No, you may not go back to that house.
No, you may not watch me anymore.
Yeah, whatever, big shots. She was going to decide when she’d had enough, thank you very much. And at the moment? She had not had enough.
Besides, there was another angle to her tenacity: she didn’t like losing her nerve, and that was what had happened last night. As she’d pulled away from her confrontation with that man, it had been from a place of fear—and that was not going to be the way she ran her life. Ever since that tragedy, oh, so long ago, when things had changed forever, she had decided—vowed, was more like it—that she would never again be afraid of anything.
Not pain. Not death. Not the unknown.
And certainly not a man.
Sola tightened up the focus, closing in on his face. Thanks to the city’s glow, there was enough for her to see it properly, and yup, it was just as she remembered. God, his hair was so damn black, almost as if he’d colored it. And his eyes—narrowed, aggressive. And his expression, so haughty and in control.
Frankly, he looked too classy to be what he was. Then again, maybe he was cut from the Benloise cloth of drug dealer.
Shortly thereafter, the two sides went their separate ways: the single man turned and walked in the direction he’d come from, a collection of barely filled trash bags slung over his shoulder; the other three recrossing the pavement, returning to the Range Rover.
Sola jogged back to her rental car, her dark bodysuit and ski mask helping her blend into the shadows. Getting behind the wheel of the Ford, she ducked down out of sight and used a mirror to monitor the one-way that ran underneath the bridge.
The road was the only exit available. Unless the man was willing to risk a pullover by the CPD for going against traffic.
Moments later, the Range Rover passed her by. After allowing it to get slightly ahead, she hit her own gas and slid into position about a block behind.
When Benloise had given her the assignment, he’d provided her with the make and model of the man’s SUV, in addition to that address out on the Hudson. Not the name, though.
All she had was that real estate trust and its single trustee.
As she tracked the threesome, she memorized the license plate. One of her friends down at the police station might be able to help with that; although, given that the house was owned by a legal entity, she surmised he’d done the same with automobile.
Whatever. There was one thing she was sure of.
Wherever he was going next, she was going to be there.
FORTY-SIX
The shout blasted through the dim bedroom, loud, sharp, unexpected.
As it reverberated in her ears, Layla didn’t immediately know who had woken her up with it. What had—
Glancing down, she knew she was sitting upright, the sheets crushed in her tight hands, her heart pounding, her rib cage pumping.
Looking around, she found that her mouth was wide open…
Closing her jaw, she knew she must have made the sound. There was no one else in the room. And the door was shut.
Lifting her hands, she twisted her wrists so they were palm up, then palm down. The illumination in the room, such as it was, was not coming from her flesh anymore. It was the bathroom light.
Jerking herself to the side, she peered over the edge of the bed.
Payne was no longer lying in a heap. The female must have left—or been carried out?
Her first thought was to go and find Vishous’s sister, just jump up and start searching. Although she hadn’t understood exactly what had transpired between them, there was no doubt that it had cost the fighter dearly.
But Layla stopped herself, as worry for her own well-being took over: Her awareness shifted from the external to the internal, her mind burrowing into her body, searching out and expecting to find the cramping, the warm welling between her legs, the strange lagging aches that rode her bones.
Nothing.
As a room could go silent when all who were within it went quiet, so too could the corporeal form when all its component parts had no complaints.
Shifting the covers from herself, she moved her legs over so that they dangled off the edge of the high mattress. Subconsciously, she braced herself for the god-awful sensation of blood leaving her womb. When there was nothing of the sort, she wondered if the miscarriage hadn’t concluded itself. But hadn’t Havers said that it would be another week?
It took courage to stand up. Even though she supposed that was ridiculous.
Still nothing.
Layla went into the bathroom slowly, expecting at any moment for the onslaught of symptoms to return and take her down to her knees. She waited for the pain to strike, for those rhythmic cramps to come back, for that process to once again establish dominance over her body and her mind.
I don’t know whether it will work, but if you’re willing, I’d like to do what I can.