AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Ah, Carl, thank you,” she says. “Ms. Moore is ready to return to the station now.”
My chance for questions is over. Despairing, I turn slowly in the direction of the chauffeur, who’s standing a few feet away. Last time,I glimpsed only the back of his head, but now I see that he’s tall and beefy, with short, coarse brown hair. And a mustache that’s way too thin for his face.
My heart lurches.
He’s the man in the sketch Alejandro drew. The man who tried to enter my studio and who ruined my collages and has been following me all over the city.
It takes everything in my power to keep my mouth from dropping open in shock. But it’s definitely him, I have no doubts. I quickly avert my gaze from his face so he won’t see any flicker of recognition in my expression.
Holding my breath, I force my eyes back toward Caroline. If Carl has set my life on fire, it’s been done underherorders, not Jane Whaley’s or Bradley Kane’s. She’s the one behind everything.
“Really, I can just order an Uber,” I say, trying to swallow my fear. “I don’t want to put you out in any way.”
“You’re not putting us out,” Caroline says. “Now, please, I really do need to finish preparing for my trip.”
She’s got some kind of awful plan in store, that’s why she invited me out here. But I can’t let it unfold, can’t get into the car with him. I slip my hand into my purse, fishing for my phone, and pull it out.
“I’m sure a car can be here in only minutes,” I say.Should I get an Uber?I wonder.Or call 911?I’m suddenly frozen.
Caroline steps closer to me and before I know what she’s doing, she’s snatching the phone from my hands. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “Carl’s already brought the car around.”
Terror gushes through my veins.
“Give me my fucking phone back,” I shout, lunging for it. She yanks her arm away from me and steps backward, out of reach.
And then, from behind me, comes the sound of more footsteps. Not the driver’s. He’s standing to my right, his hands lightly fisted.
“Carl isn’t taking heranywhere.”
The words discharge like an exploding firecracker. I spin around and stare down the length of the great room. There’s a man standing at the entrance, dressed in a dark leather blazer. My brain scrambles, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.
The man in the doorway is James Tremlin, the reporter fromArtToday.
36
Now
IFEEL A MOMENTARY PULSE OF RELIEF—HE’S SOMEHOW FIGUREDout I’m here and in trouble and come to help me—but it’s quickly enveloped by a fresh rush of fear. How could he possibly have traced me to this location?
“What are you doing here?” I blurt out.
He doesn’t look at me. Instead, he twists his head toward the driver. “Carl, you can leave now. Please go back to your apartment.”
He knows the driver for some reason. Knows his name, knows he’s got a place right here on the grounds.
The driver narrows his eyes, as if deliberating, and then trains his gaze at Caroline.
“That won’t be necessary, Carl,” she tells him. “I need you to stay for now.”
James Tremlin shakes his head, visibly angry. “No, Mother, tell him to leave.”
Mother?What the fuck? I feel like I’m in some terrifying funhouse filled with mirrors that are making everything change shape before my eyes.
“I mean it, Mother,” Tremlin says, raising his voice. “This is between the three of us.”
The pieces fall together. I’m staring at C.J.’s younger brother, Liam, the one who lives in Buenos Aires and supposedly flew back there last week. He’s clearly in cahoots with his mother, helping her to upend my life. Which means I’m outnumbered three to one. My knees try to buckle in fear, but I don’t let them.
Caroline presses her lips together tightly and then snaps her head toward the driver.
