Drop Dead Gorgeous(99)

“Look, I’ve had a really shitty day. So how about you tell me what the plan is here and let’s see if we can work something out that’ll get me home, in a bubble bath, with an extra-large glass of wine? Deal?” I offer with an exasperated sigh.

Yvette’s eyes bulge wide, nearly bugging out of their sockets. “You’ve had a bad day? You’ve. Had. A. Bad. Day?” she repeats herself, getting up in my face. “I lost everything! And it’s all your fault!” she screeches.

Her hands are gesturing so wildly, I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’s going to slap me, either accidentally or intentionally.

It seems I’ve hit a nerve.

Sebastian pushes me toward the car, and I stumble away from him, catching myself on sore wrists to keep from face-planting on the hood. He gathers Yvette in his arms instead, rubbing his palm over her hair as she buries her face in his wide chest. “It’s okay, Vettie. Calm down.”

Never in the history of time has a woman calmed down by being told to calm down. In fact, those words usually have the opposite effect. But Sebastian must have some magic, either in his words or in the gentle touch of his hand, because Yvette does settle. I’m guessing it’s his voice because I’ve felt his hand on my wrists and there was nothing gentle about it.

But I’m not done poking and prodding at Yvette’s wound, not when it seems to put her off-balance and that’s the only hope I can see at getting away. “My fault? I had nothing to do with your poisoning your husband, psycho.”

Yvette lunges at me, her clawed nails scraping down my arm, leaving lines of red in their wake. “Psycho? I’ll show you psycho!”

Sebastian catches Yvette around her waist, pulling her back to put some space between us. “Ladies, ladies . . .” Standing between us, he holds a hand out toward each of us as though he’s stopping a barroom catfight. This man must be either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. I’m leaning toward the latter. Smiling congenially, he acts like this is no big deal. “Let’s all take a deep breath and calm down.”

I am not Yvette, and his words have the expected and well-documented effect on me.

“Calm down?” I jeer. “I’ve been kidnapped and taken to the middle of nowhere. Know this . . . I’m not going down without a fight. You might kill me, but I will make you bleed in the process.” I spit out the words, covering my fear with venom and promises of painful retribution.

Inside, I’m panicking, the realization that I’m going to die hitting full force.

I’m so sorry, Jacob. I know I promised I’d be there for you, forever and always. I’m sorry I lied.

Flashes of a younger Jacob, crying openly at Grandma’s funeral and then hiding his tears at Grandpa’s funeral because he felt the need to appear grown despite being a teenager, fill my mind. He’d finally given in late one night when a bad storm scared us both, the lightning bringing Grandpa’s death back with a vengeance. Jacob had curled into my shoulder like the child he was, crying until dry sobs racked his bigger-than-me body.

I hope someone is there to hold him this time.

He’s eighteen and so responsible, but really, he’s a young man who’s lost so much. As much as I have . . . parents, family, Grandma and Grandpa.

And now, he’s going to lose me too.

Tears fill my eyes, burning hot and acidic. I wipe them away angrily, hating that they make me seem weak on the heels of my powerful ‘I will kill you’ speech.

Sebastian’s eyes ping-pong from me to Yvette, back and forth. “Kill? Nobody is going to die. That’s not what this is about. Tell her.”

His eyes land on Yvette, who’s still eyeing me like she’d be quite happy if I dropped dead right here and now.

“Vettie?” Sebastian warns when she doesn’t agree.

Begrudgingly, she huffs out, “Whatever.”

“Good,” he says soothingly. “How about we talk things out like adults?”

“Adults do not kidnap people, Sebastian,” I growl, bristling against his placating tone while I’m contemplating my mortality.

He turns hard eyes on me. “I’m trying to help here. Work with me.”

It’s an order, blunt and clipped. Any sense of kindness dissipated, both in his words and his eyes, which are cold now, freezing me in place. Yvette, I feel confident I can handle. I’ve got size, age, and desperation on her. Sebastian, he could turn me into a puddle of Zoey goo easily, probably without breaking a sweat.

Sweat . . . ew, that’s what that the bag of wet, smelly clothes was in the trunk. His workout clothes.

Absently, I wipe my hands on my scrubs again.

“Okay,” Sebastian says, taking my silence as agreement. “Vettie, tell Zoey what you want,” he prompts, playing the mediator.

I swallow down the questions I want to ask, trying to pick up any clue I can in the hope that it’ll help me get away safely. Because I don’t believe for a second that they don’t intend to kill me. It’s the second rule of kidnapping, just after don’t go to a secondary location . . . if you see the kidnappers’ faces, they can’t let you go.

And here I am in the middle of nowhere at a secondary location, not only able to see Yvette and Sebastian’s faces, but I know who they are. Hell, I’ve been in Yvette’s trash and likely have Sebastian’s junk in my work refrigerator.