She Can Hide (She Can Series) (23 page)

Number One took a step back and mumbled something into his wrist. Thing Two didn’t budge.

Number One nodded toward the hall behind the counter. “Please come with us, sir.” Despite the “please” and “sir,” it wasn’t a request.

Ethan was tempted to show his badge and talk his way out of the situation, but he held his tongue. If he were lucky, these guys would lead him to Abby.

Number Two led the way. At the end of the narrow hall, he swiped their way onto the same elevator that had transported Abby. Ethan got on without being told. Though hardly small, standing between his linebacker escorts, Ethan felt like the water boy.

The elevator climbed to the top floor. Whoever Abby was meeting was a VIP. The doors opened with barely a swish of the rubber seals.

Number One nudged Ethan’s shoulder. He stepped off the elevator. His shoes sunk into ocean-deep pile carpeting. Valentine Entertainment Group was written in gold letters on the facing wall. Except for the landing, the floor was dark. Guess the execs didn’t work 24-7. They went through a set of glass doors and turned right. From an office at the end of a hall, a light beckoned.

This was going to get interesting.

CHAPTER TWENTY
-
THREE

Abby’s footsteps were silent on the plush carpet. The entire first floor of her house would fit in Ryland Valentine’s penthouse office. Everything was clean-lined and luxurious. It was the kind of space that politely whispered money rather than screamed it. She’d only been here once. The other times she and Ryland had met, he’d come to her.

Ryland’s expansive mahogany desk sat on a raised platform that was more throne than workspace. He stood as she entered. He was thinner than the last time she’d seen him. The small paunch was gone. He was paler too, his hair fading from elegant silver to white. Though an inch or two over six feet tall, the slight stoop he’d acquired made him seem shorter. Age was catching up to him. No one, not even the powerful head of Valentine Entertainment Group, could outrun time.

“My dear.” Ryland rounded his desk and held both of his hands out to her. Over a sad smile, his eyes shone with a mixture of heartache and regret, the two emotions she most associated with him. She didn’t run to him with open arms. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms.

His face sagged with displeasure at her rebuff. “Thank you, Randolph. You may leave us.”

Randolph gave Abby a doubtful glance, but Ryland nodded. The security guard closed the door as he exited.

Abby glanced away from Ryland. Behind him, a wall of glass overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. The forecasted storm hadn’t arrived yet, but heavy white chop on the dark water told her nasty weather was blowing up the coast.

She blinked away from the mesmerizing seascape.

He walked to her side. “Let me get you a drink. Wine?”

She sidestepped out of reach. “Just water, please.”

Her head was already foggy. Too much espresso instead of food and sleep.

Without touching her, he herded her toward the other side of the room, where a long, low sofa and two boxy chairs formed a conversation area. “You look tired. Have you eaten?”

“No, but I’m not hungry.” The muscles of her thighs trembled. Anxiety or exhaustion? Both, she decided, plus the jitters from her caffeine overload.

“Well, I am.” Ryland steered her toward the couch. He picked up a phone from an end table and murmured instructions into the receiver.

As she sank into the black leather, blood rushed in her ears and drowned out the sound of Ryland’s voice. What was she doing here? Saving Derek and his mother, she hoped. But at what cost? It felt like she was offering herself up on a silver platter. Perhaps she should have ordered an apple for her mouth.

Ryland went to a sideboard and poured water from a carafe into a crystal tumbler. He handed it to her and sat on the sofa next to her. He leaned forward, forearms on his knees, fingers intertwined, studying her.

“What’s going on, Ryland?”

He turned slightly until he was partially facing her. “What do you mean?”

“Someone is out to get me.”

“That sounds paranoid.”

“It isn’t paranoid if it’s true.”

“You make a good point.” Ryland leaned back. His expression turned pensive. He was deciding how much to tell her.

Anger burned through Abby’s exhaustion. His all-powerful, controlling attitude always ticked her off. Reining in her temper, she waited. She’d learned one thing from Ryland. Silence was a powerful negotiating tool.

“I know about the recent attempts on your life. Honestly, I don’t know why you are being targeted. But I am looking into the matter as we speak.”

“Do you know who is trying to hurt me?”

“No.” A slight shift in his eyes gave him away. Oh yeah. He definitely knew more than he was willing to say.

“But you have suspicions?”

“Maybe.” Ryland got up and walked to the bar. He poured himself a short glass of scotch and returned to his seat. Buying time, no doubt, while he carefully phrased his thoughts. “I am in the process of ceasing my activity in a certain trade. My business associates are unhappy with my decision.”

Ryland was the master of vaguely specific statements.

Abby sat up straighter. “You’re going straight?”

“As an arrow, as the saying goes.” Ryland’s mouth flattened in a tight smile. “I’ve been moving in that direction for several years.”

“How many years?”

“A little over three.”

So he’d started backing off the illegal operations right before…oh my God. The truth was a metaphorical smack to the back of Abby’s head. “Right before I was kidnapped.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think it was related?” Abby’s mind whirled. “Do you think Faulkner was hired by one of your partners? It would explain why he never took the stand.”

Ryland scratched his chin. “I don’t think so. No one ever claimed responsibility, made threats, or contacted me with ransom terms. Messages not delivered aren’t very effective as methods of persuasion.”

“So you didn’t think it was about you.”

“Three years ago, I couldn’t see how your kidnapping could’ve been related to my business.” Ryland sipped his scotch. “Though it’s possible Faulkner was supposed to deliver the message and didn’t follow through. Still, if one of my enemies was behind your capture, the ball Faulkner dropped would’ve been picked up and carried by someone else.”

A knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” Ryland commanded.

A waiter in a black suit carried a tray. He set it on the table and removed the silver domes from dishes of cheese, crackers, and fruit. A plate of finger sandwiches, a pot of coffee, and a bottle of red wine rounded out the snack.

Ryland waited for the server to exit. Then he waved at the food. “Please eat something. You’re exhausted. You’ll be able to think clearer with food in your body.”

He was right. Abby reached for a slice of cheese.

Ryland’s intercom buzzed. He picked up the phone. Scowling, his gaze snapped to Abby’s face.

“Bring him in.” Anger radiated from his eyes as he got to his feet. “You shouldn’t have.”

Abby’s mouth went dry. The nibble of aged cheddar turned to dust. With effort, she swallowed and set the rest of the cheese on a cocktail napkin.

The office doors opened. Flanked by two extra-large security guards, Ethan walked in. His gaze moved from Abby to Ryland and back again.

Bitterness tightened Ethan’s features as he stared down at her. “Was it all a lie?”

Tiny ice pellets pinged off Derek’s face. Heaving his backpack over the sill, he climbed out the first-story window onto the roof. Nothing terrible had happened at the foster house yet, but the time to leave was now. Once somebody—or worse, two somebodies—had a good hold on another kid, it was damned hard to get away.

There were three other kids staying here. One was little, but the other two were about Derek’s age. He knew better than anyone that age wasn’t a good indicator of innocence.

He’d thought Ethan was different, but the cop had turned him in, which proved that Derek really couldn’t trust anyone. Except maybe Abby. She’d been as shocked and pissed off as Derek at the cop’s betrayal.

But Abby couldn’t help him now. She had enough of her own troubles. Joe had tried to kill her—twice—and Derek’s mom had made it possible. It was partially Derek’s fault. He should have called the cops on Joe when he saw the chemicals and equipment in the basement. He’d thought Joe was making meth, but the reality was so much worse. As usual, Derek had been a big coward. And look what he’d gotten for being a chicken. He’d ended up in foster care anyway.

Maybe he deserved to suffer, but it wouldn’t be here.

He eased the window closed. A freezing wet wind blowing through the house would be sure to wake everyone in the house up fast. Derek needed the biggest lead he could get. The best scenario would be if he wasn’t missed until morning.

He inched his way to the edge of the roof. His sneakers slid on wet shingles. He spread his arms and regained his balance.
Whew.
Close one. Ignoring the ten-foot drop to the ground, he wiped his face and eyed his next move. Without the sleet, the low branch of a mature oak tree was an easy leap. Slippery surfaces would make his escape more of a challenge. But there was no going back now. Derek jumped. His rubber soles skidded on the slick bark. He threw his upper body forward. His stomach hit the fat branch and knocked the wind from him. As his lungs struggled for air, his hands scrambled for a hold. He teetered for a moment, and then his body stilled. He swung a leg up and over. The movement of his body shook water droplets from the bare limbs overhead. They rained down on him in an icy shower.

Straddling the branch, he scanned the house behind him. All seemed quiet. The windows were still dark.

Satisfied his exit hadn’t woken anyone, he inched his way to the trunk and shimmied to the ground. The impact jarred his frozen bones. The sleet was light but steady. His jacket and sneakers would be soaked before long.

Nothing he could do about that. The bad weather had its benefits. Derek scanned the sky. Thick cloud cover kept the neighborhood nice and dark. This place was a little farther outside of town than Derek’s house. The lots were bigger, the homes more spread out.

He jogged around the side of the property. Overgrown evergreen bushes lined the edges of the driveway. No one would see him from the house once he ran into the shadows. He breathed a sigh of relief and slowed to a walk once he reached his goal. He reached the end of the drive and turned left on the street.

A hand slapped over his mouth as someone grabbed him from behind. He was jerked backward against a tall, hard body. An arm wrapped around his ribs and lifted him off his feet. Derek kicked, panic giving his movements a frenzied randomness. One sneaker caught his assailant on the leg. The blow had no effect. The guy didn’t flinch or grunt. Nothing. Derek was tossed into the backseat of a dark sedan with no more difficulty than handling a bag of groceries. The door slammed. The locks came down.

Derek was trapped.

Ignoring the security guards and the older man in the expensive suit, Ethan’s eyes locked on Abby, sitting on a leather sofa. On the table in front of her, a tray of food and an unopened bottle of wine made a casual and intimate late-night meal. Jealousy burned a path through Ethan’s chest and spread through his limbs until his entire body felt like it was on fire.

“I didn’t lie about anything,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Right.” Bitterness tasted like bile in Ethan’s throat.

The old guy in the fancy suit stepped in between them. Was this Abby’s
older man
?

“I don’t know who you are, but you will explain yourself immediately. It’s late. Abby is exhausted, and I’m running out of patience.”

Ethan jerked his attention to the suit. He looked familiar. In his midsixties, he was frail-thin, not fit-thin. His eyes were a soulless black. Despite his aged state, the old man was a killer, pure and simple. This was a man who would flinch at nothing. Violent, heartless deeds had left their imprint in his eyes.

This was the older man Abby had had an affair with? The guy practically had
mobster
tattooed on his forehead.

The guard who’d emptied Ethan’s pockets in the elevator walked to the table and set his badge and gun on the glass. “This is Officer Ethan Hale.”

The old man spoke to Abby. “You brought a policeman here?”

The cold anger in his tone sent a sliver of fear through Ethan’s anger. He couldn’t let the old man hurt Abby, even if she had betrayed his trust. “No. She had no idea I followed her.”

The old man nodded. One member of the security team faded to stand against the wall. The other exited, Ethan assumed to take a post on the other side of the door.

The old man held out a hand to Ethan. “Ryland Valentine.”

Holy freaking shit.

No wonder he looked familiar. Tycoon. Mobster. Whatever label you wanted to hang on him, Ryland Valentine was a serious BFD. Sporadic racketeering, drug dealing, and murder investigations on Ryland magically melted like ice cubes in August. Maybe his fancy suit was coated with Teflon. Ethan had never seen him in person, and the last time Ryland had been in the media spotlight was several years ago. He’d been heavier. Ethan supposed aging was the one thing Ryland couldn’t buy or bully his way out of.