Free Hostage Page 15

  “Really hungry, English girl.”

  We don’t usually give him hard cash because he’s obviously a druggie and we refuse to support his habit, but I haven’t been here in weeks so I’ve no idea what’s upstairs in the pantry. I take out a twenty-dollar bill and proffer it to him. “Here. Get yourself some dinner. I’ll go inside and renew your meal plan. Mel and I won’t be around much for a while, so I’ll pay for three months, yeah?”

  Gingerly, he reaches out and takes the bill. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

  “Do the right thing, Monty.” I leave him staring at the bill. At the end of the day, our choices are our own. No one can decide for us. And what we decide will either build us up or ruin us.

  I don’t have my door key, so I pick the lock. The security system beeps in warning that I have forty seconds to get past the crisscross lasers and to the top of the stairs without getting hit. I’ve danced this dance a million times—Hello, I designed it!—so I’m at the top of the stairs in less than ten seconds and facing the retinal scanner. Once my eyeball is scanned, there’s a three-stage passcode process before I can get in.

  Yep, our flat is all kinds of protected.

  “Welcome home, T. Day,” the monitor tells me in a robotic voice before it grants me access.

  I turn the door handle and walk in. And this is where the “old building” part ends. Inside, we have a clashing futuristic versus industrial thing going on. Walls are unpainted, floors are buffed concrete, ceiling of steel beams with never-ending rows of LED lights. Everything else is made of glass—countertops, chairs, tables, partitions. Two bedrooms and bathrooms are framed in switchable privacy glass.

  A short hallway leads to an opaque glass door that leads into the room where Mel and I defy all logic and create magic. Our office.

  It’s a sizable, perpetually air-conditioned space that holds all the secrets to our genius. One side of the office has a huge Plexiglas island littered with books and sheets of hieroglyphics and tubes and hazardous chemicals and all the ingredients to build explosives and weapons while the other side contains three sets of dual monitors, various machines and gadgets, and thick stacks of drawings and codes and technological ideas of the future.

  Not at all difficult to tell which side is mine and which is Melanie’s—her side is a little scary, to be honest.

  Markus gave us this place when we decided to settle in New York City. And equipped it with all the high-tech apparatuses we would ever need. If he wants something developed, hacked, stolen, we do it, and in return he lets us keep this insane flat/lab/office to do whatever we want.

  Everyone is happy.

  Markus is a good bloke to have on our side. He can make things happen. Anything. And he’s never asked anything of us that would put us in real danger.

  That said, on the rare occasions we do find ourselves in a pickle, he shows up like Batman.

  Therefore, we trust him.

  Taking a seat at my end of the counter, littered with screws and wires, microchips, electrical circuit system boards, and all things me, I log online and renew Monty’s food delivery plan.

  Once that’s sorted, I dip to the glass cabinets below and lift out one of my current projects. It’s in the embryonic stage, but this glob of wires and metal, when finally complete, will be the most advanced microprocessor-controlled prosthetic leg in the world. Each time a new one comes out and is touted the “world’s most advanced prosthetic leg,” I order it and pull it apart bit by bit. I then study it, bit by bit. And make mine ten times better.

  Setting the project on the counter, I crack my knuckles and smile.

  Chapter Twenty

  My phone’s been going off for the past two hours, but I’m too engrossed with my work in progress to care. The phone is brand new, so it can only be Melanie. Or quite possibly Jaxon, come to think of it. I never gave him the number, but I noticed his number programmed in my phone this afternoon, and I’m not the one who put it there.

  At first when I saw it, I’d been confused, because it’s not stored under J for Jaxon, but under B for Brick. Huh? Took me a while to remember our conversation in the kitchen when I told him he was like a brick. I suppose this is his way of being a wanker about it.

  Anyway. If I have his number, he has mine.

  When my neck starts to ache and my stomach whines and grumbles, I straighten up and stretch my arms above my head to get the kinks out. The blinking notification light from my phone begs for my attention.

  Resigned, I pick it up.

  Twenty-two missed calls, eight messages.

  Oops.

  Mel: Where’d you go?

  Mel: Are you in Brooklyn? If so, set up something for Monty. I forgot him the last time I was there.

  No shite.

  Mel: Hey, Kingker is here. He’s asking for you. (<<——See what I did there? King + Wanker = Kingker! Bwahahahhahah!)

  I roll my eyes.

  Mel: Tim, where are you? Kingker is being a wanker. He doesn’t believe I don’t know where you are. He thinks we’re up to something. I so wish we were. Ha!

  Mel: You need to get back here now before I throw a stick of dynamite in your crush’s face! He’s pissing me off.

  Mel: Wankerface wants me to remind you that you’re a hostage & you weren’t supposed to leave the house without someone from the team.

  Mel: All right, now I’M getting worried. WHERE ARE YOU? If I don’t hear from you soon I’m going to assume you’re in trouble & contact Markus.

  Brick: Timberly Day.

  I frown at the last message. From Jaxon. It’s no surprise he knows my full name. But what does he mean by that cryptic text? Is it supposed to be a threat? To let me know he knows how to find me?

  Since when did he become the threat-issuing type?

  I set my phone aside, giving my brain some time to process that. A yawn stretches my mouth, more from hunger than weariness. I head for my bedroom.

  From the wall safe, I grab a couple hundred in cash and another one of my antique knives. A lady should always have a fancy knife in her purse, not lipstick. Unless it’s a knife disguised as lipstick.

  From my closet, I choose a purse and a shoulder bag that still have tags on them, so I can lie and say I went purse shopping. Seeing as they confiscated the old one. Dumping the knife and cash inside the purse and then the purse inside the shoulder bag, I trek back to the office for my phone. First I text Mel.

  Timber: On my way. Don’t tell Kingker, though. Let the bastard feel out of control a wee bit longer.

  I thought for a moment, then typed out a message to Jaxon.

  Timber: Jaxon King. 28. Only child. Millionaire by 16. Felon by 18. 2 years in prison. Pauper by 20. Profession: con artist specializing in Sweetheart Con. Taciturn. Boring. Tyrannical. Closet nerd. Unreliable team player. Manipulator. Big time hypocrite.

  There. That’ll tell him. And then some.

  The phone tells me it’s 9:42 p.m., so I ring for a cab.

  The wait time is three minutes. I shut everything down, reactivate the security system, and exit the building.

  Monty is fast asleep under his tarp canopy, a dusty gray blanket draped over him and a stuffed Army bag as a pillow. I espy a McDonald’s food bag and a two-liter Pepsi bottle peeking out from under his blanket. Guess he made the right choice, after all.

  Just as the cab pulls up and I’m tucking my cell into my purse, it chirps and vibrates.

  Brick: Come back.

  Brick: Please.

  Clearing the screen with a smile of gratification, I drop the phone in my bag, duck into the cab, and give the driver my destination.

  Why am I affected?

  Why do I let him affect me?

  He’s so much more poisonous to my brain than the alcohol I actively avoid. He truly muddles me. He takes over my mind and clouds me. He overrides control of my anatomy so every part aches and pulses and begs for him. He burns the center of my chest in the same way a damn good shot of whiskey would.

  And the worst
part is, I like it.

  And I hate it.

  And I’m annoyed and confused by it. By him.

  What makes him think he can hold my hand and kiss me and take me to lunch and smile at me, then abruptly shut down, wall me out, abandon me without a word…and then suddenly turn around again, expecting the world to be in the same order he left it?

  Expecting me to be in the same place he left me?

  I’m not the one auditioning for his team, Melanie is. I don’t owe him a damned thing. I have an agenda, a mission, so I play along. But that does not mean I have to drink his poisonous potion and get muddled.

  Screw him and his fucking head muddling.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I arrive at my destination at approximately half past ten, and I am at the double doors pulling my phone from my handbag to pull up the security app when I hear a car door slam at the curb behind me.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I see Collin bounding up the sidewalk toward me. He looks like the ultimate ladies’ man. Acid-washed denim, white sneakers, a white T-shirt that reads Gotta Like Rough Play to Be My Bae, a messenger bag slung across his torso, platinum-blond hair, and an ensnaring grin to match.

  “I got it, Nerd Girl,” he tells me as he takes out his phone and grants us access. “Where you been?”

  “Same place you’ve been. Out breaking hearts.”

  He chuckles and playfully tugs a lock of my hair as we walk in. “Would you do mine? It would be an honor to get my heart broken by you.”

  I flutter my eyelashes. “Oh, Col. You make me swoon.”

  We weave around the automobiles in the giant garage and make for the stairs. “No, really, where’ve you been? Got home today and found Jaxon uncharacteristically upset by your absence. Not much gets to him.” He mimicked, “For every problem there’s a solution. You just need to stop wasting time and find the damn solution.” Collin made a face. “He’s always saying that. So, unless he’s in con mode, he never shows any real emotion. But today, when no one could tell him where you were— Man, he was all there.”

  Interesting.

  We trek up the winding stairs together, and Collin adds, “Now, if we put today’s uncharacteristic behavior together with last night’s uncharacteristic behavior, I’d have to say you’re getting under his skin. Way to go, Nerd Girl.”

  “I don’t care,” I say evenly. “I don’t fancy him anymore. He’s a goddamn wanker.”

  “Ouch,” Collin says through a chuckle. He slings an arm around my shoulders as we got to the door. “Does that mean you’re back in my bed tonight? You can talk dirty British to me all night, baby. I’ll even go for your Pig Latin gibberish.”

  I don’t respond, too focused on the vociferations coming from the other side of the door.

  “…don’t know why you don’t just tell him! I know you know where she is.” It’s Jo’s voice.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, you daft cow, I don’t know where she bloody is.” Melanie’s voice shot back.

  “What’re you two hiding?” Jo demands. “God. I was so freaking stupid to trust you.”

  Collin’s chuckle trickles through the clashing words. “Left these two arguing, and they’re still going at it. You better get in there before they kill each other, Tim-Tim.”

  I scrunch up my face at him. “Tim-Tim? Really?”

  He grins down at me. “Yeah. Tim’s already taken.”

  On the tail of an eye roll, I open the door.

  Melanie and Jo are facing off in the middle of the living room, and Eduardo’s stretched out on the couch looking aroused by the catfight. Jaxon is leaning on one of the far columns, his phone in hand. He’s just staring at the screen with expectation, as if hoping it will transform into an alien ship or something.

  As the entry door closes behind us with a beep, all three heads swivel in our direction. Collin’s arm is still draped around me.

  Jo’s mouth falls open as she takes us in. She scowls and glares at Collin. “You’re a sneaky little turd, you know that, Col? You knew where she was all this time?”

  Collin shrugs, the movement jerking me with him.

  “And I didn’t,” Melanie loudly proclaims, her arms stretched wide. “Right, Tim?”

  “Right,” I mumble absentmindedly as I eye Jaxon from my peripheral vision.

  He straightens away from the column and pockets his phone, his attention on me. Or rather, on Collin’s arm around me.

  “Oh, save it,” Jo snaps at Melanie, giving her the middle finger. “Find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”

  Jaxon moves, lithe and soundless. He’s in the same clothes as earlier, except his shirt is now crumpled and out of his trousers, the cuffs flapping open at his wrists. His hair’s a sexy, sexy mess, as though he’s run his hand through it a dozen times.

  Eduardo sits up, watching Jaxon’s approach with riveting interest, and Jo folds her arms across her flat chest, a smirk on her face, waiting for their boss to blast me. Or Collin…

  Jaxon stops in front of us.

  I brace myself.

  Collin must feel it, because he protectively pulls me closer into his side.

  Jaxon scans me head to toe. “Have you eaten?”

  “I—”

  Wait, what?

  My heart pauses in shock. I was not prepared for this. After all that stalking business, this is what he asks me? What kind of game is playing?

  “Not since lunch,” I say pointedly.

  “Kav cooked.” Jaxon’s face is a blank sheet. There’s nothing there to read, and I want to scream in frustration. Or draw a heart there with a bright red marker. “But I ordered veggie pizza earlier. I left some for you. If you prefer that, I can go heat it up.”

  I blink far too many times in one second. “I— Uh, okay.”

  He nods, then looks to Collin. Almost undetectably, his brow lifts in warning.

  Collin does not remove his arm. “Hey, Tim-Tim, before you go off to eat disgusting vegan pizza, you mind coming up to my room for a second? Got something I want to give you.” He says the latter with a suggestive drawl that’s filled with silent promises of pleasure.

  I see the tic in Jaxon’s jaw. He tries to control it, but I see it.

  Before I can respond, Collin is dragging me up the stairs. I glance over my shoulder and catch Jaxon shoving his hand through his hair, his gaze following me up the stairs.

  Another thing I see is Jo mouthing to Eduardo, “What the hell just happened?”

  Collin tugs me into his room and locks the door. “The hell did you do to him, Tim-Tim? You got some kind of British mojo or something?”

  “It’s not real,” I say with an exhale. “He’s just a damn good actor.”

  “Huh.” Collin takes off his messenger bag and throws it on the bed. “I’ve seen that guy in pretend mode on some of our most crucial cons, and yeah, he’s good as gold. But that down there, that’s no acting.”

  Possibly. But I doubt Jaxon ever shows them—or anyone—all his faces. I refuse to be convinced that Jaxon’s current string of “uncharacteristic” behaviors is real.

  Nothing is real with him. Sure, snippets of jealously do slip through the cracks sometimes, but even those could be an act to get me to think he cares about whatever the hell I do with myself. After all, his behavior needs to be convincing, does it not?

  I fold my arms protectively around myself. “What did you want to give me?” Who says Collin’s any better than Jaxon, anyway? Aren’t they all the same? He could be conning me, too, for all I know. “Or is dragging me up here just your way of sticking it to Jaxon?”

  Collin laughs and crosses the room to his nightstand. “True, that’s part of it. But I really do have something to give you.”

  He opens the nightstand drawer, takes something out, and throws it across the room at me.

  I can’t get my hands up in time to catch it, so it bounces off my forearm and falls to the floor. I look down. It’s my purse from Paris. A durable brown leather piece I purchased i
n an antique shop in Europe.

  I bend to pick it up. Flicking the brass latch open, I peer inside. My old cell, my credit cards, ID card, an Estée Lauder cologne sample, a cherry ChapStick, and a stack of crisp, fresh-from-the-bank-smelling cash. Everything except the stack of bills was there when my purse was confiscated.

  “Ten Gs,” he informs me at my puzzled look. “Gave your girl a cut, too. That job you did today was mine. Jaxon and I have been working on it for weeks. I was surprised when he pulled me out and threw your girl in with no prep. That’s some insane shit. We weren’t even supposed to hit it until next week. We obtained a blueprint of the vault door and were just waiting on a device to bypass the PIN request. It was supposed to be a safe, undetectable gig. Legit. No trace.”

  I knew it! Jaxon had known about that vault door. What the bloody hell?

  “Did he tell you how we got in?” I ask.

  Collin shifts on his feet, his head cocked. “Does he know how you got in?”

  “Mel told him, yeah.”

  Collin rubs his jaw. “Be careful with him, Tim-Tim. What he did today was crazy risky. He likes you, it’s obvious. But I’ve seen him hurt people he likes. Have your fun, but keep your guard up. Don’t get blinded.”

  All Collin’s concerns are good ones, but I need some solid information. Taking the stack of bills from my purse, I wave it at him, and say, “He paid you for the job, yeah?”

  Collin’s chin jerks in the affirmative.

  “So, when you steal things, you guys don’t fence them and split the cash amongst yourselves?”

  With that question, Collin catches on to what I’m doing. He narrows his eyes, and his mouth opens, probably to tell me this area is off-limits. But he just bites his lip and studies me. I can see the wheels churning.

  Yep. I’m good at this.

  Collin is convinced that Jaxon is up to something. Being a part of the team but not knowing what that something is naturally makes him suspicious.