“I’m Jericho St. James. Do you remember me?”
“What do you want?” I ask, not bothering to answer his question.
“A few hours of your time. That’s all. You’ll be safe.”
“I doubt that,” I say, slipping the knife out and flipping it open.
One corner of his mouth quirks upward as he glances at the knife between us. He’s not afraid of me. That’s obvious. Entertained maybe, but not afraid. It pisses me off.
He shifts his gaze to mine. “That’s not necessary, Mara. Put it away before you hurt yourself.”
Why do men always do that? Belittle? I want to tell him to go fuck himself. “Stop the car. Let me out.”
“I wish I could.” He reaches toward me, and I jab the knife in his direction realizing the ridiculousness of the situation. Locked in this car with this giant of a man. At least I have the blade though. Even if it is small, it hurt Alvarez. It slowed him down long enough for Dante to get there.
But then I remember Dante isn’t coming tonight. He sent me away. He doesn’t want me.
He puts his hands up, palms facing me. “Just wanted to fasten your belt.”
“I said let me out,” I scream it.
“Put that away. Last time I’ll ask.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
He smiles, not trying to hide anything now. The next thing I know, as swiftly as Dante did it when I took his knife from him, Jericho St. James makes his move. He’s just as fast, his big hand closing around my wrist while the other relieves me of the switchblade. He releases me, checks the sharpness then closes it.
“Fasten your seatbelt,” he says more firmly and tucks my knife into his pocket.
“That’s mine.”
“You’ll get it back later. In fact, I may even give you an upgrade.”
“What do you want with me? Is Noah all right? The soldiers?”
“They’ll be fine. Like I said, I made sure no one would be hurt. Just knocked out for a while.”
I’m not sure if I can believe him.
“As for what I want, I need something from someone you know, and I need you in order to get it.”
I feel my blood run cold. Feel goosebumps rise along the length of my arms. Because I know what’s coming. “You’re taking me back to him.”
His jaw clenches, face tightening. “You’ll be safe.”
“I’ll be safe if you stop the car and let me out now.”
“I’m sorry but I can’t do that.”
“You mean you won’t. It’s a choice. You’re making a choice!”
The driver takes a turn, and we get onto the highway heading out of the city. I look out the back window as the lights of the town fade into the distance. I know the farther we go, the less likely it will be for Dante to find me. If he even knows I’ve been taken. If he even cares.
“Perhaps you’d like to meet the baby.”
“Baby?” I’m surprised by this turn in tactic but am instantly suspicious. “Kimberly died. The baby is dead.”
A shadow flicks through his eyes and it’s as though he almost winces at my words. “No. The baby, well, she’s five years old now. Not a baby anymore. She survived. You’re right about Kimberly, though. She died. You can see for yourself once we arrive at the house. I know my daughter will be excited to meet you.”
He must see the confusion on my face because he appears gentler in the next moment.
“Please put your seatbelt on. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
“If you’re so concerned about my safety then why would you give me back to Felix? He will hurt me.”
“I’ve arranged things, so he won’t get a chance to.”
“Please.”
“I’m sorry, Mara. But I need to protect my little girl.”
We drive for almost an hour back in the direction of New York City but bypass the exits and eventually drive through the guarded gates of a secluded community. I sit up, watch as the driver takes turn after turn until we’re on a cul-de-sac with a tall wall securing the only property. It’s reminiscent of a few days ago when we drove up to the Todt Hill house, the gates that open similar, the armed soldiers indistinguishable from Dante’s.
Lights shine in the windows both upstairs and downstairs in the mansion. Once the SUV comes to a stop before the front doors, Jericho St. James climbs out and closes the door. The driver remains where he is as Jericho walks around to my side of the vehicle. He talks to a soldier whom he dismisses as he opens my door.
“Out,” he says, standing to the side to let me climb down.
I’m wet and cold and shuddering as I slip out of the vehicle.
“It’s warm inside,” he says as the SUV drives off and leaves us standing before the formidable house. “Come, Mara.”
He takes care not to touch me. I know he can drag me in if he wants. It would probably take little effort but he’s not. And I don’t have much of a choice, so I climb the few steps up to the double front doors, Jericho following at a short distance. Two armed men stand outside, nodding to him as the door is opened. Inside is lit up warmly and I hear and smell the fire I can see in the oversized fireplace in the foyer. When he closes the door behind me, I look around, taking in the grand dining room, a formal living room. From beyond it is a door that’s slightly ajar. The light is on inside and I can hear voices. A TV program. Singing. And a child’s whispered voice singing along.