Made To Love Her (10 page)

She struts in my direction. I try not to pay attention to her ultra-tight jeans and perky tits. “Anyway, I’m Hannah.”

We shake hands.

The pregnant one walks over to shake my hand too. “And I’m Cleo.”

Finally, the names ring a bell. “Now I remember you. You’re the married one.”

Cleo smiles. “That would be me.”

Hannah bats her eyelashes at me. “So Tango, you seem to be in your right mind tonight. If you need a bed-buddy, I can just park with you,” Hannah says.

I narrow my eyes at her thighs and puffy tits. I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, but it passes quickly. What I have now that I didn’t have the drunken night that I hit on her is clarity. “I really appreciate the offer, sweetie, but I’m going to have to pass.”

She smirks, laying it on thick. “Really, why?”

I consider telling the truth but decide it’s not best in this case. “I’m very tired,” I say.

Hannah grunts thoughtfully and glances curiously at the stairwell Carter just ran down. “Well, just to let you know, it’s a standing offer.” She winks at me and continues strolling up the hallway.

Cleo rolls her eyes as she sighs. “Ignore her. She’s horny.”

I chuckle uncomfortably. There was a time when I would’ve loved to do something about Hannah’s horny condition. But all I can think of is how Carter will feel about it. I don’t want to mess things up with her. So I wave a hand and say a final good night to Cleo and Hannah and go back in my room.

I stand by the closed door, looking out the dark window, wondering why Carter walked away as if I’d done something to her. The more I start paying attention to women, the harder they are to decipher. I close the curtains and climb in bed. A large part of me wants to go downstairs to find Carter. The smaller, and more sensible, part of me sighs in relief for just dodging a bullet. I’m not ready to make love to Carter. Here’s a question for Dr. Mahoney, my therapist—how long will it take for me to trust myself? I’m just not sure that I’ve put enough distance between the old me and the new me I hope I’m becoming.

“
S
leep well
, my love,” I hear Jack whispering. “I love you too.” He moans softly. “Bye.”

I turn to face Jack. “Was that Daisy?” I say tiredly.

“You’re awake? Good. We’re about to land soon, so if you have to go to the lavatory, now’s the time.”

I check my watch. I’ve been asleep for three hours. “Okay.” I unbuckle my seat belt and stand. “So how’s Daisy doing?” I yawn and stretch.

Jack looks up at me with a gloomy expression. I can tell he misses her a lot. “She’s doing good. Oh, and she wanted me to let you know that they’ve changed the venue of your wedding.”

My eyes expand. “They did?”

“Apparently, Monroe has been fighting the rounds with Vince’s sisters and beating them up badly.”

“Yikes.” I don’t know how I feel about that. Monroe can be quite a lot to take.

“Don’t worry. Daisy has kept her in line, although Monroe had a great idea.”

“Really? What is it?”

Jack flashes his signature lopsided smile. “It’s a surprise. It’s a good one, though. I can vouch for that.”

I narrow an eye. “And you’re not going to tell me.”

“Daisy made me promise.”

I want to beg him to give me the answer, but leaving the new wedding venue a secret gives Vince and me something to look forward to.

I take a few more steps toward the lavatory then turn to Jack. “Do you think this is going to end well?”

“You’ve already asked me that,” he says.

“I know but I need to hear the answer again.”

He stares into my eyes. “You want the truth?”

I shake my head. “Only if you’re optimistic.”

“I’m optimistic,” he says.

That’s it. I’m all good. I gait toward the bathroom feeling about than I did a second ago.

W
hen the plane lands
, Jack and I exit. It’s three o’clock in the morning and still dark out. I drive the burgundy BMW, and Jack rides in the passenger seat. The address I’m driving to has been plugged into the Navigator on the dashboard, and the voice-activated Navigator is telling me where to make turns. Jack has a headset on, and I’m sure he’s talking to Gray because he’s getting updates on where Cindy and Gabrielle have gone in the last ten hours or so. Apparently, they never leave Gabrielle’s mansion at the same time.

I’m so involved with trying to piece together Jack’s conversation with Gray that I nearly miss my turn. I whip a quick right. The car skids, and Jack holds on to the dashboard.

“Maggie, pay attention to what you’re doing,” Jack scolds me.

“I am. I just want to know what Gray is saying, that’s all.”

To my surprise, Jack presses a button on the console. “Repeat that.”

Gray hesitates. “Well, per your agreement with Oslo, there’s no calling the authorities, no one dies and the girls are unharmed.”

“Right, which means I’ll use KZR-80 pellets, it’ll knock them out cold. I’ll try to go in quietly, recover Vince and get the hell out without confronting the opposition,” Jack says.

Suddenly, I’m livid. “Wait. You knew where they were keeping Vince ever since you spoke to Peter Oslo?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Sounds like it.”

The Navigator tells me to take a left at the next light.

Jack sighs exasperatedly. “Maggie, you know I would never withhold that kind of information from you. Gray has been working overtime keeping tabs on Gabrielle and Cindy. He watched their movement patterns. We’re not positive they’re holding Vince at the Southampton estate, but the chances are that it’s where he is. For the past two days, at least one of them has remained in the house at all times.”

“I already pieced that together,” I say.

“There’s a brunch at ten a.m. Both O’lay and Oslo have plans to attend,” Gray says.

Jack pins his gaze to the screen on the dashboard. “Can you confirm that the two suspects are planning on being there at the same time?”

“It’s definite,” Gray says.

“Good. Send me the blueprint.”

The voice tells me to make a right turn. I do it, and I’m now driving down a street where the trees create a canopy across the road. The multimillion-dollar estates lining the street aren’t visible, but their large iron and wooden gates are.

“Within vicinity of destination,” the robot voice says.

“Slow to one mile per hour,” Jack says.

I do as I’m told.

“See the white gates to your left?”

My eyes locate the gate. “Yes.”

“They’re opening. In this order—turn off the headlights, make a left in that drive, and stop when the voice tells you to.”

I nod nervously and execute Jack’s instructions.

“Stop here,” the voice projecting through the speakers says.

I’m only able to see a bunch of trees. We’re at the start of a long driveway.

“Is this the house?” I ask.

“The Oslo estate is up the road.”

I squint at the tall trees. There are so many of them that it makes the early morning extra dark.

“Who does this house belong to?” I ask.

“It’s unoccupied at the moment,” Jack says.

I get it now. This is where we stay to keep out of sight. “So are we going to wait here until ten?”

“No.” Jack reaches under his seat for his bag and takes out a gun.

I cringe at the deadly weapon. The gun looks even more lethal as he screws on a silencer. My heart is beating a mile a minute. “What do you need that for?”

Jack puts on a black ski mask. “I’m not going to shoot bullets.”

I want to gasp at how menacing he looks but instead I close my eyes and snap my fingers, recalling what he said a few minutes ago. “You’re going to use KZR-80 pellets.

“Good memory. I’ll be back. Stay put,” he says.

“You’re going to Oslo’s way before 10:00 a.m.?”

Jack opens the door. “Just stay put, and don’t open the door for anyone.”

“But—”

He shuts the door then moves into the trees, blending into the darkness.

I face forward and fill my lungs. When I exhale, it sounds like a deflating balloon. There’s nothing to do at this point but wait, and I’ve accepted that. I sit very still and count each minute. Thirty minutes feels like an hour, and forty-five minutes feels like three hours. Jack has been gone an awfully long time. The top of the sun is forcing away the darkness.

My eyelids are heavy. I blink just to keep my eyes open. I twist my wrist to look at my watch: 5:47 a.m. Jack has been gone for over two and a half hours. I string together a bunch of curse words and recite them under my breath. I guide my seat back and close my eyes. I might as well try to get some rest since there’s nothing for me to do but wait. But what if Vince is nearby? I call up all the energy in my body and visualize myself pushing it out past the trees and across the space that’s between us.

“Vince, can you feel me?” I whisper.

V
ince woke up abruptly
. “Maggie?” He gasped.

He still couldn’t figure out what in the hell had happened to him. After his jog, a car stopped in front of his mother’s house. The back window rolled down, and a guy in a suit said he needed to speak to Vincent Adams.

For some reason, he felt compelled to take his phone out of his pocket. “That’s me,” he said.

He recognized the guy’s face, although he couldn’t remember from where. Before he knew it, the guy was getting out of the car. His instincts told him to get away, but he stood his ground.

“You should come with me,” the guy said.

“Do I know you?” Vince asked.

Suddenly, the guy threw a punch. Vince blocked the blow. The impact was hard. It was clearly meant to hurt him.

“What the hell!” he shouted and tried to clock the guy upside the head with his cell phone. He made light contact, but his cell phone slipped out of his hand. Next, he felt volts of electricity shooting through his body. He thought his insides were exploding. Then, although it went dark, he could still feel the intense shock. The pain became less and less, until there was nothing.

The first time he blinked to consciousness, he was lying on a stretcher. Bright light stabbed him in the eyes. Vince thought he might have been dead. He was not in a rush to face the hereafter, not without first marrying and living his life with Maggie, so he closed his eyes and drifted off again. The next time he opened his eyes, he was in total darkness. He was thirsty, hungry, and alone. He was also shivering cold, but not because the air was cold—something inside him was bringing his temperature down.

“Maggie?” he called. Maybe she could explain what the hell was going on.

“Maggie!” he called louder. His head throbbed.

A door slid open. Light flowed into the room. Vince could make out a female form, tall and thin, standing in the entrance. He recognized her perfume. She said something, and two men walked in. He tried to yell for Maggie again, but the cold sensation rolled through his body, and he was back to wondering if he was dead or alive.

“You’re alive, Vince,” Maggie said.

They were lying on a bed of clouds, staring into each other’s eyes. Finally, she had said to yes to marrying him, and she meant it. There would be no namby-pamby where their relationship was concerned, he was sealing the deal. Vince wanted to reach out and run his hands through her soft hair. Maggie had the most beautiful eyes and kissable red lips. Of course he was dead, and in heaven because Maggie’s an angel.

“But if you are here with me, then you must be dead too,” he said.

“We’re not dead, my love. I just called for you. Listen for me. Come back to me.” She reached out to pet his cheek. “Please.”

Vince blinked. His eyes opened, and darkness surrounded him. Physically, he was in the same shape he was in the last time he came to—cold, thirsty, hungry, and alone. But this time, he knew not to call for Maggie because she could not hear him.

He recalled the car that stopped in front of his mother’s home. It was a black Cadillac. Vince recognized the guy who got out of the back seat. He used to see him going in and coming out of Peter Oslo’s office sometimes. The man’s name still eluded Vince, but he always questioned whether the man was legit or not. He always looked ready to fight.

Vince checked his pockets. “Shit,” he muttered, remembering that he lost his phone. He was shivering so badly that his teeth wanted to chatter. That’s when he noticed an IV in his arm. Someone must’ve been shooting him up with a drug to keep him weak and unconscious. He carefully took the needle out of his arm to keep the drug from flowing through his bloodstream.

Just that one act alone made him very tired. Vince gritted his teeth and remained very still. There were noises nearby. He closed his eyes to help concentrate on the voices.

“I’ll hear if he wakes up,” a man said.

“We only have one more day here, then I want him transported to the island.”

“Um, are you sure this is what Mr. Oslo wants?” He sounded doubtful.

“Don’t you ever fucking question my father’s orders, Doctor. Yes, that’s what my father wants.”

Now Vince recognized the woman’s voice. It was Gabrielle Oslo. Nobody said “father” the way she said it. When they were engaged, she said that word at least a hundred times a day.

Vince wanted to shout to release all his frustration and anger. Fucking Gabrielle kidnapped him! He wasn’t surprised. Taking what she wanted was right up her alley. He would’ve awakened with a gasp or a wail this time, but thanks to the angel in his dream, he woke up more alert.

He didn’t know why, but he could feel Maggie’s presence. Now that he was awake, all he had to do was get through the shivers. Once he was more stable, he would have more strength. Vince fought exhaustion until it was easier to keep his eyes open. He imagined being swaddled in Maggie’s warm softness. Slowly, the thirst became less intense, and the shivering came to a halt. Breathing got easier. He needed a plan to get out of the mess he was in, or he would find himself back at square one.

He felt as though he heard the voices speaking hours ago, but he remembered Gabrielle saying that she wanted to move him to an island. What the hell was she planning? He was sure Gabrielle had lost her fucking mind.
I can’t go to an island,
he thought. He had to marry Maggie, and the sooner, the better. Vince knew he would have to fight for his freedom so that he could find his way back to Maggie.

With each passing moment, Vince considered whether or not now was the time. He was afraid to fail, but he decided there was no time better than the present to act.

The fake groan came deep from within him. Once he’d started, there was no turning back. A lock clicked, and the door slid open. Was he being kept in a shack? The figure of a man walked toward him, slowing, checking out the scene. The trick was to not make a lot of noise so that he could still appear weakened by whatever they were pumping into his bloodstream. Vince called upon all of the strength in his body. Aided by the streak of bright light coming from outside the room, Vince saw that the man had a syringe in one hand. Right before the man pushed the needle into the IV bag, Vince used all his strength to shove the heel of his palm against the guy’s nose. The man gasped but didn’t drop the needle.

Somehow, Vince found the agility and strength to spring off the bed and grab the man from behind as he smashed his hand over the man’s mouth. Vince kept his eye on the door as he fought to keep control of the situation and get the needle out of the man’s hand. The guy was trying to yell for help, and to Vince’s surprise, no one was coming.

The guy made the mistake of trying to stab him in the thigh with the needle, and that was when Vince was able to get it out of the guy’s hand and stick him in the chest. Vince released the drug into the man’s body, and slowly he stopped struggling against Vince’s grip.

He took a few seconds to gather his bearings. Finally, he turned to look at the doorway—the way out. He ripped off the tubes that were taped to his arm, and he was about to make a run for it when he realized he was wearing the same thing he had on the day he was taken. He thought he should at least wear the guy’s green sweatshirt. Vince quickly shed his shirt and stripped the shirt off the man he had subdued. He put it on and laid his shirt over the guy. Then Vince realized he wasn’t wearing shoes. He pulled off the guy’s shoes and put them on. Miraculously, they fit.