11. Don’t Panic
eleven
Don’t Panic
Visions of shattering glass and the echoes of rapid-fire pop-pop-pop worked together with the jostling of wherever she actually was to drag Grace back to consciousness. Her head hurt, and for a long, petrifying moment, she was certain that she’d gone blind. It was so dark.
Her body was jarred again, the surface beneath her seeming to jump and bump sharply, which only served to knock her around. She tipped forward, her forehead connecting with something cool and solid. Something almost metallic. And a terrible possibility whispered to her over the ringing in her ears.
Grace attempted to adjust herself, moving carefully, and found that while her body was sore, nothing felt broken. Nothing was restrained. Except she quickly realized she was folded into a box-like space. A space that was moving, sometimes bouncing, where she could hear the muffled but nonetheless familiar roar of fast-paced road noise.
Her stomach rolled. She was in a trunk.
She vaguely remembered the attack on the SUV as her hands found the outer edge of the mystery trunk. Her mind replayed the moments after someone had fired an actual real-life rocket launcher at the vehicle, obliterating what had probably been bullet-proof windows. She remembered seeing Al twist as if reaching for something behind him, something like a weapon, and she remembered seeing his body jump and twitch unnaturally in his seat.
At some point the vehicle had tipped, though she didn’t as clearly recall why or how, and the airbags had finally deployed. That was probably the only reason her head didn’t hurt worse than it did. Still, the inflation of the life-saving bags was the last thing she really remembered. That, and thinking the very devices meant to save her were going to be what got her caught.
Her fingers slid over a change in the surface and she paused. Taillight.
People always said to kick those out or at least pull the wiring if you got kidnapped, right? She knew she’d heard that. Granted, internet advice was probably not the greatest thing to be dependent on, but Grace wasn’t sure she had a whole lot to lose. The one place she definitely did not want to be was in this car, going wherever her abductors were taking her.
There was always the chance no one was around. But in that case, all that would happen was nothing. It would really be much worse if there was a second car of attackers—whom she had to assume were the gangsters at war with the De Salvos—and those were the ones who spotted her attempt. If she didn’t try, she ended up in the worst-case scenario.
She couldn’t allow that to happen.
Grace was the first to admit she was not a car person. She knew several brands by name and logo, but the most complicated thing she knew was how to change a tire. And she hadn’t learned that until college, because her parents had believed a woman wasn’t meant for that kind of labor.
That doesn’t mean I can’t do this.
She held still for another several seconds, hyper focused on the road noise filling the box around her. It seemed loud. Though she did still have a splitting headache, too. More importantly, she couldn’t afford to assume she had all the time in the world. So Grace shifted herself as much as her confined quarters allowed, moving her feet toward where she estimated the second brake light to be. If she missed, she was only going to make too much noise. And even though, with her head closer to the interior boundary, she could clearly hear something that sounded like rock music coming from inside the cabin of the car, she couldn’t assume her actions would go unnoticed. She could only hope.
She bit her lips, carefully toed the break in surface to be as sure as possible of her aim, and made herself consider all she stood to lose if she screwed up.
As much as she liked her job, and as proud of herself as she was for getting there, that job wasn’t what she was fighting for. She finally had a chance at the thing she wanted even more than a stable, respectable, self-sufficient career. She finally had hope for a future with a man who made her heart race, a man who had no need to use her for a damn thing, and a man who wanted what she did. She finally had a chance, soon, to be a wife and a mother. She could have that loving family she’d always dreamed of.
If she just got out of this damn car.
Grace pulled her feet back several inches and kicked as hard as she was capable of, as hard as she ever had in her life. She made sure to keep her mouth shut despite the way her knees disliked the motion and her ankle threatened to twist. She was sure she felt something give, so she waited a beat, then did it again.
On the third try, the light finally gave. She nearly sobbed with relief, even though her shoe went with it. Even though she scraped her heel pulling her foot back in.
She held still then, and sure enough, the music stopped. Her hackles rose and she didn’t dare breathe, convinced her kidnappers were trying to listen for suspicious sounds coming from the trunk.
She wasn’t sure how long passed before the music cranked back up, and only then did she pull in a deep breath. Okay. I can do this. Grace worked carefully, making as little noise as possible, to shimmy herself around until she could reach the opening she’d made.
She had no desire to shred her wrist on the pieces of jagged glass or plastic or whatever it was that hadn’t broken away, so before shoving her arm through, she slipped one arm out of her coat and scooted enough to pull the other higher up her palm. It was heavy enough material, at least, that it would offer a level of protection. It was better than nothing. Romeo would certainly forgive her for destroying it. With that in position, she shoved her hand through the hole, making sure the coat sleeve was what snagged on the sharpest edges. When her hand was clear and her wrist could roll, she started waving.
She would wave like a madwoman if she had to, and she wasn’t going to stop until the trunk popped open.
The scene was a disaster.
The Aviator was destroyed. It had been on its side, riddled with bullets, all the windows blown out, and still partially burning when Romeo arrived. Bullet casings and actual fucking scorch marks marred the street.
He should have said that the worst thing about the scene was Al’s unfortunate fate. Al was dead. Al hadn’t even made it out of the car. He appeared to have been gunned down while still strapped in. His gun had been extracted from the wreckage and it had been confirmed, the man hadn’t managed to get off a single shot.
Romeo was angry about that. He’d liked Al well enough, and now it was in part his fault the man was gone.
But the actual worst thing about the entire disastrous scene was the absolute lack of Grace. She wasn’t trapped in the wreckage of the car. She wasn’t hiding behind a roadside tree. She was completely missing. The closest thing they had to any sign of her was a short, stomach-churning, trail of blood.
Blood.
It sprinkled the asphalt in a jagged line moving away from the destroyed Aviator. More had been found inside, smeared on the airbags in the backseat.
“It looks like they took off from here,” Cristiano said, crouched beside the curved black tread marks just beyond the end of the blood trail. He jerked a thumb down the road. “They’d have reconnected with the interstate about a half mile that way. With the turnpike up ahead, it’s hard to guess which direction they went.”
Romeo dragged in a breath, the cold air like shards of ice sliding down his throat.
Dante stepped away from the man he’d been speaking to. “Have you learned anything useful from that punk we have in custody?”
Cris straightened, his head sweeping from one side to the other like he hadn’t already scanned the scene. “They were definitely Ink Blots,” he said. “I asked him about Tracey but all I’ve gotten is the unconfirmed sense that the guy we grabbed didn’t much care for the man.” He focused on them. “So far, the little shit’s insisting they didn’t really know why they were being sent after her. Only that they were supposed to kill Grace and anyone who caught sight of them along the way.”
“Bull-fucking-shit,” Romeo said with a grunt.
Dante inclined his head. “I’ll have you postpone the rest of that conversation. Finding Grace needs to be our first priority.” He cut his gaze to Romeo. “I presume you agree.”
“Obviously I fucking agree,” Romeo snapped. He opened his mouth to say more, to demand they clear out and just let a cleanup crew deal with the scene, when his phone started ringing. For a split-second, he stared down at his coat as though he didn’t understand. Then hope surged through him and he hurried to extract his phone, saying a silent prayer—or the closest he ever came—that Grace had gotten away from her abductors and found a phone. Any phone. He’d answer any damn number right now.
That hope was crushed beneath a fresh layer of fear when he saw the number for Lucia’s private school on the display. He really couldn’t handle shit happening to both the central females of his life on the same goddamn day.
He had to clear his throat as he put the phone to his ear, working to remember not to snap. “This is Romeo.” He saw Dante’s eyes narrow, watching.
“So sorry to bother you, Mr. De Salvo,” an older female voice said on other end of the line. It took him a moment to place her as the headmistress of the school and he fought not to grind his teeth.
Impatient and mildly petrified, Romeo cut in. “Is Lucy—”
“Lucia’s fine,” Mrs. Sunter said quickly. “We’re doing our best to keep her from becoming aware of the situation, however … well, there’s no easy way to say this. There’s a rather agitated woman at the school gate demanding to pull her from class, insisting she is Lucia’s mother.”
Romeo felt the world come to a full stop.
I’m coming for what’s mine
The note he’d been dragged out to see. The stupid, obscure note that hadn’t made sense. Left from a lamely disguised woman in a rental car that had, apparently, been acquired with cash. With everything else going on, Mikey hadn’t gotten to looking at the documents from the rental company yet. He didn’t need to now. Romeo knew, as surely as he knew anything, that the woman who’d vandalized his gate was the same as the one now making as scene Lucy’s school.
Amber fucking Hester.
She’d finally crawled out of whatever hole she’d fallen into. And she had the motherfucking gall to think she could just rip Lucia’s life apart for her own personal gain, probably for nothing more than the child support Romeo would naturally then have to pay.
“Mr. De Salvo?” the headmistress asked carefully when he was silent too long.
Dante’s hand landed on his shoulder and only then did Romeo realize he’d actually physically stumbled.
Romeo found his voice, trying not to break his phone as he clutched it too tightly. “Can you send me a photo?” It was best not to jump to conclusions before lobbying accusations. Despite his certainty. There was still, maybe, a slim chance the woman was just some Ink Blot associate trying to distract him. Everything could be one large plot all coming together.
“Of course,” Mrs. Sunter said. “I’ll have it sent to your email immediately. Please let us know what you’d like us to do as soon as you see it. The gates will be opening again when classes end.”
“Don’t let any unauthorized person near my daughter,” Romeo said firmly. “That stands. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.” He disconnected but kept the phone in his hand, waiting for the ping of a new email.
“Lucia?” Dante asked, voice low so as not to carry.
Cristiano stepped closer, too.
Romeo’s phone chimed and he lifted it. “Problem at the school.” He swiped open the email and tapped to view the attachment. Something crushed into his chest, preventing him from breathing, as he looked at the impeccably clear image of a woman he’d once thought he’d known. She’d lost a fair amount of weight, her hair was longer and dyed blonde, and her facial features verged on gauntly. But a man didn’t forget the mother of his child, whether he wanted to or not.
“Brother,” Dante said, “talk to us. Are the Ink Blots targeting Lucy’s school?”
Something like a helpless laugh tore out of him. “I fucking wish,” he said before he could stop himself. He downloaded the image and forwarded it to Mikey’s direct email with a couple taps of his thumb, then lifted his gaze. He wasn’t sure what expression was on his face, but judging from the open concern on Dante’s and Cris’s faces, it couldn’t have been good. “I know who egged me this morning, and she’s at the goddamn school now.” As if he didn’t already have something important to be doing. “Amber.”
“Fuck,” Cris muttered.
Dante raised a hand and motioned someone over, anger darkening his expression. His gaze shifted away from Romeo, to the person who settled at Romeo’s shoulder. Mo. “Get him to Mother’s, now.” He looked back at Romeo. “Cris and I will do everything we can to find Grace. You need to secure Lucy before you can rejoin this search.”
He’d never felt more torn. Even knowing his brother was right, and despite how badly he wanted to take the concerning threat away from his daughter, Romeo felt as though he was betraying the woman he’d only that morning promised to protect. If he hadn’t already completely failed her. But he couldn’t fail both of them, and there was still something he could do to keep Lucia safe.
He nodded once to his brother and his cousin, then turned and walked with Mo back to their SUV. Only after he was buckled in did he even remember to call the school again.
“Did you recognize her?” Mrs. Sunter asked after a quick greeting.
“Yeah,” Romeo said. “She has no rights to my daughter. I’m on my way, but it’s gonna take me at least twenty minutes to get out to you. If that woman gets past the gate before I’m there, call the fucking police.” Never his first or favorite method, but he’d covered his bases after Amber had run away. He didn’t just have possession of his daughter, he had sole legal custody of her.
“Is she really back, sir?” Mo asked after Romeo was off the phone.
“Fucking looks that way.” Romeo turned his gaze out the window, chest still uncomfortably tight. Wherever you are, angel, hang in there. I’ll get to you as soon as I can. Not knowing what the hell else he could do and feeling useless just sitting around, he picked up his phone again and started scrolling. It didn’t qualify as a distraction, but he wasn’t looking for that. He just wanted to try and trick himself into believing everything would be all right.
Grace could feel the fatigue in her arm, but she refused to give up. She had no idea how long she’d been waving it back and forth, occasionally flapping her fingers in an effort to prove she wasn’t some trick doll. It’s not futile. Someone would see her. Someone would call the police.
Granted, it had occurred to her that the police might not be the ideal solution given what she’d recently learned about her new lover and his family. But until that morning she’d been somehow—humiliatingly—blind to their other life. She could surely still earnestly claim to know them only as upright businessmen. If anyone could make that argument, she was in the best position to do so. Just as soon as she got out of this dark, cramped trunk and away from the men taking her to her death.
The thought was barely through her head before she heard something both terrifying and thrilling. The single pulse of a police siren. She caught the flash of blue-red circling light through the gaps around her arm and hope soared in her chest. If they hadn’t seen her somehow, then she’d wave harder and she’d make sure they saw her.
So she splayed her fingers as best she could and did exactly that, begging the powers-that-be that her abductors wouldn’t turn this into some high-speed chase. For a long moment, only the sound of music coming from the cab changed.
Then, finally, the car slowed to a stop.
She thought she heard muttering in the silence that followed, then one of the men in the car raised his voice and she realized with a start he was speaking for her.
“If that bitch makes a single sound, just fucking shoot her. You can’t miss.”
Dread crawled in over the hope and she clamped her half-open lips tightly shut. She was well aware she took up most of the space in the trunk, even if she’d twisted around from how they’d dumped her in. Her intention of shouting out when someone got near was dashed, for her own sake, but she still had her protruding arm. And from the indirect warning, she didn’t think they’d realized.
So when she heard movement drawing closer, rustling like someone walking up, she wiggled her hand with the most urgency she could manage. It was somehow scarier with the fresh threat of being shot hovering over her.
She nearly yelped when a warm, calloused hand clasped hers. Just for a second. Then it released and the presence continued by. Her heart settled into a more acceptable rhythm and Grace realized what it had been. A reassurance. She’d been seen.
Tears rushed her eyes and she had to bite into her lips to keep them at bay, to keep herself from breaking into premature sobs. She wasn’t truly saved yet. It was best not to get ahead of herself.
More voices, all male tones, carried from through from the cab. Everything was calm at first. Then she heard a distinct tapping over the trunk and what sounded like a firm demand to pop the lid.
As carefully as she could, Grace withdrew her aching and probably bleeding arm.
Almost simultaneously, the calm voices erupted into shouting. It was hard to keep up with everything that was said. It sounded like chaos, but certain pieces jumped out at her.
“Exit the vehicle with your hands up!”
“Fuckin’ floor it!”
“Hands!”
She heard something about a weapon and more variations of commands to get out of the car, and a lot more cursing, and all at once the car lurched forward. She couldn’t help but shriek briefly, clapping her hands over her mouth in an attempt to stop herself in the hopes they wouldn’t have heard her.
Instead, the car came to an abrupt stop seconds later as a horrendous crash of metal-on-metal and a violent jolt reverberated through the frame. She screamed again, tears leaking free, and wasn’t entirely sure whether or not she’d taken a hit when she heard the echo of a gunshot in the melee.
“—trunk! Pop the trunk!” someone shouted from beyond the car. His voice drifted through the hole of the missing brake light.
Fresh desperation slammed into her and Grace forgot all the fears shackling her into silence. She slammed her palms against the nearest flat surface, kicked at the walls beneath her feet, and screamed at the top of her lungs. She wasn’t even sure the word ‘help’ properly formed on her tongue. One of her bare toes bent improperly, sending a new zing of pain flying through her, but she hardly recognized it.
More shouting reached her ears and another gunshot went off as the car physically shook, and then all at once, the lid of the trunk released. Daylight and a sweeping gust of fresh air rolled over her, more welcome than she’d ever imagined.
Grace reared back, blinking rapidly and hoping she wouldn’t have to fight off whoever had abducted her.
A man in a police uniform leaned into her line of sight with a gentle smile. “It’s all right, ma’am,” he said. “We’ve got an ambulance on the way for you. Let’s get you out of here.”
She licked her lips, clutching uselessly to Romeo’s ruined coat. “Home,” she whispered, tears rushing her eyes. “I want to go home…”
He held out a hand. “How about we get you to a hospital, and maybe someone comes to take you home from there?”
Grace registered the sound of approaching sirens in the distance and forced herself to unclench, just a little. She nodded and let him help her out of the trunk. It was an awkward fumble, and another officer ended up coming to help, but she made it out.
The officers kept her from turning toward the car, and quietly asked her a few seemingly simple and rather obvious questions, so she answered with relative honesty. It only took another minute for two ambulances to arrive, and she was ushered without argument over to the nearest one. The officer who’d made first contact gave her his card, wished her well, and mentioned possibly reaching out in the future. They didn’t even say anything about offering protection until she was safely at home, or at least safely at the hospital.
Grace tucked the card away before allowing the paramedics to guide her back on the gurney and close the doors. “Is it possible to make a call?” she asked the female, who was fussing over the cuts on her wrist.
The male, making notes on a chart, glanced up. “You’ll be able to call whoever you need from the hospital.”
Grace frowned, sniffled, and said, “Then could we get going? Surely you can understand why I don’t want to stay here.”
“We need to get some temporary stitches on this before we go anywhere,” the female finally said. She started reaching for supplies as the male set down the papers he was working on, strapped on gloves of his own, and moved up to help.
All Grace could do was sit there, pain not-so-slowly setting in, as the paramedics followed their own routine. She wanted nothing more than to be back in Romeo’s arms, but it felt like it might still be hours before she’d even be allowed to call him.