Twisted Together (Monsters in the Dark) (46 page)

“He might not be able to. But I can.” The detective with black hair and silver temples appeared behind the doctor. His smooth jaw was stiff with authority; his body pompous and full of power granted to him by the badge over his heart. “Seeing as you’re well enough to check yourself out, you’re well enough to come in for questioning.”

Nodding to a few of the men standing outside, he ordered, “Please escort these two to the station. I’ll interrogate them myself.”

Two policemen entered the room, pushing aside the doctor who clutched a clipboard to his chest. He didn’t protest as one man came for me and the other beelined for Franco.

Franco shoved the scrawny cop away and made a show of shrugging into his blazer unassisted. Once the black jacket was in place, he gingerly looped his sore arm back into the sling. “If you want to start questioning, I have one. You have something of mine. Two things actually, and I want them back. My guns. Where are they?”

I jerked away as a pudgy baby-faced cop took my elbow. “Take your hands off me.” I glowered. I had no intention of being separated from Franco. I didn’t care who they were and what law they were upholding. I would fight all of them.

The detective bared his teeth. “Yes, and it’s another reason why we are going to talk. Bringing weapons into Italia is a serious offence. I hope you have the necessary international paperwork, otherwise it could be a long holiday for both of you behind bars.”

My heart sped up as panic filled my stomach.  “Please, this is a terrible misunderstanding. Let us go. We’ll come back for questioning when we’ve done what we need to do.”

When I’ve got my fiancé back. When he’s in my arms and home
. Then they could lock me up and torture me for all I cared. At least Q would be safe.

The detective laughed—obnoxiously loud. “You think you can just
pop
in whenever you feel like it? Who the hell do you think you are? Some uppity tourist thinking they can flaunt the rules. I’m sick of your kind coming to my country and not respecting our laws. You’re coming with us. And there is nothing you can say to prevent that.”  He nodded at the man beside me.

I cried out as he shoved me forward.

Franco swore as he suffered the same treatment.

Corralling us through the door, we were pushed down a long white corridor reeking of bleach and medicine. Bright lights pained my eyes as my brain worked overtime.

Think!
I had to get out of this.

A wash of hot anger stole my panic, leaving me clearheaded and completely in control.

Q gave me his company. I was his intended. He’d given me nine billion pieces of power.

Money was power.

Use it.

Straightening my back, I planted my feet onto the linoleum and swung around.

The detective jerked to a halt. His badge was at eyelevel and I latched onto his name. Sergio Ponzio.

“Listen here, Mr. Ponzio. We’re not criminals. We don’t have time to explain but you’re making a big mistake.”

Sergio’s black eyes flashed with a mixture of annoyance and mirth. “Really? And why is that? To me it looks as if I’m doing my job.” Rubbing his chin, he tapped his foot dramatically. “Please…by all means. Enlighten me.”

“Tess…don’t,” Franco hissed.

I wasn’t going to mention Q. I didn’t want pompous asshats getting in the way of whatever plan Q had in motion to find him. But I wouldn’t put up with being manhandled and kept from doing my part in saving him.

Standing as tall as I could in my scruffy ballet flats, I snapped, “You’re to let us go this instant. This man is my personal protection, and we have urgent business to attend to back in France. You do
not
want to delay me.”

I wished I oozed wealth like Q. I wished I knew how to wield something so ostentatious but powerful. I was a fraud in jeans and a jumper but conviction radiated in my eyes.

Sergio’s face darkened. “Was that a
threat
, miss?”

Oh, shit.

I cried out as an officer grabbed my arms, twisting it behind my back. Handcuffs snapped around my wrists, bruising the bone beneath.

“Wait!”

No. Please no.

Franco yelled, “Get your hands off her. She’s the owner of
Moineau
fucking Holdings. Do your homework and you’ll find out she’s about to marry Frances’ most powerful CEO.” Franco cursed as a cop grabbed his unslinged arm, handcuffing him to his belt.

Then the corridor erupted with rapid chiming.

A cell-phone.

Everyone froze. Franco lowered his head, his body rolling in on itself. “Fuck.” His eyes latched onto mine.

My instincts soared out of control. Whoever was calling had something to do with Q.

I went crazy. Twisting, turning, trying to get free. I had to answer that phone. “Please. Let us answer it!”

Sergio planted a hand on my sternum, slamming me against the wall. The cuts on my shoulder blade from Q screamed. “Behave. Otherwise we’ll be carrying you out of here in a straitjacket.”

Chiming escalated to techno bells and squeals. The phone’s ring sliced my brain; I thought I’d pass out if it wasn’t answered.

Franco snapped, “You have to let me get that. You’re messing with things you don’t understand.”

I froze, never taking my eyes from him. My heart hammered in hope. Franco would get us free.

Sergio laughed. “And what don’t I understand? Feel free to inform me because I’m dying to know.”

The phone ceased its awful chime.

My heart died with it. Q—something had happened, and we hadn’t picked up the phone. Had we ruined his chance of survival? Had these bastards taken away our one shot at finding him alive?

“Franco,” I whimpered. “What are we going to do?”

Sergio crossed his arms, watching us carefully.

Franco spoke only to me. “I didn’t answer, so the next stage of the operation is in effect. They’ll assume I’m dead and go straight to Blair as team leader.”

My face drained of all feeling. Would this unknown Blair come through for us? Would he be as ruthless and focused as Franco? God, I hoped so.

Franco softened. “Don’t worry. They’ll find him.”

“Find who?” Sergio jumped in.

Franco lost his peace, looking like a monster confined to a cage. A monster who would gladly kill to get free. “The man you’re stopping us from saving, you fucking asshole. If he dies while you’re acting out some egotistical power trip, you’re going to be very fucking sorry.”

Sergio’s face glowed with righteous happiness. “Threat number two. You’re now classified as high risk prisoners, and I have full right to detain you until I feel you aren’t a risk to my fellow officers.”

Grabbing my elbow, he forced me forward. “Let’s go. A cell has your name on it.”

I had nothing left to lose. Nothing left to hide because if they locked me up, I knew in my bones I would never see Q again. I would die alone. I would cease to exist the moment I felt Q’s life snip from my own. “Please! It wasn’t a threat. It’s the truth.” I swallowed tears. “They took him. Quincy Mercer. Five men came and took him. You have to believe us!”

Sergio didn’t say another word as he stomped us through the hospital, past gawking patients and wide-eyed nurses.

With a punch to the large swinging doors of the exit, Sergio dragged me from bright hospital to dark evening.

A patrol car waited at the curb.

I struggled. “No! You don’t have any reason to arrest us. No reason at all!”

Sergio nodded for one of his men to open the car door. “No reason? Care to explain why pedestrians reported a topless woman pressed against the glass.” His eyes flew between Franco and me.

Franco raised his eyebrow in my direction.  “Damn fucking Mercer. He always has to go one step too far.” He caught my eye, a half-smile on his lips. “Always cleaning up his mess.”

 My tummy clenched, remembering Q inside me. The burn of him cutting my shoulder. I’d give anything to be curled up in bed with him talking, watching a movie.

I’d sell my soul to find him unharmed.

Bowing my head, I mumbled, “That was me. I take full responsibility. Can you write me a ticket and let me go?”

Sergio chuckled. “Public indecency is more than a ticket, miss. But it’s above that now. I believe there’s a conspiracy here. I believe some man—possibly not this man with you—but another, forced you to have intercourse. I also believe the sexual activity was interrupted by someone in a jealous rage and is now injured—by him.” Sergio pointed at Franco. “And until I understand the full story, no-one is leaving,
capisci
?”

“It wasn’t me. I didn’t hurt the man—but they fucking hurt me.” Franco pointed wryly to his bandaged hand and sling. “As you can see by evidence A.”

Sergio’s eyes narrowed. “Just how many men had a turn with you, miss? A threesome?  A bloody orgy in my city? How many infractions do you want to add to this tally?”

Franco shook his head, breathing hard. “It’s not like that. If you stopped and listened for one goddamn second you’d be saved a lot of paperwork and possibly a man’s life!”

Sergio lost his smooth good-cop routine, launching himself at Franco. Shoving him against the side of the car, he grunted, “We found blood on the carpet. And a bullet casing by the window. If we find out the bullet matches the guns we took from you, you’re in serious fucking trouble. So don’t start waving your dick around here because it won’t fucking work.”

Spinning away, he dragged a hand through his hair. “Get them in the car. Let’s go.”

My heart infested with panic as someone pressed my shoulders, shoving me into the vehicle. The vinyl seats squeaked as I fell sideways. I couldn’t push myself up with my wrists handcuffed behind my back.

Tears bubbled in my spine but I refused to let them drip.

Franco’s body partially landed on mine. He grunted in pain but managed to sit upright and with a bit of effort drag me into a sitting position. “You okay?”

My mind swam. How could this have got completely out of control?

Tick…

Tock…

Every passing minute took Q further and further away. I didn’t want to look at a clock. I didn’t want to see just how much time was being wasted by idiots of the Italian police force.

Q. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.

A sob clawed up my throat.

Franco patted my knee. “Don’t worry, Tess. It will be okay.”

Sergio climbed into the front seat, looking at us through the barred partition. “That’s what you think.”

The interview room was frozen-over hell.

All metal and mirror and steel. My hands and feet were blue with a mixture of fear and ice. I’d been uncuffed and thrown into the room about fifteen minutes ago.

Franco had been taken somewhere else.

I paced around the small space like a caged animal. My brain wouldn’t stop whizzing. My heart wouldn’t stop clanging. Claustrophobia clawed at my throat as the walls frosted over with icicles, crowding closer and closer and
closer.
Burying me alive in an icy tomb where Q would never find me.

I’m alone
.

Curling my hands, I shoved the self-pity away. I refused to bow to such useless emotions. I would get out of this. I would find Q. I would find him alive, and I would marry him the second I fell into his arms.

The heavy door clanked open.

Sergio Ponzio entered looking like a stuck-up peacock with way too much power. I hated the uncaring glint in his eyes. The unforgiving jaded look that said he’d heard every story, listened to every lie. He was finished having people make a fool of him.

Which was fine. I understood that. But when he was so blind he couldn’t see the truth—putting another’s life in jeopardy, then I couldn’t understand that. I couldn’t control the lava of frustration and hatred flowing in my veins. I didn’t know how long I’d be able to stop myself from ripping his heart out—because he obviously didn’t have one.

“Please. Sit,” he said, pointing at the metal chairs.

I moved stiffly, sitting with my hands balled tightly in my lap. I had enough infractions to battle through, without adding battery and assault to a police chief.

“Water?” His bushy eyebrow rose.

I shook my head, looking into the top right corner of the room.

Enemy. Saboteur. Betrayer.

The clock.

Tick…

Tock…

It was four a.m. Q had been taken almost five hours ago. Six life-altering, terror-filled hours.

The sob that built like a thunderstorm inside threatened to break free. It took all my strength to force it back down.

“Name?”

I glared from beneath my brow. I wanted to spit and tell him to shove his damn questions. But I had to cooperate. I had to be as polite and demure as possible if I had any chance of talking my way out of this.

Don’t get angry. Stay calm.

“Tess Snow.”

“Nationality.”

“Australian.”

He looked up, a smile tugging his lips. “Long way from home. It’s not the first time I’ve had to get tough with a drunken countryman of yours, or slap a citation for disorderly conduct.”