Pandora's Box (29 page)

When she opened it, her smile vanished.

Isn’t she insistent?
Her hand shook as she read the message. She didn’t know if she was enraged or unnerved.

Check your email. Nice photos, aren’t they?

You don’t want them leaked to the press.

Come alone. You know where.

A friend

She fingered her glass of wine and drank a huge gulp.
No. I don’t want them to leak to the press.

She put the note in her bag and stood up. Immediately, she saw from the corner of her eye that Devon and Steven had moved. She smiled at them and shook her head. Walking calmly and very slowly, she exited the room with her cell phone in her hand.

11.55 p.m.

Emma saw when Sophia read her message and made her way back to the corridor that led to the restrooms, looking at her iPhone’s screen. She waited for a few minutes to make sure that her bodyguards and Alistair hadn’t left the room.

As she walked lithely across the room, Emma smiled at a few men she knew, ensuring she was seen.

She had photos of them. She had notes of their secrets. She may need to call on some one day and had to remain fresh on their minds. All the men who had been to her apartment had been photographed and informed afterwards.

In the corridor, she paused at a mirror and admired her own face. She smacked her red lips, murmuring to herself, “There are few who learn.”

She moved to the lady’s room.

Sunday, November 28
^th
, 2010.

12.01 a.m.

“Hello, Emma,” said Sophia ironically, from the other end of the room when Emma entered and put a heavy chair blocking the door.
No luck with the lock?
“Aren’t you going to lock the door?”

“Aren’t we witty tonight?” Emma remarked and sensuously leaned on the sink, putting her purse there.

“I can see your purse is very small,” Sophia jutted her chin to it. “No knife? Or maybe it is strapped to your panties?”

“Ah. The real Sophia. How I like hearing you talk like this, bitch.” An evil smile appeared on Emma’s face. “By the way, a tip: don’t wear panties. Men enjoy to finger-fuck real women under the table.”

Right. Enough, Sophia.
“I presume you’re going to delete all the files from your computer.”

“After you credit my account with half-a-million.”

“Oh. And I was so worried… Only half-a-million pounds? That’s so cheap.”
As you are.

“You’re not afraid, are you?”

Sophia tutted and shook her head.

Emma was taken aback with Sophia’s courage. She straightened and unhurriedly raised the hem of her flowing, almost transparent mermaid blood-red dress. Strapped to her inner thigh was a very thin sliding knife. “You shouldn’t mess with me, bitch.”

Sophia shuddered when Emma slid open the blade. Her knees buckled and she managed to steady herself with her hands on the wall. In a trembling voice, she observed, “Such a knife fetish you have.”

Emma stepped in Sophia’s direction.

The doors of the stalls burst open and Tavish and Leonard exited from them, sandwiching Emma.

Emma yelped, startled.

From behind her, Tavish grabbed her wrist in a breaking vise. “Drop it.”

The knife fell to the floor. Leonard knelt down and took his handkerchief from his pocket.

Emma said daringly, “I told you to come alone.”

“Do I look stupid?” Sophia answered with a trembling smile.

“You’ll regret this. You’ve seen the photos—”

“No.” Sophia smiled, triumphant. “I have not.”

“But I saw—”

Sophia snickered. “You saw me messaging Leonard and Tavish Uilleam. I refuse to be a part of your dirty linen games, Emma. Play them alone.”

Leonard rose with the knife carefully wrapped in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket. His anger was palpable when the sentences came out in staccato, “I’ll give this to Alistair. As a memento. Tavish will take good care of you. I’m sure.”

Leonard walked Sophia out. Neither of them looked back.

Tavish twisted Emma’s arm behind her back and pushed her against the wall.

“You’re hurting me,” she whispered.

“Good. Because I’ve been told you like pain,” he pulled her arm up harder.

There was that huge, rugged man leaning heavily on her against the marble wall. Anyone who came in would think they were making out. She should feel lust, she should be eager, but for the first time in her life, Emma was afraid of what a man could do to her. Her body trembled when he turned her so he could look into her eyes. His angered sea-green eyes burned through her.

He lowered his face so their noses were an inch apart. In a low, startlingly even voice, he told her, “You are so ugly inside that your beauty disappears. Every part of you is rotten. Do you have any idea how much I loathe you? I don’t fucking care that you abused your sister. But you killed my niece, you destroyed my brother’s and my mother’s lives. You’re not going to hurt anyone in my family anymore. If you do, you fucking cunt, I swear to you now, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Because I’ll pay to turn your life into a fucking living hell. Do you understand?”

She nodded, locking her knees to hold herself upright. The fear was rushing through her veins giving her the chills.

“We are heading to that fucking brothel my brother gave you.”

“My-my apartment?” Emma could barely speak; she was stammering from fear.

As Tavish’s threats became even more harsh, Emma whimpered.

But he was past caring. He would not let her walk away without giving him all the videos and photos she had.

Tavish put her hand on his arm and forced a smile on his face. “Smile and behave, we’re leaving. And you’ll never, ever come near them again.”

As she walked by his side to the Park Lane entrance, surrounded by luxury, she knew she had lost.

How much, only time would tell.

Emma Miller’s Apartment.

12.28 a.m.

Tavish looked around disgusted, he had never imagined how far his brother had gone. “For once, these many torture devices are going to serve a purpose.”

He pushed Emma to the cross of St. Andrew and shackled her to it.

Searching her apartment, he opened all the drawers and then moved to the dressing room. She whimpered. He didn’t know if she was afraid of what he was going to do, if she was in pain, or if he had just found where she was hiding everything. He pushed all the clothes to one side and started to knock on the wooden panels at the back. His hands easily located the crevice and pushed. A safe appeared. “Code.”

“For what?”

“Don’t try me, Emma,” he growled.

She gave him the numbers and it opened soundlessly. Inside there was money, jewels, many USB sticks and documents. Tavish shoved the flash drives in his tuxedo pocket and leafed through the documents, snorting as he found small notebooks with many names, telephone numbers and sexual preferences jotted down; and an envelope with a safety deposit box key, number and address of a bank in Switzerland. He took them too.

“Password,” he demanded, sitting on the bed with her notebook on his lap. She informed him and he changed the password to one of his. “I’m taking the computer. I’ll be checking up on you.” He gave her a thoughtful look and bared his teeth to scare her a bit more. “You know I have been in a psych ward, don’t you? That I’m a war psycho.”

Emma absolutely believed he was. “I’d never judge you—”

“Better you fucking don’t. Just keep in mind that I’m crazy.” There wasn’t a sliver of doubt in his eyes. He leaned forward towering over her. “One more thing. If something - anything - happens to any of them… If I ever find out you’ve been near Sophia or my family again…” Tavish made a throat-slitting motion.

Emma knew he would make good on his promise. She was beginning to feel very ill. Because she knew there was no way out from the rabbit hole she had eagerly jumped into.

Chapter 16

The Park Suite, In Alistair and Sophia’s bedroom.

11.21 a.m.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, he’d slept until such a late hour. Usually, by this time, even at weekends, he would have already worked-out and ran for an hour and a half.

Alistair’s arms went around Sophia, who rubbed her cheek on his chest.

“Good morning,” she whispered, looking up at him smiling. “You were really tired.”

No. I was angry, scared and ashamed. It took me hours to sleep.

When the ball finished, Leonard, Tavish and Sophia gathered in their suite living room to tell Alistair about Emma. Sophia had taken out her cell phone from her purse and asked him to erase the email. She avowed she had not seen them. And he believed her, because afterwards they had made love in the sweetest way.

As the minutes ticked by and he listened to her breathing getting deeper, he decided to look at the photos before he erased them. He was shocked. The problem with greed and extortion was that it never ended. The photos sent to Sophia were graphic ones. He didn’t even remember participating in those scenes.

His palms grew sweaty again.
What would she think if she had looked at those pictures? Would she understand?

He shooed away the thoughts of the previous night. The only thing that mattered now was keeping her safe. He inhaled deeply and asked, “Gabriela and breakfast?”

“Of course.” She rolled off to the edge of the bed and made the calls.

When Gabriela ran into the living room, they had already changed and were having breakfast. She flew into her mother’s arms and spread kisses over her face. “Mama, Mama. I know what I want for Chanukah next year.”

“Next year? Chanukah is in three days, you mischievous little girl,” Sophia said, messing with her light blonde hair. “Your pony is waiting for you at Richmond.”

“You can even choose its name,” Alistair told her.

“I know, this is for next year,” Gabriela nodded. She looked shyly at Alistair and asked in a loud whisper in her mother’s ear, “Can you give me a sister as nice as Ariadne?”

Alistair choked on the croissant he was eating. He washed it down with orange juice and stared unbelievingly at Gabriela, who begged an affirmative answer with happy eyes.

“But— Chanukah next year—” Sophia was addled. “Let’s—”

“Babies take time to arrive, Mama,” Gabriela said it in such a wise way that Sophia was aghast. “You’ll get very fat, you’ll travel for a day and come home with the baby.”

“I will not get fat. I’ll— It’s—” She flushed bright red, embarrassed.
I can’t tell her how babies are made yet.

Alistair tried to contain himself, but his lips curled up and he burst out laughing.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph. This girl is absolutely fantastic.

“Yes?” Gabriela asked. “Yes, Daddy?”

Sophia didn’t know if he was having a nervous fit of laughter or if he was really happy. “Now, Gabrie—”

Alistair cut in with a big smile. “I can’t promise you a sister, but I can promise you a sibling. A wee one. Is that okay?”

Sophia’s mouth opened and stayed that way.
So soon? We haven’t even talked about it properly.

“Can I carry it?” Gabriela’s blue eyes beamed. “Yes, Mama?”

Alistair’s fingers pushed Sophia’s chin up. He breathed in her ear, “Tell her yes.”

“Aaah…” Sophia peered at him and he grinned, confirming. “So…” She cleared her throat and started again. “So… Yes, then. But, Gabriela, I—”

“A wee baby,” Gabriela squealed happily and threw her chubby arms around Sophia’s neck.

“Aye,” Alistair answered with a cheerful grin, squeezing Sophia’s shoulder. “Next year.”

Gabriela jumped down and ran to the door to tell everyone about the news when her mother’s voice stopped her.

“Gabriela.” She didn’t know how she managed to speak without betraying her trembling. “No kiss for Alistair?”

The girl ran back again and flung herself in Alistair’s open arms. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“You’re welcome.” If Gabriela didn’t notice Sophia’s unnerved state, he did. He sat her on his knees, regarding her steadily. “Can I ask you something in return?”

Gabriela bobbed her head.

“Let’s keep this as a special secret, between us three, until we are certain when the baby is going to arrive. You’ll be the first to know so
you
can tell everyone, okay?”

Gabriela grinned even happier.

He quickly changed topics to distract her. “Do you want an apple with honey?”

Alistair had discovered within himself an unlimited well from which he could draw buckets of happiness.

Atwood House.

7.56 p.m.

“I’m hungry.” Alistair knocked on Sophia’s bathroom door and put his head inside. “Let’s grab something?”

He almost ignored his rumbling, starving stomach. Sophia had just walked out of the shower, glistening with water.

She wrapped a towel around her body, saying without enthusiasm, “Okay.”

He had seen her brightness diminishing throughout the day. He rubbed his flat stomach as he walked to stop behind her, kissing her neck and passing his arms loosely around her, trying to cheer her up. “Pizza? Saporitalia?”

“No.” She looked at his face in the mirror, but instead of her rugged husband wearing a pink, blue and gray sweater with dark gray jeans, she saw many other male faces and bodies over his.

Ugly and fat men.

Short and lanky men.

All different kinds of men that didn’t resemble Alistair. She shook her head hard.

“Hey. I understand. No pizza tonight. Where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere calm, cozy. Where we can talk.”

“Petrus?” She shook her head. “Gordon at Claridges?” She shook her head again. “Hélène?”

“Maybe.”

Her lack of eagerness pierced him.