Three and a Half Weeks(146)
Look at me: I’m an anxious wreck. I’m twisting my long hair in my fingers and my leg is bouncing up and down almost of its own volition—both nervous tics I’ve had since girlhood. Still, if I’m not careful, I’ll end up ripping out my hair and have bald spots. I knew a girl in middle school, Ming Lee Chen, who twisted her hair right out of her scalp. She ended up sporting two huge bald circles and was diagnosed with alopecia areata when all along she was doing it to herself due to stress over her grades. Her parents wanted to kill her, whether for her bald spots or inferior grades, no one was certain. Okay, focus, Ella, focus on the task at hand. My pep talk is nearly useless for my mind is pulling me in all different directions. I take out my laptop and begin typing key words into search engines. When the entries start popping up, I can’t tear my eyes away and don’t move for the next two hours and forty-six minutes. By the time I get out of the chair, my back is stiff in protest of my inertia. I make a beeline for the medicine cabinet to swallow some ibuprofen.
The pain is worth it for my research bore fruit: I found arrest records in other countries for the Sobel brothers, as well as various aliases they used. There was even some information about their respective romantic lives: restraining orders against both men for stalking offenses. Reams of data about their connection with Lucien’s father followed.
Apparently Lucien’s father, French investment banker Jean-Luc Phillips, was very dependent on both men and trusted them with his wife and son. But why? Lucien said his father was grateful that they saved him. But why would they? They don’t seem like the compassionate type at all. My instincts tell me there’s more to this story than meets the eye but the only one who might have more information and be willing to impart it to me is Maya St. Sauveur. I put in a call to her, pronto.
Maya doesn’t answer her phone so I leave a voice mail for her and take the phone into the bathroom with me so I can hear it sing while I shower. Once I’m finished rinsing off, I rub some eucalyptus oil into my back and neck, throwing on my favorite ripped tee shirt and cut-off denims. Hot water, ibuprofen, and topical ointment join forces to make me a new woman—the favorite clothes are the cherry on the cake of my day. I quickly dry my hair and just as I’m putting the hair dryer away, Aretha starts singing: perfect timing.
It’s Maya. “Hello?”
“Ella? I just received your message. You need to talk to me?”
“Yes, Maya. That woman you told me about? Natasha? It turns out she’s my fiancé’s ex-business partner and she’s making all kinds of trouble for us. We learned the brothers who work for Lucien are her uncles. I just wondered if you had any other information about those two… or Natasha, for that matter.”
“Well, I think I mentioned that my mother was always positive they were involved in Lucien’s kidnapping but my father didn’t believe it, not for a minute. For whatever reason, he trusted those thugs and kept them around.”
“How did he meet them? Was it through the kidnapping episode?”
“Supposedly, yes, although my mother suspected he knew them beforehand. The whole thing was all very mysterious. All my father cared about was getting his only son back in one piece. The Sobels produced Lucien unharmed and earned a friend for life in my father.”
“Do you know anything else about their background?”
There was a long pause but I waited to give her room to think. “I should speak to my mother and then get back to you. Are you in New York?”
“No, but my fiancé is there now. Would it be more helpful for you to meet with him in person?”
“Only if I get more information that he might find helpful. Why don’t you give me his number and I’ll get in touch directly if I learn anything?”
I consider her request; will Ian get angry if I give her his number? I have to make a decision on the fly so I go for it. “Okay, his name is Ian Blackmon and here’s his number…”
Once I disconnect from Maya, I try Ian again and once more it goes to voice mail. I hope he’s okay and though I received his text, I’d feel a hell of a lot better to actually speak to him. My research has served to only make me worry more: the Sobels are scary, Natasha is scary, and they’re both after Ian now. How can I help?
I’m engrossed in what I’m reading on my laptop when Mason raps his knuckles softly on the frame of the open door.
“Ms. Strong? Mariah is here to see you.”
“Oh, thanks Mason. Send her right in.”
Before the words finish leaving my lips, my friend comes striding energetically through the doorway. “My God, Ella, you look positively ghoulish, sitting in the reflected glow of that damn computer. Come on. We’re going outside for fresh air.”