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Several miles before the decimated hotel, we reached the patch of asphalt with the familiar, though faded, tire marks of the F5 used to kidnap me veering into a narrow opening of a red-dirt road. I prayed Mr. Conaway was right about the new abode. Not just that the security was top-notch but also that the entire property looked nothing like it had previously.
I’d had too many nightmares that had taken place in the partially constructed house to try to sleep in it.
We wove through the sycamores and brush, farther back toward the wall of the canyon.
A thought occurred to me. “There’s no cell service here.”
“You won’t need cell service. There’s a landline. And Amano will be with you from now on.”
That provided a huge amount of relief. Except for one thing. “Doesn’t Dane need him? Shouldn’t he be protecting Dane?”
“Dane has the FBI. You have no one.”
“I beg to fucking differ,” Kyle spat out.
Mr. Conaway grinned contritely. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Kyle. You and Ari have worked quite well together. I was referring to Amano’s skill with security measures, monitoring, tracking, and the like.”
“And the fact that he could kill King Kong with his bare hands,” I added. “At least, that’s what I think.”
Kyle harrumphed. “Yeah, but can he take a punch from someone a foot taller than him?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You baited well and received well. Seriously, you should have picked on someone your own size.”
“Had to go for the gold,” Kyle said, his chest puffing out a bit.
“And it saved our asses.” No denying it.
We approached the property and everyone fell silent. Property was actually the wrong word in so many ways. Fortress was more like it.
The smooth terra-cotta walls were, indeed, topped with wiring. The large, circular barbed type you might see at correctional facilities. Or … surrounding a prison. The entrance was a solid gate. Not offering even the slightest glimpse of what lie beyond.
“Is that a … guard tower?” Kyle asked as he leaned forward and peered through the front window.
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Mr. Conaway spoke so calmly, this seemed like an everyday occurrence for him. “The manor sits on ten acres, all under constant observation. Patrolled twenty-four-seven. The interior is monitored as well.”
Not the bedroom, I hoped.…
“In addition,” Mr. Conaway said, “there are only three people allowed through this gate, aside from Dane and Amano—and security, obviously. We’re it.”
The gate slowly slid open and we passed through. The dirt path turned into a rustic yet elegant cobblestone drive that circled around an enormous fountain. We parked under the fancy porte cochere. The landscaping was lush and manicured, with striking bougainvillea in purple and fuchsia accented by vibrant leaves.
A long, deep patio ran the width of the main portion of the house, with trimmed pillars and archways. There was a wing on each side of the primary living space that sat at a slight angle—likely where the bedrooms and studies were housed.
This was definitely not the same place I’d been held captive six months ago.
The Mediterranean style was gorgeous and inviting. As we entered, I was stunned into silence. It was open and vast, with tons of tall, arched windows, warm hues, indoor/outdoor seating, alcoves, fireplaces, rich wood accents, plenty of gorgeous plants, and soft, glowing lights.
“Wow.” Kyle let out a low whistle. “Nice digs.”
Mr. Conaway showed us around the estate. There were seven bedrooms and ten bathrooms. An indoor pool and spa, and outdoor ones as well. A gourmet kitchen both Kyle and I salivated over. Formal and informal dining areas, a library, theater and fitness rooms, and so much more.
“It’s like a mini Lux,” Kyle said.
My stomach roiled as I thought of the devastation just a few miles down the road. “Let’s not call it that.”
“Well, there’s a pool table, video games, and a shitload of other things to do,” Kyle mused. “Something tells me we won’t be too bored with no cell phones, apps, or Internet.”
There was no Wi-Fi, but I knew it was better this way.
