“Mariah, I can’t,” I nearly whine—I’d really love to go out. “I promised Ian I wouldn’t leave the apartment. If I do, Mason has to shadow me.”
“Why in God’s name?” A look of horror washes over Mariah’s heavily made-up features.
“I’ve been threatened by one of Ian’s foes.” I deliberately chose the word foe over enemy because it doesn’t sound as ominous: I don’t want her to worry over me, too.
“Threatened?” she thunders. “In what manner?”
“Just forget it. How about I order take-out and we watch a movie together? I haven’t seen you in a dog’s age.”
“Ella, what the hell is going on? I need to know.”
I’m exhausted by it all myself. I relay to Mariah the facts as I know them, finishing with Ian’s trip to New York.
“How long is this threat going to continue? I mean, this crazy bitch can hold it over you for years, can’t she?”
“No,” I shake my head. “I’m hopeful that Ian and Daniel will figure out a way to stop it somehow. I’m not sure I want to even know how.”
“Who’s Daniel?”
Now I grin. “Oh, how I wish you could meet Daniel. He is a new friend of Ian’s and words are not fit to describe him: you have to see him to believe him.”
“Is he single?”
“’Fraid not, Mariah. But he’s still worth a gander, trust me. When he and Ian are in a room together, a girl doesn’t know where to put her eyes. It’s the kind of dilemma that’s the stuff of dreams—wet dreams, of course.” I laugh.
“Mmm, why are all the best ones taken?”
“Ah, the single girl’s lament. I know it well.”
“Oh, shut up, Ella. Look at the one you snagged. When does he get back anyway?”
I frown when I think about his open-ended itinerary. “I don’t know—I don’t think he knows either. I desperately want to join him but he says I’m better off here.”
Seeing me start to sink miserably into the couch, Mariah slaps my hand. “In that case, let’s get rip-roaring drunk and watch a comedy. How about the Marx Brothers?”
Mustering a grin, I nod my head in agreement. “Let’s do it.”
We fill a large crystal pitcher with piña coladas—heavy on the dark rum—with pineapple chunks and coconut milk that I found in the pantry. I find a movie in Ian’s library—he has a whole set of Marx Bros. films—and we hunker down to cheer ourselves up. During the middle of the movie, Mason comes into the room. “Ms. Strong, may I speak with you privately for a moment?”
“Sure, Mason,” I answer, as I hit the pause button on the television and hop up off the couch. Luckily, I stopped at my second drink so while I’m buzzed, I’m still in complete control. “What’s up?” I ask when we get into the hall.
“Mr. Blackmon asked me to inform you that the threat against you has been escalated. Apparently the woman involved asked Lucien Phillips to kidnap you and when he refused to cooperate, she informed him she’d enlist the Lithuanians. Mr. Blackmon said you’d understand. He’s very concerned about your wellbeing and he wants you to appreciate the level of threat against you right now. Trust me, Ms. Strong, you don’t want to mess around with the Russian mob.”
“The what?” I ask, my voice reaching into the octave of an insect drone.
Mason’s face goes bloodless: I’ve never seen anyone so pale before, as if he’s been exsanguinated.
“I see,” I say. “You assumed I knew and now realize I did not. Okay, Mason, I won’t let on but Ian should have told me. I know he didn’t because he doesn’t want me to worry but I need to know these things, especially when I’m so directly involved.”
“I don’t disagree.”
“Is he safe, Mason? In your professional estimation?”
“I just don’t know, Ms. Strong, but I wish I were with him in New York right about now.”
“That makes two of us.” I glumly rejoin Mariah but my enjoyment of Duck Soup has been severely compromised.
Mariah leaves at nine and I settle in for the night. I’m lying in bed, trying hard not to cry because I miss Ian so stupidly much, so I instead focus on the night before last. I’ve noticed that when Ian gets stressed out, his dominance emerges big time. That night, he’d come home from work in a stressed-out mood and an hour later asked me to go into the dungeon with him. Fact is, he hasn’t asked me to go in there since the bad, terrible, awful time when he whipped me with a single tail and I left the damn country in response. Naturally, I was on full alert and my heart was pounding so hard it was battering my chest wall, but I acquiesced, wanting to give him a good night because I was worried about his heart stewing in all that toxic soup triggered by stress.