“Mr. Blackmon, I need to inform you that you’re on speaker right now.”
“Is there a reason?”
“Yes, Mr. Blackmon. Some bad news, I’m afraid.”
“Is there any other kind these days? Tell me.”
“Ms. Strong and I are sitting here in the great room with her friend Mariah and Natasha Yenin, sir.”
As before a storm when the barometric pressure plummets, the air in the room feels dense. Nothing comes through from Ian’s end of the line, not even static or a whisper of breath. Nothing. After a seeming eternity of probably ten seconds, Ian speaks, his voice harsh in the quiet room. “Give me details, Mason.”
“Yes, sir. Ms. Yenin coerced Mariah into coming here so that Ella would allow security to send her up and she’d open the front door. She is armed, sir.”
“Where is her placement in the room?”
“Next to Ms. Strong, Mr. Blackmon.”
“So the gun is trained on Ella?”
His voice is deadly calm and it’s scaring me even more than if he were raging—but not as much as the revolver currently poking into my ribs. Making me ever more anxious, the stupid woman has her other hand in my hair, twisting strands of it around her fingers as a lover might.
“Yes, sir… and the intruder is touching Ms. Strong, sir. Her hair.”
“What?” the word is barely audible. Then it grows stronger. “Ella? Are you okay, Ella?”
I try to project my voice so it reassures him. “”I’m fine, Ian. Truly. Just speak to her so she’ll get the hell out. Now she’s dragged Mariah into her little game.”
“Yes. Yenin, talk.”
“I want you to call off the hit, Ian. Now.”
As soon as I hear her say that word, my amplified gasp fills the entire cavernous room, and I know Ian can hear me. Could he really have taken out a hit on her? I just can’t believe he’d ever go that far, even to protect me.
He sounds more annoyed than angry: his voice is terse, his words clipped. “I haven’t a clue as to what you’re talking about. There is no hit.”
Natasha’s eyes widen, glowing with anger and/or indignation. “Bullshit. My uncles are alive today because they have the skills to detect this kind of threat: their ears are always to the ground. How could you, Ian? After all we’ve meant to each other, you’re actually going to have me killed?”
“First of all, I’m not having you killed. And, second, look who’s talking. You set out to destroy my family and I. Are you really in a position to judge anything I do?”
“I would never hurt you physically, Ian. I was just going after your money.”
“You’re a liar, Yenin. What about my grandfather’s accident?”
“What about it? I had nothing to do with it. Nothing.”
“What a strange coincidence that the man who deported your grandfather gets run off the road around the same time that you go after my company. Odd.”
“Yes, it is odd. Nevertheless, it’s true. I want you to get on the phone while I listen, and call it off. Now. Before something irrevocable occurs.”
“May I ask what gave you the outlandish idea that I took out a hit on you?”
“Word came down the pike: my uncles are connected. Because of it, they had to leave the country and they’ll have a very difficult time getting back in.”
“My heart bleeds for them.”
“I don’t want to leave the U.S. so call them off. The ones you hired are professionals: they’ll get the job done on the first try. Please, Ian. Now.”
“And if I do, what will you do for me?”
“I’ll back off both you and your girlfriend. I was actually losing taste for the game anyway. The fact that you would even consider taking me out, Ian injures me greatly. We were in love, for God’s sake. You were my first lover!”
“Mason, please switch off speaker and put the woman on the line with me. Ella shouldn’t have to listen to this pathetic conversation.”
“Yes, sir.” Instantly the room plunged into a more innocent silence. Natasha reached for the phone with her free hand but didn’t budge the gun an inch. Ian must have been yelling quite loudly because we could all hear him, not in specific words but in tone. Tears in her eyes, Natasha listens to his diatribe, nodding her head at intervals. “Yes, fine, yes. I will. Can I meet with you?”
It might be hard to believe but I forgot about the nasty looking gun shoved into my ribs because my mind was transfixed on the idea of Ian hiring someone to kill Natasha. Could it be true? Nah, I dismiss the possibility. But… if not, why does she believe it so fervently? Perhaps he’s playing with her, pretending to take out a hit to frighten her. That must be it. Right? Or could he actually have the stomach for such extreme violence? I’m just not sure about any of it but I know one thing: Ian and I need to have a heart to heart, and very soon.