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“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” she said, her gaze cold. “You got yourself into this mess. Maybe I should see how you plan to get yourself out of it.”
Dammit. Micheline couldn’t abandon her now. Not when everything seemed so close to coming to a head. Fiona decided she might as well throw caution to the wind. She’d beg if she had to. “I only took your advice,” she said, well aware of how much Micheline liked having her ego stroked. “I decided to let Jake think I wanted to marry him. I followed him, and when I saw him come down here, I got curious.”
Expression impassive, Micheline shook her head. “Have you never heard the cliché expression about curiosity killing the cat?”
“Please, help me. I think my ankle is broken.” Fiona lifted her leg so the older woman could see her swollen limb. “I’m sorry I came down here, and I swear it won’t happen again. Would you please have someone take me for medical attention?”
Instead of answering, Micheline made a show of studying Fiona’s phone. “This is an odd choice for a cell phone,” she mused. “A disposable one, the kind people who aren’t on the straight and narrow path might use.”
“Or people with limited funds,” Fiona pointed out, shifting slightly and then wincing from the pain. “As you know, I’ve been homeless. That phone was all I could afford, and even then it was a stretch. I prepay my minutes and rarely text.” Luckily, she routinely deleted both her call history and text messages. Nothing would show if Micheline did a cursory search of the phone. A fact Micheline probably already knew. She wasn’t the type to leave anything to chance.
“I’m not really tech savvy,” Micheline continued. “But luckily, I have someone in my employ who is. He was able to go into your phone and retrieve deleted text messages and contacts. Plus he showed me all the pictures you took of my little holding area down here.”
Fiona blinked. She knew better than to say anything. It was entirely possible Micheline could be lying, hoping to draw Fiona out.
“Are you working with the FBI?” Micheline asked. “Because I see quite a few texts and calls with Holden St. Clair, who as I’m sure you are aware, happens to be an FBI agent who spends quite a bit of time here in Mustang Valley. He also is dating Bella Colton.”
Heart racing, Fiona didn’t respond. Her cover was well and truly blown. Not only that, but she had a broken ankle and had been locked up in a basement cell. No one knew she was here, not even Jake, who’d been so badly beaten, he probably didn’t even know his own name.
“As you might remember,” Micheline continued, “the AAG will become internationally famous as of this Friday, when all my followers will ingest the substance that will kill them, so that they may be born again.” A slight smile played over the older woman’s face as she took in Fiona’s shock and dismay. “I’ve decided to have you go first. I’ll livestream it to social media so that everyone—including your friend Jake—can watch you die.”
“But what about the Coltons and my baby?” Fiona asked, her hand cradling her nonexistent bump protectively.
“That plan was too flawed. I’ve decided to simply ransom Jake to them.” Her smile looked more like a baring of teeth. “He’s the real Ace Colton, after all. Their flesh and blood. I’ll just make sure they understand that you have convinced him to die so he can be born again. I have someone inside the Colton organization handling this for me right now. If they want him to live, they’ll need to deposit ten million dollars in an offshore account. I’ll also require a private plane and pilot.”
Which meant that Micheline didn’t need Fiona anymor
e. Then the rest of what she’d said sank in. “Why say that I’m the one who convinced Jake to die?” Fiona asked, wincing as she shifted her weight and made her ankle throb even worse. “Why involve me in that plan at all?”
Micheline laughed, the trilling sound grating on Fiona’s nerves. “I want them to hate you,” she said. “That way, no matter how this shakes out, they won’t attempt to save you.”
How this shakes out. Picking up on that, Fiona decided she might as well go ahead and ask. “You aren’t planning to stick around and see for yourself, are you?”
“Of course not. I’ll be long gone, to some sun-kissed beach and my ten million dollars, plus whatever else I can rake in from other families desperate to save their loved ones. My name will go down in history while I enjoy my new, carefree life.” Micheline’s smug tone had Fiona clenching her teeth.
“You honestly don’t care how many people you kill?”
Micheline shrugged. “Honey, if they’re that stupid, I’m doing the world a favor.” She checked her watch. “I’ll leave you to your cell and your pain. Remember, if it gets too bad, we can end it all a little bit early.”
With that, Micheline spun on her stylish heels and marched away. Fiona heard her climbing the metal stairs and opening and closing the door.
“She’s gone,” a familiar voice said. Underhill. “Welcome to the cells. By the time you’ve been here awhile, starving and with your broken bones untreated, you’ll probably beg her to let you drink the poison.”
“Is that what you plan to do?” Fiona shot back. “Do you really want to go out that way, Underhill? Death by poison can be very painful.”
Silence. Clearly, his goading didn’t extend to thinking that far ahead.
Her ankle’s throbbing made Fiona nauseated. She tried various positions on the concrete floor. While getting comfortable would be impossible, she’d settle for whatever caused the least amount of pain. Then and only then did she allow herself to close her eyes and try to rest.
Sometime later—she had no idea how long—the sound of the door opening at the top of the stairs caused her to jerk upright. The sudden movement brought a stab of agony, but she pushed through it. Alert, she listened. She knew she had to come up with some sort of plan of action in case Micheline or Leigh showed up and tried to get her to ingest some sort of toxin.
Two voices, both male. Bart and Randall. She’d need all her strength if Bart tried to hurt her again. She couldn’t allow her pain to distract her.
They’d been the ones who’d taken Jake away on the stretcher. Did that mean they were bringing him back? Surely not. If anyone had ever needed to go to the hospital, Jake had.
Much cussing ensued as the men slowly made their way down the stairs. Fiona managed to prop herself up into a sitting position so she could see. Sure enough, one of the men appeared, moving slowly since he carried one half of the stretcher.
Finally, they made their way to the bottom of the stairs. Jake lay, still unconscious, on the stretcher.
