One million dollars.
Save my life.
Keep the secret.
Each time a silent fourth reverberates at the back of my head.
Deliver yourself to Quinn Blackwood.
His threat wasn’t idle. Not when he could buy a new set of catering staff once an hour every day for a year and barely feel a pinch in his wallet. But he was determined to make me see how serious he was. The chopsticks barely delivered the piece of tempura to my hungry lips when he added, “And I’ll start with Sully Manning.”
I give into a hysteria-tinged chortle as the limo crawls through traffic. We left Hell’s Kitchen at the stroke of seven. Besides a courteous greeting, the driver curtailed any attempt at conversation by putting up the partition in the limo, thereby sealing me in my moving luxury padded cell. I lasted fifteen minutes before I texted Fionnella to find out where the driver was taking me. She’s not answering.
The first inkling of where I’m headed comes when I spot the signs for an airport. But it’s not JFK or Newark. We’re headed toward Teterboro Airport.
I’ve heard a few clients from The Villa refer to it so I know it is a private airport.
The hairs on my nape prickle to attention.
Airport means security.
Security means a name popping up and getting flagged on a database. Fear, hot and acrid, floods my insides. I claw for the abandoned phone and stiffen my shaking fingers long enough to call Fionnella.
This time, she answers. “Everything okay?”
“No! We’re headed for the airport. I can’t fly. I…I forgot my ID back at the loft.”
“Don’t worry, it’s been taken care of.”
My gut ices over. “What does that mean? You took my ID from the loft?” I’ve only used it once since I arrived in New York and that was to prove to Sully that I was over 18. We both knew it was a fake, but he let it go. No way will it withstand a TSA check. I’ll be in handcuffs before the scanner is done beeping.
“No, Lucky. Breaking and entering isn’t my forte. What I mean is you’re not leaving the country, so you’re good.”
“But…won’t my name appear on some manifest of some sort?”
“What name?” she counters.
I fall silent.
“Exactly,” she murmurs.
“Are…are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
The knot in my stomach dissipates a little. I remind myself that a lot of time and work has gone into getting me here. That my choices are abysmally limited. I can’t trust anyone. But backing out is not an option right now.
“Okay. Can you at least tell me where I’m going?”
“That is not part of my brief. If the boss wants you to know, he’ll tell you himself.”
“Fionnella—”
“Piece of advice, Lucky. Don’t sweat the small stuff or the things that are out of your control. You chose to do this. Your reasons are your own, of course, but if the end game is important to you, learn to surrender to the journey. It’s the only way you’ll come out the other side intact. Have a safe trip. And try the grilled shrimp when you board the plane. They’re to die for.”
She hangs up, leaving me with even more questions than I started the conversation with. I don’t have time to dwell for long. The limo slowly weaves through an area peppered with private planes and pulls into a brightly lit hangar. It stops a dozen feet from a white and gold G650.
My jaw is too paralyzed to drop, and I stare at the aircraft as another boatload of WTF-are-you-doing punches me in the face.#p#分页标题#e#
“Miss? We’re here.”
I manage a nod, force my feet to move and step out. I look at the driver. His face is politely neutral and I know I won’t get any answers from him. Nor from the attendant and pilot waiting at the foot of the airplane steps.
I clutch my backpack and put one foot in front of the other.
“Welcome aboard, Miss.” The pilot doffs his hat.
“Thanks.”
“If it’s all right with you, we’ll be taking off in the next fifteen minutes.”
I swallow a snort. We’re taking off whether I freak out or not. We all know this. But it’s cute how they make me feel as if it’s up to me.
Silently, I climb up the steps and arrive in a different world. The Midtown apartment, the Hell’s Kitchen loft, the makeover have all been indicators that Q is extremely wealthy. But the undeniable luxury of the private jet finally drives home to me the potential scale of what I’m dealing with.
If a man like Q has the power to buy me without once meeting me in person, he has the power to do other things. Like make me disappear.
And really, aren’t those who fall through the cracks, or make an attempt to hide, easy prey to a ruthless predator?