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“Don’t talk like that,” Reed says sharply.
His voice is so commanding, I’m instantly rendered breathless. What was I thinking, saying something like that to Reed, when I know full well his father killed himself? “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I just need her to be safe.”
“I know.” He grips my arm. “And she will be.”
I lean my forehead against Reed’s broad shoulder and crumple into him. As I cry quietly, my friend pats my shoulder and tries his best to comfort me. Reed gets a bad rap for being cold and calculating in his business dealings. Also, cranky and rude in his personal life. But this right here is the friend I’ve known and loved since college—the brother who’d give me the shirt off his back—or, in this case, five million bucks from his bank account—without a second thought.
After a while, I pull myself together. Sit up. Wipe my eyes. “Breakdown over. My FBI contact asked for everything I have on Greg Smith. I should triple-check I’ve sent her everything.”
“Hey, when this is all over and Hannah’s back safe and sound,” Reed says, “can we keep my name out of it? The last thing I want is for word of my involvement to leak to the press and for some nut job to get the bright idea I’ll pay five million bucks as ransom for Violet, too.” He’s referring to his half-sister who’s ten years his junior—a talented fashion designer who’s in art college on the East Coast. Frankly, I don’t think it’s crazy for Reed to think news of him paying five million bucks in exchange for his best friend’s girlfriend might inspire a copycat kidnapping involving his sister.
“I won’t say a word about your involvement to anyone,” I assure him. “And when we get Hannah back, I’ll ask her to stay mum about it, too.” I exhale. It felt good to say when, rather than if.
“We can tell Josh and Kat the full story when they get back from their honeymoon, obviously,” Reed says. “But nobody else, okay? Let’s make sure the FBI knows my concerns, too.”
I nod and look at the time. “I should call Hannah’s sister and tell her what’s going on. I don’t want Hannah’s mom freaking out and calling the police when Hannah doesn’t show up to pick her up from work.”
“While you’re doing that, I’ll tell Owen to book a block of rooms in the closest hotel to the FBI building in Seattle. We might need a command center.”
“Good thinking.”
“I’ll also tell Owen to send a car to bring Hannah’s sister and mother to the hotel. I’m sure they’ll be too distraught to drive after talking to you.”
“Thanks. I’ll send you their contact info.” Reed hands me my phone—the one Hannah called me on that he’s been holding ever since—and I share the pertinent info with him. That settled, I take a deep, long, steadying breath and place the dreaded call to Maddy.
44
HANNAH
The sun has set now, based on the dusky quality of the light behind the red handkerchief taped to the window. There’s a hanging bulb in the center of the space, which I’m hoping Angus will turn on soon. If he makes me sit here in the dark, on top of everything else, I might lose it.
At the moment, Angus is sitting at the card table. He’s been over there, engrossed in something on his laptop, since the call with Reed ended however long ago. The fact that he’s been ignoring me is great by me. Fantastic. Except for the fact that I’m now so thirsty, I’m worried I’m going to pass out or die from dehydration. I’ve almost called out to Angus at his computer a couple times to ask for a sip from that water bottle on the table. But both times, I’ve decided I’d rather pass out or die a slow death than draw his attention back to me and risk him slashing my neck with that knife for the fun of it. I heard what he said to Reed earlier—that he’s itching to kill me, simply to teach Reed a lesson for “fucking with him”—and the thing is, when he said it, I believed him.
All of a sudden, Angus jerks his head up from his laptop, making me jolt beneath my bindings. With a furrowed brow, he grabs the knife off the table and slowly creeps to the handkerchief-covered window, where he pushes the edge of fabric aside, just enough to surreptitiously peek out. He visibly holds his breath for a long moment as he scans whatever is out there. Until, finally, he returns to the table, puts down the knife, and resumes his engrossing work.
My heart is thrashing. Is someone out there in the darkness—but well hidden—or is Angus simply hearing things because he’s a paranoid lunatic?
A notification goes off, and Angus grabs his phone off the table.
