“But why the cash? Was it always the money?” His tortured voice is barely audible.
No! Tears roll down my face. “No,” I whisper.
“Is five million enough?”
Oh please, stop!
“Yes.”
“And the baby?” His voice is a breathless echo.
What? My hand moves from my mouth to my belly. “I’ll take care of the baby,” I murmur. My Little Blip . . . our Little Blip.
“This is what you want?”
No!
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“Yes.”
He inhales sharply. “Take it all,” he hisses.
“Christian,” I sob. “It’s for you. For your family. Please. Don’t.”
“Take it all, Anastasia.”
“Christian—” And I nearly cave. Nearly tell him—about Jack, about Mia, about the ransom. Just trust me, please! I silently beg him.
“I’ll always love you.” His voice is hoarse. He hangs up.
“Christian! No . . . I love you, too.” And all the stupid shit that we put each other through over the last few days fades into insignificance. I promised I’d never leave him. I am not leaving you. I am saving your sister. I slump into the chair, weeping copiously into my hands.
I am interrupted by a timid knock on the door. Whelan enters, though I haven’t acknowledged him. He looks everywhere but at me. He’s mortified.
You called him, you bastard! I glare at him.
“You have carte blanche, Mrs. Grey,” he says. “Mr. Grey has agreed to liquefy some of his assets. He says you can have whatever you need.”
“I just need five million dollars,” I mutter through gritted teeth.
“Yes ma’am. Are you all right?”
“Do I look all right?” I snap.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Some water?”
I nod, sullenly. I have just left my husband. Well, Christian thinks I have. My subconscious purses her lips. Because you told him so.
“I’ll have my colleague bring you some while I prepare the money. If you could just sign here, ma’am . . . and make the check out to cash and sign that, too.”
He places a form on the table. I scrawl my signature along the dotted line of the check, then the form. Anastasia Grey. Teardrops fall on the desk, narrowly missing the paperwork.
“I’ll take those, ma’am. It will take us about half an hour to prepare the money.”
I quickly check my watch. Jack said two hours—that should take us to two hours. I nod to Whelan, and he tiptoes out of the office, leaving me to my misery.
A few moments, minutes, hours later—I don’t know—Miss Insincere Smile reenters with a carafe of water and a glass.
“Mrs. Grey,” she says softly as she places the glass on the desk and fills it.
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“Thank you.” I take the glass and drink gratefully. She exits, leaving me with my jumbled, frightened thoughts. I will fix things with Christian somehow . . . if it’s not too late. At least he’s out of the picture. Right now I have to concentrate on Mia. Suppose Jack is lying? Suppose he doesn’t have her? Surely I should call the police.
“Tell no one or I’ll fuck her up before I kill her.” I can’t. I sit back in the chair, feeling the reassuring presence of Leila’s pistol at my waist, digging into my back. Who would have thought I’d ever feel grateful that Leila once pulled a gun on me? Oh, Ray, I’m so glad you taught me how to shoot.
Ray! I gasp. He’ll be expecting me to visit this evening. Perhaps I can simply dump the money with Jack. He can run while I take Mia home. Oh, this soundsabsurd!
My BlackBerry jumps to life, “Your Love is King” filling the room. Oh no!
What does Christian want? To twist the knife in my wounds?
“Was it always the money?”
Oh, Christian—how could you think that? Anger flares in my gut. Yes, anger.
It helps. I send the call to voice mail. I’ll deal with my husband later.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Mrs. Grey.” It’s Whelan. “The money is ready.”
“Thank you.” I stand up and the room spins momentarily. I clutch the chair.
“Mrs. Grey, are you feeling okay?”
I nod and give him a back-off-now-mister stare. I take another deep calming breath. I have to do this. I have to do this. I must save Mia. I pull the hem of my hooded sweatshirt down, concealing the butt of the pistol in the back of my jeans.
Mr. Whelan frowns but holds open the door, and I propel myself forward on my shaking limbs.
Sawyer is waiting at the entrance, scanning the public area. Shit! Our eyes meet, and he frowns at me, gauging my reaction. Oh, he’s mad. I hold up my index finger in a with-you-in-a-minute gesture. He nods and answers a call on his cell phone. Shit! I bet that’s Christian. I turn abruptly, almost colliding with Whelan right behind me, and bolt back into the little office.
“Mrs. Grey?” Whelan sounds confused as he follows me back in.
Sawyer could blow this whole plan. I gaze up at Whelan.