Chapter 43
LAUREL
I stopped taking my medication as soon as Ryan left. Anything was better than the side effects, and my trust in him and his doctors was nonexistent.
But quitting the drugs cold turkey was a shock to my system, and I spent the rest of the day quaking on the bathroom floor, unable to keep anything down.
At one point, Plavko slipped in and set two large bottles of water beside me on the tile floor. He said nothing and disappeared instantly. I would have thought it was a hallucination, but the bottles came from somewhere, and I was too weak to move.
I drank them both, grateful.
It was dark outside when he reappeared and thrust his phone at me.
“It is Mr. Juric,” he said, his expression strange. “You are tired from dancing, yes?”
It took me a half-second to understand what he meant. He hadn’t told his boss where I was or what shape I was in.
“Yes. Thank you,” I whispered and brought the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Why didn’t you answer when I called?” Ryan’s tone was pointed.
“I must have left it in my bedroom.” I held Plavko’s gaze as I said it. “I’ve been in the studio the last couple hours.”
“Oh.” His worry seemed to dissipate. “How did your session go with Dr. Vorbusch?”
I raised an eyebrow, surprised that Plavko hadn’t told him I’d had the doctor thrown out either. “It was . . . fine.”
The conversation was brief. A simple check-in to make sure I was okay and not lonely. When the call ended, I passed the phone back to Plavko and gave him a questioning look. He seemed so different today, like he was a different person altogether when Ryan wasn’t around.
“You feel better tomorrow,” he said gently.
Before I could ask how he knew that, he was gone.
I spent another hour on the bathroom floor, and when I felt strong enough, I dragged myself to the bed where long, dreamless sleep followed.
He’d been right. The next morning, I was lightheaded and weak, but I was able to stand and my appetite was back. I made my way to the kitchen and ate. For the first time since I’d come to on the railing, I truly ate.
And when that was done, I focused on the task I should have done the moment Ryan had left—I searched his room.
I dug through dresser drawers, scanned his closet, rifled through the bathroom cabinets. I sought out any place that might give me insight, and it was beyond frustrating each time I came up empty.
The library had nothing but books. There were no pictures of us or our families. No letters or documents or personal items. How was there not a shred of evidence of the people who lived here?
My final stop was his bland-looking office.
The door groaned open, and it was ten degrees cooler inside the room. The desk was my first target, but its drawers were full of paperwork in foreign languages with nothing I could decipher, other than the occasional number or various currency sign.
The only thing I understood was the contact information he’d scribbled on his desk pad. It was the name and number of the man who’d marry us tomorrow. The longer I searched, the higher my anxiety climbed.
There was not a goddamn thing about him in here, or any other room of the house. I sat back in his chair, feeling defeated. How the fuck was I supposed to marry a man I didn’t know?
The door creaked as a pair of eyes looked in on me, and then the shadow was gone.
“Wait,” I cried.
Plavko returned, his face an enigma.
“Can you help me? I can’t read any of this.” I held up a handful of papers.
He made his way into the room, scanned the page, and dropped it to the desktop like he was unable to read it. “Latvian.”
I snatched up a new sheet in a different language. “What about this one?”
“Bill of sale.”
“For what?”
“Sig P two two nine.”
I scrunched my forehead. “Which is what?”
He slipped a hand inside his suit jacket and withdrew a very sophisticated, very deadly-looking handgun, and set it on the desk. “Looks like this.”
My heart hammered against my chest. “It looks like this,” trepidation filled my voice, “but it’s not this?”
“Not this. Safe.”
Safe? My eyes widened. “Where is the safe?”
I’d somehow missed it in his closet, just behind his rack of ties. The black box had a simple steel handle and a digital keypad on the front.
“Do you know the code?” I asked. He was wordless and unmoving, and desperation broke into my voice. “Please. We’re getting married tomorrow, and I don’t have a clue who he is.”
Plavko drew in a deep, preparing breath. He punched in the code and turned the handle, but he hesitated before pulling the door open. “I hope this helps.”
I didn’t hear him leave.
The first thing I saw was a U.S. passport. I flipped it open, and the picture inside chilled me to my core. My hair was blonde, it fell much farther past my shoulders than it did now, and there was a glassy look in my eyes.
Was I drunk? Or drugged?
My name wasn’t Laurel Hayward. According to this passport, it was Rebecca March.
I set it to the side and dug deeper, pushing aside bottles of prescription drugs with labels in languages I couldn’t read. There were more passports. Italy, Russia, Maldives. Some were for me and some for Ryan, all in different names.
I flipped through them faster, my pulse skyrocketing with each one. Where did these come from, and why did he have them? I jerked my hand back when it touched the metal of a gun and collapsed back onto the floor, horrified.
Who the fuck was this man, and had anything he’d told me been true?
Abruptly, Plavko’s footsteps echoed in the hall, as if he were being noisy on purpose. Oh, shit. He was warning me.
“Laurel?” Ryan’s voice rang out.
There wasn’t time to panic or wonder why he was back early. I threw the passports in the safe, shut it, and darted across the way into his bathroom.
“In here,” I replied, trying not to sound out of breath.
As soon as he came into sight, I felt a crushing need to run.
He glanced around the bathroom before setting his suspicious gaze on me. “What are you doing?”
“I . . . don’t remember.”
He softened, accepting it instantly, and strode over to wrap his arms around me in a hug. His tone was joking. “You still remember me?”
When he lowered in for a kiss, I twisted away. “I’m not so sure.” My voice was cold. “Remind me of your name.”
He sobered. “It’s Ryan.”
I pushed free from his embrace. “You’re lying.”
His face went blank. “What makes you say that?”
“Your safe full of fake passports.”
He seemed strangely relieved. “That’s so we can hide. Stay safe.”
“Why do I look drugged in the pictures?”
“Why do you . . .?” He looked confused. “Probably because you were. You’d just been released from the hospital.”
I supposed that made sense, but I didn’t trust him at all. “I remember the theater shooting,” I said. “Tell me what happened in the parking garage.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, assuming a defiant posture. “No.”
“Then I can’t marry you.”
He took a sharp breath, and his whole face changed. It announced he was over it. Finally ready to give up the charade. His expression changed further, becoming dark and murderous.
Instincts took over, forcing me to step back, away from him.
“You will obey me,” he commanded in a voice I hadn’t heard before, one that promised violence if I didn’t do as I was told. “You will say yes to me, Laurel.”
The earth shifted. An enormous force pressed down, shattering me into a million pieces, and everything went black.