Two Roads(31)

I pick up the phone and hit answer, holding the phone to my ear as my eyes remain locked with Jase’s.

Static erupts from the other end, but no talking.

“Elliot?” I say after a beat.

The voice on the other end makes me wither and die inside. “Hello, Juliette,” Dornan says cheerfully. “How is my baby girl?”

Jase knows who it is by the look on his face. He watches as terrified tears form in my eyes, terror that is punctuated with hate. He’s the reason our baby died. He’s the reason we continue to suffer. He’s the one to blame for everything.

Jase motions for me to give him the phone and I do, thankful to be relieved of the responsibility. Even the sound of his voice is too much for me to bear.

“How’d you get this number, old man?” he asks, his knuckles white as he holds the cell phone in a death grip.

Dornan says something unintelligible over the line and Jase pales.

“I don’t believe you,” he says. “You’re full of shit.”

There’s a high-pitched noise on the other end of the phone. Jase looks like he’s about to have a heart attack and die on the floor in front of me. More deep crackling on the other end. Dornan.

I don’t hear what he says, but I don’t need to. A moment later, the crackling at Jase’s ear stops, and he stares at the screen, more worried than I think I’ve ever seen him. He roars, hurling the phone against the wall.

He’s got Elliot. He’s got Elliot. He must.

“He’s got him, hasn’t he?” I ask, horrified. “He’s got Elliot.”

“No.” He swallows, and the next words to come out of his mouth make me wail.

“He’s got Amy and Kayla,” Jase says thickly, his hands shaking.

No! He’s got Elliot’s little daughter and her mother. No.

This.Cannot.Be.Happening.

My hand is at my mouth, stifling a scream. I let it fall, feeling utterly hopeless. He has Elliot’s daughter. She’s not even three years old yet, and she’s in the grip of a monster. This is my fault. This is my fault, dammit! I lower myself into a chair, my insides filling up with dread.

“What does he want?” I ask. Because with Dornan Ross, there’s always a reason behind everything he does. “Is it the money?” He can have the money. He can have every last cent. He can have anything if he just lets those poor girls go. Amy’s my age, and Kayla is three. She’s fucking three, and Dornan has snatched her up with her mother in a bid to get to us.

And it’s worked.

Jase looks down at the table, lacing his hands behind his head, every muscle in his arms poised for a smack down with a person he cannot reach.

“He wants us,” he says flatly. “He wants to do a trade. He’ll let them go if we give ourselves to him.” His eyes flash with rage. “He said he wants his baby back,” he seethes, fixing his eyes on my midsection.

My hands go to my empty stomach as my eyes settle upon the box of ashes that sit on the table. She was never his baby. The sick bastard will never get his hands on my precious baby.

And now, because of him, neither will I.





I hear what sounds like a metallic click, and feel my eyes go wide. Jase whips his head to look at the front door, and before I can even draw a breath, that door is bursting open, wrenched from its hinges.

I stand so fast my chair crashes to the ground, my jaw still open.

What the hell?

And then, before I know what’s going on, there’s a fucking gun in my face and an endless stream of what looks like identical cops, filing through the front door, their weapons aimed at us. The room was always small, but now, teeming with trigger-happy dudes all dressed in variants of the same navy blue shirts and jeans, it’s tiny.

I look at Jase across the table as he’s hoisted to his feet by two burly dudes. As one of them turns, I see CIA written in bright yellow block letters on the back of his dark blue polo shirt.

I try to back up but there’s really nowhere to go. I struggle as hands clamp around my arms, yanking them behind my back. The cuffs are around my wrists before I can utter a single fucking word.

“Juliette Portland,” a voice says at my right, and I turn to see the sea of CIA officers part to reveal a woman clad in the same attire: black cargo pants, a dark blue T-shirt. Her blue eyes pin me to the spot with their ferocious expression.

Yes. She is definitely in charge here.

“You’ve been busy, boys and girls,” she says, making her way to me. “Kicking ass and toppling empires? Really? You thought we wouldn’t find you?”

I snort. “I don’t even know who the fuck you are, lady.”

She smiles; her thin lips make the expression, but it comes off as more of a grimace.