Eventually, the flight lands, and my feet are still unsteady as I hurry through the terminal. I try calling Katie, but she still doesn't pick up her phone. The moment I'm outside, it's dark and chilly for spring. It feels remarkably like snow.
I pull my jacket tighter and head for the cab stand to grab a ride to my sister's house.
"Lucy, come with me." His breath tickles my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. He jabs the gun at my back, and while I haven't turned around to see who it is, that accent, I recognize.
He's with the men who threatened my son. He's one of the Italians, part of the mafia.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Quiet! You don't get to ask the questions." He grabs my arm and forcefully draws me away from the cabs and bystanders waiting for their rides. He walks at a brisk clip, practically jogging, but I'm not sure why.
His gun is pressed against my ribcage, and his jacket conceals the weapon, but I know without a doubt that he'll pull the trigger if I so much as scream for help. And if I'm dead, who will protect my little boy and my sister?
"Where are you taking me?"
"What did I say about the questions?" He's rough and escorts me to his vehicle, a black SUV with tinted windows. He shoves me into the back seat and slams the door shut behind me. It's just the two of us. I could incapacitate him, but if he's done something with Zion and Katie, then he may take me to them.
I sit in the back of the SUV. He's forgotten to frisk me, not that I could have harbored a weapon. I just got off an airplane. I don't have any luggage with me—just my phone.
Carefully, I pull it from my pocket, ensuring he doesn't notice. I don't have Nikita's phone number. It's not like we're friends, but right now, he's the one person who can help me out of this situation. He's scary. And let's face it, he's not friends with the Italians, making him the perfect person to help.
Except I don't know how to get ahold of him or any of his men.
"Eyes forward!" the Italian man shouts at me.
I roll my eyes and slouch in the back seat, staring straight ahead. I'd rather be stuck with Nikita than this goon any day.
For a supposed monster, Nikita doesn't seem all bad. But I'd spent one day with the man. I hadn't exactly seen all sides of him.
"Where are you taking me?"
He glances up in the rearview mirror, his eyes cold and distant. There's no answer from his lips. His attention is turned back toward the road.
I glance out the window. It's dark outside. I'm not incredibly familiar with the city, but we're heading south on the highway. I can't exactly open the back door and jump out of the SUV, assuming the doors aren't child-locked. I'm sure there's no easy way out.
"How'd you know where to find me?" I ask.
"Enough with the questions! Silence!" he shouts.
I'm irritating him. Good.
"I don't have the painting," I say, stating the obvious. "I couldn't get it through security."
He doesn't answer. He ignores me, and maybe it's for the best. I hate small talk with bad guys. I fold my arms across my chest. We zip past cars, one after the next. He's not the least bit careful about not getting pulled over. Maybe a cop will stop him for a speeding violation if I'm lucky.
Then, again, the man doesn't seem like the type to pull over for an officer.
He glances again in the rearview. His gaze on me a moment longer than necessary, he holds out his hand. "Give me your phone."
"What? No way."
"Do you want me to pull over and come and get it?"
I shove my hand forward with my cell phone. He snatches it, rolls down the window, and tosses it outside.
"What the hell was that for?" I shriek. I had photos of Zion on my phone and videos of him growing up.
"Don't want your boyfriend following us."
Boyfriend. Who is he talking about?
He must see the confusion on my face when he glances in the rearview mirror before hitting the gas harder. "Nikita Krylova. He was in your motel last night."
I open my mouth to object that it isn't like that, but it's none of his damn business.
"Enjoy the storm?" I ask. If he was hanging out in the parking lot, did Nikita see him? Maybe they put surveillance on the place and were watching from the outside. I don't want to think about them watching inside my hotel room. The hairs on my arms stand on end.
"That's not the only thing that was enjoyed," he snickers.
There's no way he has eyes inside the motel. Nothing happened between Nikita and me. A big fat nothing. And I should be happy about that, but I'm not quite sure why I'm not.
Nikita probably doesn't even realize that I'm a woman. He barely pays attention to me except to chastise and interrogate me. Well, it doesn't matter. If I make it out of here alive, it's not like I ever have to see him again.
I'm not working for him. I refuse to work for free or pay off some stupid debt he feels that I owe.
He bolts across four lanes of traffic as we take the next exit leading to another highway. The city is behind us and growing farther in the distance. He's not a cautious driver, and I'm surprised he hasn't had a half-dozen cars honking at him for changing lanes brashly.