Forsaken (The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #3)(38)

“Is fine.” I look him straight in the eye, letting him see the various bumps and bruises on my face. “And yes to everything you’re going to offer. We had a car accident two days ago, and my wife is feeling under the weather. I’m eager to get her to a room, where she can rest.”

The man’s eyes widen and flicker to Gia. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We’ll get you checked in quickly. I’m glad you’re both okay.”

“Thank you,” Gia says, going along with the story. “I—we—do appreciate that.”

I grimace at the jab but say nothing, and true to his word, in all of five minutes, the man has us on an elevator. Gia turns to me, and I to her.

I stare down at her, this woman, this stranger who could be an enemy, and while I do not want to be a fool, I don’t believe that to be true anymore. And there is something about her and us I don’t understand. I only know that whatever it is she stirs in me, it is raw and ripe with some kind of deep, cutting hurt, and yet somehow sweet, when I’d thought nothing could ever be sweet again. She is also the only reason I detoured to a hotel before going to my sister’s apartment.

“Chad, we—”

“Kevin,” I remind her, lacing my fingers into her hair, and without conscious thought, I am pressing my mouth to hers, and for a moment there is just her, us, and a caress of lips that could so easily, too easily, turn to white-hot passion.

The elevator dings softly, destroying those few seconds of peace I’d found in Gia, and that I’d needed more than I’d realized. I lean back, refusing to look at her, refocusing on what is important, on why I needed that moment of peace, on the possibility that I may soon discover my sister isn’t here.

Lacing my fingers with Gia’s, I lead her with determined steps to the end of the hallway and open our door. The executive suite contains a living area with a flat-screen TV above a fireplace and a bedroom on either side.

“What is the plan?” Gia asks. “What are we doing?”

“We aren’t doing anything. And you know the plan. I’m here to get my sister.”

“Now? Where? How?”

“You know I’m not telling you that.”

She makes a sound of frustration. “You have to have a plan that doesn’t include charging in and grabbing her.”

“I’m not grabbing her. I’m taking her to safety.”

“Oh, God. You don’t have a plan. I’m repeating myself here, but they could grab you and her together. Maybe that’s the idea. Maybe they didn’t have her, and they want her. Maybe they’re following us.”

“The only way that would happen is if you’re involved, and I’m hoping like hell that’s not true.”

“I’m not involved, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t watching her. Maybe they left her free in case you escaped, or they planned to show you pictures or videos of her to threaten you, but you escaped before they could. Please, Chad. Think about this. Don’t go and get killed.”

“Because I’m all that’s keeping you alive, right?”

She flinches. “Asshole. For your information, right now I feel like I’m the only thing keeping you alive.”

I shrug and turn. “I’ll be back.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

I don’t have time to argue with her. I drag her to the bathroom and shove her inside. “If I’m not back by the time the maids find you, I’m dead. Take that bag of cash strapped over your shoulder and the rest in the duffel I’m leaving behind, and get the hell out of here. I’m not taking the Escalade, so it’ll be here if you need it. And don’t scream to get attention. It might be the wrong kind of attention, the kind that gets us both killed.”

“Don’t do this,” she demands, and I shut the door, grab a chair from the desk behind me, and shove it under the doorknob.

“I’ll be back,” I promise, silently swearing to myself that it will be with my sister by my side.

“Chad! Wait! I need to tell you something.”

I pause. “Yes?”

She’s silent several beats before she says, “Please don’t get killed. Please come back.”

The plea is desperate, passionate, as if she really does give a damn about me. And damn it to hell, it’s hard to leave her behind, when I’m not sure I’ll ever see her again.




WHEN I EXIT the hotel the doorman is quick to turn in my direction, but I hold up a hand, waving him and the use of the Escalade off. My walk through the high-end neighborhood is short. I travel a few blocks past little shops and a busy cross street filled with restaurants and a towering new high-rise under construction. This, like another half-dozen locations where I’ve acquired properties across the country, is meant to allow me the option of a safe haven if needed, while I slowly amass resources using the deeply disguised holding companies I’ve always known we’d need to stay off the radar of Sheridan and his cohorts.

With each step I take, I think of Amy. I haven’t seen my sister, really seen her face-to-face, in six years. The idea of holding her and telling her that I love her has me shaking inside. The range of emotions we’ll both feel if she’s in the apartment I set up for her will be extreme and surreal, and while there will be relief and happiness for us both, I know her anger will come hard and fast. But I’ll deal with it. If she’s alive and well and I can touch her, hold her, if I can know she is safe, she can bust my chops all she wants. Please be there, I think. Please be angry and give me hell.