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Bianca gives the man a polite smile, then turns and pushes the button to keep the elevator in place for him.
As she turns back to face me, the man bumps her slightly. She looks startled, not hurt, and then the man utters what seems to be some kind of quiet apology before he pushes a small envelope into her hand.
It all happens in the space of a second or two, and he disappears into the waiting elevator car. The doors slide closed before I fully process what I’ve just seen.
She’s fine. Everything is fine. Then why is my gut suddenly roiling with tension?
And why is she standing frozen with that stricken look on her face?
Leon is staring at the closed elevator doors.
“Stop him!” I yell, and Leon jumps toward the elevator, banging on the button.
Too late. The car must already be on the way down. He speaks urgently into his mic, and I presume he’s contacting someone on the first floor to stop the guy when he gets down there.
Bianca finally moves, coming out of her previously frozen state and shaking her head. She glances down at the envelope in her hand and frowns, as if she isn’t even certain how she got it.
What the fuck did that man say to her?
Mitch puts out a hand to take the envelope from her, but she turns away from him and starts to open it.
Alarm bells chime in my head, and I launch the final couple of steps toward her. No idea what’s in the envelope, but it won’t be good.
I’m too late. She pulls out a handful of photographs. Her eyes widen, and she drops them to the floor where they scatter around her gold-colored heels.
She falls to her knees and starts to gather up the photos in frenetic haste, along with a typewritten note tucked in amongst them. When I look down to see what they are, my heart skips a beat before shock infuses every cell in my body.
* * *
Bianca
My daughter’sinnocent smiling face stares back up at me from the floor, in photos clearly taken yesterday on the Trail walk. There are photos of me, too, and Angel, but I zero in on Emilia. They were there, watching us, and we didn’t know.
How could we not know? How couldInot sense someone getting close enough to take photos of my child?
There’s far more fuelling my shock than these photos, but I can’t process the rest right now. It’s too much. Too obscenely unbelievable.
No. Don’t think about what the man said. He was lying. He had to be. Think about the rest later.
Focus on these photos, my brain instructs.And the note that comes with them.
The note that says:It is time for you to lose it all, Rio. Just like I did.
I clutch the photos and note against my chest, still on my knees as Rio barks out orders above me.
“Get him back here. Now! Call the men at the entrance.Stop him from leaving.”
“We have, Boss. They’re waiting at the elevator bank downstairs.”
More noise and a flurry of activity around me as some of my husband’s goons race for the fire stairs. Others are speaking into mics, listening for responses and barking out orders.
“He’s not there,” someone says. Mitch? Lee? “The doors opened, and he wasn’t in the fucking elevator car.”
“Lock this building down. And sweep it. Every fucking floor!” That’s Rio.
I can tell by that roar he’s right on the edge of losing control.
I look up at him, silently begging him with my eyes.Please don’t let the darkness take you over. Not yet. Not till we make sure our daughter is safe.
