movement to her left had her twisting her head.
Hunter . . . his crisp suit slightly ruffled . . . why she thought of the condition of his clothing wouldn’t occur to her for hours, but his clothes stuck out. The frantic man under them, however, wasn’t something she recognized.
He pushed through the police at the scene, pointed her way, and rushed to her side.
Sound was muffled, a mix of sirens and low-pitched bass that made it impossible to hear single words.
Hunter was talking to her, but she couldn’t take in a single word.
He gripped her hand and turned his attention to the paramedic.
Hunter nodded a few times, then looked at her.
That’s when she saw it.
Emotion . . . raw, unscripted.
Unshed tears sat behind his eyes, desperation filled his face.
He climbed into the ambulance with her, spoke to someone behind him. When the door closed and what she could hear was nothing but the screech of a noisy emergency vehicle, she closed her eyes.
Hunter squeezed her hand.
She squeezed back.
Apparently patience was something Hunter was going to learn in the course of a week. He arrived in time to sit beside Gabi on the way to the hospital, but he couldn’t talk to her. The second she was unloaded from the back of the ambulance, the emergency room staff whisked her away.
Someone dragged him away to ask questions . . . most of which he couldn’t answer. Allergies to medications, previous medical conditions?
He didn’t know his wife at all.
It wasn’t long before Neil and Gwen arrived. Shortly after, Samantha ran in. When Judy arrived, she was on the phone with Gabi’s family.
Neil explained what he knew but didn’t elaborate.
When one of the nurses called Hunter’s name, he jumped. So did everyone else in their party.
She ushered them into a small room, where the women took a seat and the men stood. “You’re wife is resting comfortably, Mr. Blackwell. The doctor medicated her and splinted her arm.”
“Splinted her arm?” Samantha asked.
“A fracture. Nothing that won’t heal in six weeks.”
Hunter wasn’t worried about her arm. “Can she hear anything yet?”
The nurse didn’t commit. “Like the medics told you . . . the blast will affect her hearing for a few hours. She responds to loud sounds, but words might take a day to come back. Most of the time this is temporary. The man she was with—”
“Solomon?” Neil asked.
“Yes, his hearing is already returning.”
Thank God. At least they could talk to him and learn something about what had happened. Not that Hunter needed that.
“When can I see her?” Hunter asked.
“I can take you back now. Two at a time. We’re really busy and can’t have the halls filled with people.”
Hunter stood and Judy took the space beside him. “If I don’t give Meg an update, she’ll go crazy.”
The nurse led the two of them through the busy halls of the ER and into a private room where Gabi lay.
Her eyes were closed, her arm hung in a sling. The monitors hooked to her buzzed with bleeps and dings. None of it made any sense. All that mattered was that the woman on the gurney was breathing
She opened her slightly glossy eyes and tried to smile.
“Oh, Gabi,” Judy moved to the gurney first, placed her hand next to Gabi’s. “Can you hear me?”
Gabi focused for a minute, then muttered, “Can’t hear you.” She lifted a white board someone in the ER had given her and pointed to it.
Judy lifted it, scribbled the question How do you feel? and then turned it toward Gabi.
“Like garbage,” he heard Gabi say.
Gabi laid her hand over Judy’s before she could write another question. “Tell Val I’m fine.” The words were almost a whisper this time . . . evidence that Gabi couldn’t hear her own voice.
Judy looked at Hunter. “Does she look fine to you?”
No. She looked tired, injured, drugged. “There isn’t anything Val can do, even once they get here. Put the man at ease. Tell him what the nurse told us. Broken arm, temporary hearing loss.”
“What if it isn’t temporary?”
Hunter’s nose flared. “There still isn’t anything Val can do. Give the man something to hope for.”
Judy nodded and wrote a note. Calling your brother. Love you.
Gabi tried to smile before closing her eyes.
Judy left the room and Hunter moved to the chair beside the gurney and sat while Gabi slept.
He slowed down . . . to the beats of her heart on the monitor . . . Hunter paused his life.
Every once in a while a loud noise would present itself outside the door of her room, and he felt her jolt. Proof she was hearing something even as she slept.
The phone in his pocket buzzed, rocking him out of his thoughts. He answered when he saw Remington’s number. “I don’t have time for you right now.”
Silence.
Hunter waited, and then bit his lip.
“Get my message?” The Hispanic voice filled the call.
You’re a dead man sat on his lips. Practicing the patience life was teaching him. Hunter said, “Yes.”
“No cops, Mr. Blackwell.”
“Questions will be asked.”
“Questions you can divert. Ten million . . . cash.”
“Not possible.”
“Shall I blow up a day care, Mr. Blackwell?”
Hunter now knew what it felt like to have his balls in a vise. “When?”
“I’ll be in touch.”