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CHAPTER FORTY
WAITING OUTSIDE JERRYGoldman’s door, Martha’s anxiety was growing. She was deciding whether she should knock again when to her relief, the door opened and Kevin appeared.
“There you are! I was worried. I’ve brought Emma Hartman to see Mr. Goldman.”
“Hello, Emma, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Kevin, Mr. Goldman’s assistant. But Martha, Zach will be wondering where you are. We all know he hates to be kept waiting for his Yorkshire Tea, and it’s that time.”
Confused, Martha was about to respond, but Kevin brought his finger to his lips, darted his eyes back and forth and up and down, hastily stepped aside just enough to let Emma through, then abruptly closed the door.
Completely confounded, Martha turned and walked back into the hall, but as she closed the double doors behind her, Kevin’s bizarre comment echoed through her head.
Zach will be wondering where you are. We all know he hates to be kept waiting for his Yorkshire Tea, and it’s that time.”
“Zach never drinks tea,” she muttered, “and what was up with Kevin’s eyes...?”
A sudden chill pricked her skin..
Spinning around, she hurried back to the double doors, only to find they’d been locked.
They were never locked.
Her heart skipped.
Trying to control her panic, she hurried down the hall, raced past her desk, and without stopping to knock, she marched into Zach’s office.
* * *
KEVIN WAS PRAYING FERVENTLYMartha would realize something was horribly wrong and return with help, but to his dismay, the moment she left, Kurt stood in the doorway watching Jerry and Emma, and sent Kevin to lock the double doors that led from the hall into the reception area.
“Do anything stupid and I’ll slice that bitch’s face,” he’d warned.
The moment Kevin returned, Kurt ordered him to crawl under the long, low coffee table. Dropping to his stomach, Kevin managed to wriggle beneath it, then watched helplessly as Kurt shoved Emma onto the couch.
“Sit there and don’t fucking move. Now we’re getting somewhere,” Kurt exclaimed, apparently immensely pleased with himself.
* * *
WATCHING FROM BEHINDhis desk, his heart racing like a jackhammer, Jerry had never felt so powerless. The drug-crazed, former employee held all the cards. But at least he was holding a knife, not a gun.
“Kurt, why don’t you tell me what you want?” he offered, hoping his voice didn’t betray his panic. “I’m sure we can work this out.”
“What do I want? A new life away from bastards like you.”
