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“Well, uh, I’m very curious about you and your life, but honestly, it was the picture more than anything. Except for some really blurry photos, no one’s been able to get a good shot of you in ages.”
“And why do you think that is, Steph?”
She cringed. “Because that’s the way you want it?” she said, her voice almost a whisper.
“Correct. And that’s the way it’s going to stay. Give me your camera.”
Nervously reaching into her pocket, she pulled it out and placed it in his waiting palm.
“Micro but mighty?” he muttered, raising his eyebrow. “I’ll bet this packs a punch.”
“It’s crazy expensive.”
“I’m sure it is. Keys to your car and apartment.”
“What?”
Raising one wicked eyebrow, he leaned forward and scowled at her. “Keys. To. Your. Car. And. Apartment,” he repeated, taking a dramatic pause between each word.
Gulping, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a single key on a chain hanging from a tiny toy Porsche. “The keys to my place are in the glove compartment,” she managed, handing it to him, “and my car is—”
“I know exactly where your car is,” he snapped. “I know where you live, I know where you go for coffee, and I know which grocery store you use.”
“Uh, can I ask what are you going to do?”
“A couple of my boys will be checking your place to make sure you don’t have anything you shouldn’t. Pictures for a start, then notes, journals, whatever. Do you, Steph?”
She took a breath.
“You hesitated. That means you do,” he declared. “Stay there.”
As he marched to a large roll-top desk and picked up a cell phone, she did a quick survey of her surroundings. Though the hunting lodge looked rustic from the outside, the lounge boasted expensive furniture, and the mantel surrounding the fireplace appeared to be hand-carved Italian marble.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, abruptly turning and striding across the room. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Wait for an opportunity, then seize it.
The instructor’s words from the self-defense class blasted through her head.
Jumping to her feet, she raced across to the front door and tried the handle. It wasn’t locked. Shocked and elated, she was about to dash outside when she had an inspiration. Frantically looking around, she spied the hall closet. Hastily opening the door, she ducked inside.
Surrounded by winter coats smelling of brandy and cigars, she moved slowly through the tiny space to the far wall and slid to the floor. Marco Moretti, and whoever else was in the house, would leave to hunt her down. When they did she’d call for help, and maybe even have a poke around.
Her phone vibrated.
Startled, she hurriedly pulled it from her back pocket and stared at the glowing screen to find a voicemail from an unknown caller. Curious, she lowered the volume, then tapped the icon and held the phone to her ear.
“You’re a very bad girl, Miss Grady. Come out now. It will be much worse for you if I have to come in there and get you.”
“No, no, no,” she whimpered, jerking the phone from her ear and staring at the screen.
The door opened.
Light flooded the dark closet.
“You’ve got three seconds, Steph.”
Though her heart was sinking, she clenched her fists, determined not to let him see her weak.
