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You Chose The WrongWay
“That’s not acceptable.”
Chandler Fitzwilliam Carrington the Third speaks in a cool, detached tone. It’s the only one I’ve ever heard him use. I wonder if he’s ever shown emotion in hislife.
I’m huddled on a silk damask settee in a lavishly appointed salon. Sophie clings to me, tense and frightened, and there’s nothing I can do to comfort her. I haven’t let her out of my arms since the moment Weems -- the PI -- grabbedme.
It’s late in the evening of my abduction. Technically, early the next morning. I’ve been awake for the better part of twenty-four hours, and I can’t allow myself to fall asleep.
The Carringtons might not be willing to kill me outright. But they wouldn’t hesitate to dump my unconscious body outside their property and refuse to let me back in. So I’m clinging to wakefulness, no matter how exhaustion drags atme.
I know my abductor’s surname only from hearing Mr. Carrington talking to him. He was taking no chances with me getting away from him again, so he had another car waiting, all the doors stripped except the driver’s, like the one he shoved me into. All he had to do was drive like an absolute maniac — which he did — and buy himself time to make the transfer.
That got us out of town and to a small regional airport, where a plane was waiting. The Carringtons’ money took care of everything, no questions asked, and a few hours later I found myself in this palatialhome.
Since then, Chandler the Third and his wife, Morgana, have been trying to persuade me to leave Sophie with them. First they tried threats. Then they tried money.
No matter what they offer, they get the same response: I will never leave my daughter. She and I are a package deal. If they want Sophie to live with them, they have to let me live here, too.
For all their wealth and power, they’re not entirely bright. They seem incapable of understanding a mother’s love. That some things, some people, can’t be bought.
They’re baffled by my steadfast refusal to see things theirway.
“You have only to name your price.” Mrs. Carrington sounds snobbishly peeved, as if it’s beneath her to feel actual anger. “Our terms are very generous.”
I don’t bother meeting her eyes. “For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world, but loses hissoul?”
She stares at me. “What on earth are you on about?”
“Just some ancient wisdom.” I shift a little, tucking Sophie more closely against me. The Carringtons keep their house chilly, and we’re bothcold.
I don’t mind; the discomfort helps me stay awake. Much more of this, though, and my daughter’s apt to catch acold.
My clothes — Gina’s clothes — give me a thread of hope. Even now, there must be people searching for me. Regardless of his motives, Dante wants meback.
The problem is that the Carringtons, as wealthy people do, own multiple homes. It will take time to check them all, ascertain which one I’m in, and figure out a way of freeingme.
Time I don’t have. I’ve accepted sips of water for Sophie, but no food or drink for myself. Of course they’d drugme.
How I’ll face Dante again, I don’t know. Thinking about him shreds my heart with a brutal combination of pain and longing, warmth and confusion and fear. So I try not to think abouthim.
My eyelids start to droop, and I shake my head sharply. Morgana watches me shrewdly, her eyes icy. She and her husband know I can’t last forever.
But they have no idea how strong my will is. That I’ll do anything to keep my daughtersafe.
“We can easily use the legal system to gain custody,” Mr. Carrington says. “We’re offering you other alternatives out of the goodness of our hearts. It’s very selfish of you to sacrifice Sophie’s welfare for yourown.”
A few days ago, that kind of talk might have worked on me. I had enough cracks in my self-esteem to think that Sophie deserved better than I could giveher.
Now I know that what’s good for me is good for my daughter. That the best thing I can give her is a mom who’s happy and healthy and whole.
For that, I will always be grateful to Dante.
As if I’ve summoned him with my thoughts, I have the sudden conviction that he’s here with me. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and the shadows in the dimly-lit room seem to come alive.
“Do you really think—” Mrs. Carrington starts, and then the room is full of black-cladmen.
They seemed to materialize out of nowhere. They have us completely surrounded, and the weapons they’re carrying look very, veryreal.
