My Darling Husband(24)

“The kids are fine. Watching some cartoon in the other room. I put Beatrix in charge of the remote.”

I don’t tell him this is not a good idea. That neither sibling should be in charge of the channel choice. Cam’s system is complicated, the remote cost a fortune, and Beatrix and Baxter can never agree on what to watch. They’re not used to unlimited screen time. The only way this ends is in screaming and tears.

“Please, I want to see them. I need to tell them to be good. I need to tell them—”

That I love them.

The words stick to my throat, eating up all the air and smearing my vision with tears. As hard as I tried to keep them in check downstairs, there’s no stopping them now. They roll down my cheeks, burning the raw skin around my mouth, the salt lighting it on fire. I strain against the ties on my wrists, my ankles, and I sob.

I need to tell my children I love them before it’s too late.

The man backs up a few steps, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “The kids are fine. You can talk to them later. First, you and I are going to make a phone call.”

I’m listening, but my gaze is glued to the door. I suck a breath to yell out to them, then reconsider. They seem calm, for now at least. If they’re tied to a chair like I am, if they’re distracted by the television, calling out to them would only cause panic.

“Jade.” He snaps, three quick flicks of his fingers to get my attention. “Are you listening? I need you to pay attention. We’re going to call your husband, and I want you to tell him he is needed here at home—”

“Fine. But first take me to the kids. I want to see Beatrix and Baxter first.”

He sighs, an aggravated sound that rumbles in his lungs. “I already told you. The kids are fine. And you are not exactly in a position to negotiate.”

“Please.”

“We’re not talking about the kids right now. They’re not important.”

His words ignite a bonfire in my chest, and I lean forward on the chair. “What did you do to them?”

“Jade.” He bares his teeth, talking through them, low and controlled. “This isn’t about the kids. This is about you and me, don’t you get it? I need you to focus on what is happening, right now, right here in this room. On you, making the call to Cam.”

So he knows both our names. It’s an important tidbit I tuck away with all the other pieces I’ve gathered about him.

“I can’t.”

He frowns, two black-brown brows appearing from under the mask. “What do you mean you can’t?”

I wave my hands, strapped by the wrists to the chair. “I need my hands to hold the phone. You’ll have to untie me first.”

Even with both hands free, the lucite bowl would be too much of a stretch, a good five feet of air between it and my fingertips. I could never clear the space fast enough, not with the rest of me attached to this chair. He’d see me lunging from a mile away. He’d smack my arm down, go for his gun, shoot me for even trying.

The man rolls his eyes. “Please, I am not an idiot.” He hikes up on a hip, drags my cell phone from his pants pocket. “I’ll pull up his number, and then we’ll put him on speaker.”

“Let me see the kids first.”

“Jade. May I remind you that you are unarmed and tied to a chair?”

“Please. I’ll call Cam. I’ll say whatever you want me to say to him, but I need to know my children are okay. Let me see them, please.”

He stares at the floor, sucking his bottom lip, thinking. Dragging it out. Making me sweat. Enjoying it. The seconds stretch and dilate.

His gaze whips to mine. “If I do that, if I take you in there and let you have this little reunion you want so badly, how do I know you won’t try something? How do I know you won’t find yourself a weapon, or go for mine?” He glances over his shoulder at the gun, an ominous hunk of black metal on the dresser, as if I need the reminder. The threat is plenty clear, and the pressure in the room changes in an instant. He turns back, giving a slow, sad shake of his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I can trust you.”

“I won’t try anything. You can trust me. I swear.”

“Call me a cynic, but I don’t think I can.”

“But I told you about the cameras. I didn’t lie about those.”

He doesn’t respond. He just sits there on the edge of my guest room bed and stares me down, his eyes hard, his expression—what I can see of it—ice-cold. I tell myself to shut up, to stand down. There’s no winning this argument. And yet I can’t stop myself from begging one last time.

“Please,” I whisper, cheeks heating, eyes stinging. “Please let me see them.”

I know that I’m being reckless, putting my life, my children’s lives on the line here, but I can’t think of anything but them in the other room, knowing I’m in here strapped to a chair. They must be so terrified. I need to see with my own eyes that they are safe. To comfort them, as much as the sight of them will comfort me.

The man heaves a sigh.

“Fine, you can see them, but not until after.” He stabs the air, one gloved finger pointed to the ceiling. “After you make the call, after I know I can trust you to do what I say. If you do everything I tell you to, I will take you into the playroom for a little visit with the kiddos.”