Highways & Hostages (14 page)

Phoebe shivered. The dry desert air was chilly. She was wearing a cardigan over the dress, but it was thin. She really wished she knew where she was going, but
nothing
looked familiar. She was thinking she should turn around and try the other direction when a black Escalade slowed to a crawl alongside her.

Dammit! She
knew
someone was going to think she was a prostitute. She ignored the car, bowed her head, and sped up.

A window rolled down and someone whistled in her direction. She kept her pace quick and hoped the car would move on. The whistle sounded again.

“Phoebe?” a baritone voice called out in a French accent.

She whipped her head up. A Hugh Jackman lookalike smiled at her from the rear window of the SUV. She’d always thought Hugh Jackman was cute for an old guy. She glanced around the sidewalk, but saw no one else.

“How’d you know my name?”

“We have a mutual friend.”

Phoebe’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

“William Beckham. He wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

Phoebe shook her head. “No way; I’m not friends with that guy. And if he was so worried—which I seriously doubt—why would he send you instead of coming himself?” She started walking again, arms folded across her chest.

“Phoebe, just get in the car,” the man said. “Your feet have to be hurting.”

She ignored him.
Go away
, she willed him.
Why is this street so damn empty?

Fake-Hugh sighed, and then she heard a sound that she’d never heard in her life before that day: a gun being cocked.

She looked up at the sky. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. Twice in one day?”

Finn, 11:57 p.m.

Stella and Finn held onto each other, stumbling and laughing as they made their way up the sidewalk. Finn made a show of looking both ways before yelling, “One, two, three, go!” and barreling across the street.

“Hey, wait for me!” Stella shrieked. She launched herself onto Finn’s back and kicked him in the side. “Giddy up!”

Finn struggled up to the hotel and through the automatic doors. He saluted to Rachel, who was standing behind the front desk, mouth agape, and continued to the bank of elevators. He jabbed the “up” button. Stella reached over and hit it repeatedly.

“That won’t make it come any faster,” Finn said, chuckling. The elevator opened and he rushed in, dumping Stella in a heap on the floor. He slid down next to her as she burst into a fit of giggles.

The door opened on the second floor. A man wearing a hotel bathrobe and holding an empty ice bucket stood waiting. “I’ll just catch the next one.”

After the doors closed Finn and Stella burst into hysterical laughter.

“What is
wrong
with us?” Finn asked.

“Nothing’s wrong; you’re having fun!” Stella declared. She patted Finn’s head affectionately. “And you had a lot of drinks.”

He laid his head on Stella’s shoulder. “Whatever. You drank
way
more than me.”

The elevator chimed and the doors opened onto their floor.

Finn got back into a crouch. “Get back on.”

He didn’t have to tell Stella twice. She leapt onto his back and he carried her to their door.

“Alright, party animal. Where’s the room key?” she asked.

“In my left pocket. Can you reach it?”

Unable to see what she was doing, Stella fumbled clumsily for the card key.

“Whoa, there! Careful with those fingers,” Finn said.

He leaned over so Stella could insert the key card into the door. Kicking the door open, he raced to the bedroom and tried to deposit her on the mattress still scattered with rose petals. His lack of balance caused him to collapse on top of her. Finn flipped onto his stomach.

Stella lay on her back, hair splayed across the bed and cheeks flushed. She smiled up at him. Finn’s breath caught in his chest and he sobered. She was beautiful. Closing his eyes, he slowly he brought his face down to hers—

A fist slammed into his chest. Finn immediately burst into a coughing fit and opened his eyes in bewilderment. Stella stared up at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

Finn felt the blood rush to his face and leapt up. He looked anywhere but at Stella. She had the magic power of being able to reduce him to his awkward, middle school self. “I just—”

“I-I can’t. I’m getting married,” Stella said, struggling into a sitting position. She winced and clutched her head. “Oh, God, the world is spinning. Make it stop.”

Finn was glad for the diversion. He prayed she wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. “Don’t puke on the bed,” he commanded.

“I’m good.” Still cradling her head in one hand, Stella waved her other hand in the air.

Tension dissipating, Finn crumpled to the floor with his back against the bed. He closed his eyes.
I’m a total idiot.

“You can’t sleep in here,” Stella murmured. “
I’m
sleeping in here.”

Finn got off the floor and nodded furiously. “Yeah, cool. I’m gonna sleep on the couch. You sure you’re alright?”

Stella waved her hand again before sinking back onto the plush mattress. “Sweet dreams, Finn.”

The Escalade navigated the winding path up to Christoph von Rothschild’s mansion. Billy stroked his chin and stared out the vehicle’s window. He couldn’t believe he was really doing it—he was breaking out from under his father’s thumb and Alex’s shadow. Why hadn’t he decided to jump ship earlier?

Billy thought back to the night four months ago when Christoph approached him in the very same SUV. Billy had just completed a DJ gig at a private party. Christoph asked if he was interested in partnering together, but at the time, Billy still hoped his father would let him run part of the family business. He turned down the offer and refused to take Christoph’s card. When it became increasingly obvious his dad wasn’t going to let him do anything, and Christoph and the SUV appeared after yet another gig, Billy took the card. And now Christoph was grooming him to take over
his
business, The Barony. No one, including his father, was the wiser for it.

He returned his attention to the other two bodies occupying the backseat: Von Rothschild’s new bodyguard, Marc, sat on the far side of the car. Phoebe lay slumped over her knees between them, drooling.

He poked her in the side. No response. “You sure she’s okay?” Billy asked. Yeah, she’d burned his eyebrows off, but he didn’t want her death on his hands.

“Chloroform. She will wake up in a matter of minutes,” Marc said. His gaze returned to the window.

Billy sighed as the SUV slowed and stopped at the top of the hill, where a figure in a bright pink dress waited. Was that who he thought it was?
Dammit,
he thought.
I look like shit!
He ran his hands through his hair, fluffing up his faux hawk.

Billy scrambled out of the car and Phoebe’s limp frame tipped to the side. “Claudia?”

“Who else would it be?” said Claudia von Rothschild, Christoph’s twenty-nine-year-old daughter. The scent of jasmine crept into Billy’s nose as she enveloped him in a hug, and her straw-gold hair tickled his cheeks. He tried to remain stoic so she would see him as a man and forget about his gawky teenage years, but damn, she was hot.

Claudia stepped back and studied Billy before arching one perfect brow. “I didn’t think things would have changed that much, but the last time I saw you, you had eyebrows.”

Billy ran a hand across the area where his eyebrows once resided and sighed. “Yeah, that…girl burned them off. Who does that? Who wakes up in the morning and goes, ‘I’m going to burn off somebody’s eyebrows today’?”

Claudia shrugged. “Apparently
she
does. I can pencil them in for you, if you’d like.”

“That’s okay,” Billy said, blushing. He turned his back on Claudia and resisted the temptation to smack himself on the forehead. He frowned at the still sleeping Phoebe before turning around again.

“So I guess your dad filled you in on my…situation,” Billy said.

“Of course—why do you think I’m here? Marc, take her to the library,” Claudia ordered with a toss of her hair. She turned back to Billy and gestured to the massive front door of the house. “Shall we?”

“I should probably check in with your dad,” Billy said, stopping in the middle of the rotunda.

“Oh, you can do that later!” Claudia said with a dismissive wave. Billy hesitated a second before following her into the formal sitting room. She sat on the Baroque loveseat and patted the cushion next to her with an inviting smile.

Billy sat stiffly.
Be cool. Just be cool.

“So, little Billy, the last time I saw you, you were just, what, thirteen?”

“Fourteen. I was fourteen,” Billy quickly corrected. “And I go by Will now.”

He flushed again, feeling like he was back in his teens, trying to keep up with the older guys. Back then he was just her boyfriend’s kid brother. Then she broke up with Alex to date Finn and all hell broke loose. But here
she
was, and here
he
was, and neither Finn nor Alex was in the picture anymore.

“Sorry, Will. You’re right, fourteen is a
big
difference,” Claudia said. She shifted on the seat and regarded Billy. “I heard about Alex. How’s he doing?”

Billy looked down and scowled. Of course she wanted to know about Alex. It
always
came back to Alex. “He was only grazed; it wasn’t that serious. How is New York?”

Claudia obviously wanted to continue talking about Alex, but she obligingly answered the question, to Billy’s relief.

“The usual. So much business comes through my little gallery that I hardly have time to visit Mother and Father,” Claudia said. “Unless it’s an emergency situation, like now.”

“You can thank Finn for that,
and
for getting Alex injured,” Billy spat. Claudia leaned forward, her eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly.

“How
is
Finn?” she asked with nonchalance.

Billy knew better. Inwardly he seethed. “I don’t want to talk about Finn,” he said, his knuckles white on the sofa arm.

“Trouble in paradise? Is that what brought you to The Barony?”

Billy swallowed and tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Something like that. Look, I should probably go see your father—”

“William, are you tired of me already? Perhaps I’ll look at returning to New York earlier than planned. I wouldn’t want to distract you from your work here.” A lazy smile played over Claudia’s lips.

“No!” he exclaimed. “I mean—that’s really not necessary. And besides, I’m sure your dad is excited to have you home.” He shot up from the loveseat. “Actually, I’m going to see if there’s anything he needs me to do.”

Claudia remained seated and shrugged one flawless shoulder. “Do what you have to.” She plucked an imaginary piece of lint from her dress.

Billy started to exit the room, but quickly retraced his steps and turned back to her. “While you’re here, do you want to, uh, do something sometime?”

Claudia gave him a knowing smile and reclined on the couch, crossing her legs. “Sure, Bi—Will. As long as you let me pencil in those brows.”

Billy narrowed his eyes as he stalked from the room. How long was Claudia going to make fun of him? He was starting to rethink his stance on killing Phoebe. But wait a minute—she’d said yes! Billy spun on his heel and popped back into the room.

“Okay,” he said, trying his hardest to contain a celebratory fist pump until he was out of sight.

Phoebe awoke groggy and dry-mouthed. She attempted to stretch, but found her arms were restrained behind her back with chafing plastic zip ties. She tried to move her legs, but they were strapped to the chair she was sitting in. Okay, at least she knew one thing: She was tied to a chair. Again.

Was she back in the condo? Where was Will? Did everyone in Las Vegas go around pointing guns at people and tying them to chairs for shits and giggles?

Phoebe forced herself to swallow and focus on her surroundings. A dark wooden side table sat right in front of her, and an empty chair on the other side of it. Bookcases lined the room from floor to ceiling. Tall windows were covered with heavy blackout curtains. Any exposed wall held old paintings. Like,
really
old. She was clearly in some kind of library or office, and it was much too large to be in the condo. She sighed and tried to find a more comfortable position in the chair; at least this one had more padding.

One of the library’s oak doors, almost the height of the wall itself, opened, and a put-together blonde woman stepped inside the room. In her hand she held a glass of water with a striped straw. Phoebe wanted that water more than anything. She licked her cracked, dry lips and eyed the glass hungrily.

Her gaze never leaving Phoebe, the blonde set the glass on the table. She folded her tall frame into the remaining chair and regarded Phoebe coolly.

“That’s just cruel,” Phoebe said. She finally lifted her eyes from the glass and studied the blonde. It was funny; she was almost the spitting image of the woman Phoebe had pictured Stella to be, but she didn’t give off Stella’s easy-going vibe. Something about this woman felt off, but in her dehydrated state, Phoebe couldn’t pinpoint what it was. What Phoebe
did
know was that she wasn’t going to like this woman.

“Who are you?” Phoebe asked.

The woman wagged a finger at Phoebe. “Nuh uh uh; I ask the questions around here.” She examined her pearly pink nails. “Who are you to Jacob?”

“Who is Jacob?”

The blonde looked at Phoebe as if she were stupid. “Finn.”

Yep, Phoebe
definitely
didn’t like this chick. Her eyes narrowed and she struggled in the chair. “Look, lady, I don’t know any Finn or any Jacob. What am I doing here?”

“Your sister knows Finn. She rode halfway across the country with him.”

Phoebe’s throat screamed for hydration. She licked her lips again and stared longingly at the water. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What the hell is going on? Can I get some of that water?”