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I want to tell him about the microchip, to have Paulson track her...but...
Three officers rush into the room.
“Why?” Harry asks, shaking me out of my whip-fast thoughts. “Why would you say such a thing, Drew?”
“Because,” I say slowly, turning on the speaker phone just before they pin my arms behind my back, “Mark Paulson is right here with me.”
Paulson’s eyes narrow, his eyebrow fixed in place, the only sign of stress a twitch in his jaw muscles.
“He’s what?” Harry’s not faking the incredulity.
“What are you talking about, Drew?” Mark asks, stepping closer to me, then backing up as the three officers make it clear he’s next if he doesn’t.
“Jesus, is that Mark Paulson? He really is there with you? You’re not delusional? Then who the hell just took Lindsay?” Harry shouts into the phone. “Where is my daughter going?”
I’m slammed, cheek down, on the concrete floor and everything fades to a brilliant, familiar red.
The color of one of Lindsay’s scarves.
A Harmless Little Plan
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Chapter 1
Lindsay
There’s a gun in my ribs, right above my hipbone, and Mark Paulson smells like metal and death.
It’s a beautiful Southern California day, with not a cloud in the sky. The air smells like salt and sweet freedom. Freshly-mowed grass tickles my nose as a light breeze sweeps past, just a passing fancy, an airborne visitor.
This is Hollywood perfect. We could be on a movie set. But we’re not.
“Lindsay,” he says, his face hidden by my proximity to him, his arm holding me close, as if he’s protecting me as he escorts me to the stairs to board the helicopter.
But if he’s protecting me, why is he holding me at gunpoint?
What the hell?
That’s not Mark.
My world pinpoints. I can’t see his face, but that’s not his voice. I know that voice.
I’d know it anywhere.
John Gainsborough.
I look back at Anya, who just walked me out to the landing strip, leaving me at the halfway point. Like the good little girl that I am, I followed. They’ve trained me well, right? Besides, I’m surrounded by my security detail. What am I supposed to do – disobey?
Certainly not now.
My knees buckle. His grasp is hard, holding me up, not caring that my high heel snaps, my feet an afterthought. I try to look over to the building, the helicopter blades slicing through sound itself, taking over.
I’m about to faint.
