Chapter 6
Six
Kingston
Ella’s mouth twists in horrified concern. “Kidnapped?”
“That’s what witnesses say. I need to go there, give whatever help I can to the police.”
“Of course,” she says, tugging me into a quick hug. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Stay here. Stay safe. Can you do that? I’ll come home as soon as I can.”
“Yes, I can do that. Go. I’ll clean up from dinner.”
I look around at the scattered rose petals and the lit candles. Ella has already started getting containers for our leftovers and clearing the table. This was supposed to be a romantic interlude, just the two of us. And once again, work has come up.
No, not work. This is an emergency. Kristin could be in real danger.
Still, I say, “I’m so sorry. Rain check on tonight?”
“Hey, it isn’t ruined,” she says, setting down a glass container that she’s filling with edamame. “We had a nice dinner and a great conversation. I’ll be warming your bed when you get home. I really hope Kristin is okay…I feel bad for being jealous of her, now.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” I hug her one more time. “I love you. See you soon.”
She squeezes me back. “Go. I love you, too.”
I dial Jaxon Marsel as I leave Ella behind in my penthouse.
“Kingston,” he says. “Didn’t expect to hear from you again so soon.”
I called him after lunch today, to see about adding Ironwood’s security to my company’s protection protocols. “I’m going to need your services earlier than anticipated.”
“We were going to put together a proposal for you to review on Friday,” he says. “That’s not soon enough?”
“One of my top employees has just been forced into a van in front of the Tyler building,” I say. “I’m heading over to the police station talk to the detective on the case.”
“Come by my office after. Ryder and I will meet you there.”
An officer takes me directly to Detective Baldwin’s office. The brown-haired detective stands up and shakes my hand. “We have to stop meeting like this,” he says with a frown.
“Agreed,” I say. “How can I help you find Kristin?”
“Ms. Wayfield was taken when leaving the Tyler building,” Baldwin says. “What time did you leave today?”
I think back. “Around seven, seven-thirty,” I say. “We probably have footage of the lobby—”
“Yes, I’ve already requested it from the building’s security team. They’ve been helpful and accommodating.”
That good—they’ve been instructed to always cooperate with law enforcement, within reason. “If there’s anything else you need from them, or from our records, please let me know,” I say.
“At the moment, I want to know if Ms. Wayfield ever mentioned any personal problems to you,” Baldwin says.
I shake my head. “None.”
“Nothing like debts, or gambling problems? Drugs? Family issues with the same?”
“No,” I say, “we only talked about work.”
“Have you noticed anyone following you or Kristin? Or any of your other employees?”
“No.”
“Anything else suspicious?”
I shake my head. “There was the bomb threat, which you’re probably aware of. But the device turned out to be a fake. Then there was a hacking attempt.”
“Yes, I’m aware of those.” He sits back in his rickety desk chair and sighs.
“There’re too many possibilities. I’d like to rule out any connections to Tyler Analytics, but given recent events, I don’t think it’s safe to rule out this kidnapping being connected to your company somehow.
Does Ms. Wayfield possess privileged information? ”
“She knows details about a few specific accounts,” I say. “Her passwords can lead to more sensitive information, but we have extra safeguards in place to protect that info.”
Baldwin purses his lips and nods before typing what I assume must be notes into his computer. “Okay. Thank you for your time, Mr. Tyler.”
“Of course. I’ll do whatever I can to help you find her. Call me anytime.”
“I appreciate that. And if you don’t mind me making a suggestion. In case you haven’t already considered it, you may want to increase your security measures.”
“I was already working on that,” I say, “but I appreciate the recommendation nonetheless.”
I leave the police station and drive to the Ironwood building. There, Ryder is arriving at the same time I am. He shakes my hand in greeting.
“Jaxon’s upstairs,” he says, leading me through the security lines and to an elevator which requires an access code. We have similar measures in the Tyler building. I wonder what recommendations Jaxon and Ryder are going to have for me.
Shit. I can’t believe Kristin was fucking kidnapped .
We get into Jaxon’s office. Jaxon strides forward and shakes my hand before gesturing us toward a more comfortable seating area. He’s holding a tablet and clicks some buttons to illuminate a screen nearby. Immediately, a rough blueprint of the Tyler building comes up.
They take me floor-by-floor through the different ways they can improve security, and how much it’ll cost.
“We also have a private investigation department,” Ryder adds after I’ve agreed to hire Ironwood. “We can look into the kidnapping if you’d like us to handle that as well.”
“I would,” I say, relieved. “I want her found and returned to her life.”
Ryder gives me a grim smile. “Good. I’ve already called in the team and they’ve gotten started.”
I like these guys. They’re more than competent, and while I am hopeful that Detective Baldwin and the SEPD can find Kristin, I feel better knowing that I’m taking extra steps toward that goal.
Sebastian
Kingston can’t seem to catch a fucking break. He’s been working around the clock with the police department and with Ironwood Security, as well as the Tyler Analytics security team, to try to find his colleague.
Ella has stayed at Kingston’s place the first night that Kristin was kidnapped, and with me last night.
Is it crazy that I don’t want her sleeping alone, in her apartment, when Kristin is missing?
Like, if someone could snatch Kristin out of nowhere on a crowded, well-traveled street, how can Ella be safe?
Which is why, when Ella asks me to come with her to the practice room on campus, I say fuck yes, and insist on picking her up and taking her there. My driver, Kellan, gets us as close as possible, then Ella and I walk to the building, holding hands.
Ella plays around, singing, playing, jotting down lyrics and chords in a notebook. I close my eyes and relax in a chair in the corner, just absorbing her joy and enthusiasm.
“Are you sure you’re not annoyed by all this?” she asks for the third time.
I crack open an eye to glare at her. “I’m sure. This is fucking heaven, princess. Listening to you have a good time, witnessing the creation of your music. There is nothing more peaceful than this, right here with you. Relax, okay? I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”
“Okay, okay,” she says. “If you’re so sure. I want you to listen to this one. I think it’s done. At least, I can’t figure out what else I would do to change it.”
She plays the song she’d played for me before, and there’s an additional verse.
Your breath is my breath
I tug you in, push you out
You nurture me, protect me
But if I hold too tight you poison me
And then we breathe
After the final chord fades and she lifts her fingers from the keyboard, I stand up and clap. “That’s absolutely beautiful, Ella. I can’t think of anything I’d change, either.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Truly?”
“I don’t fuck around with music like that,” I say. “You’ve made the song into everything it deserves to be. It would be wrong for me to make up some weird ‘problem’ just so you can feel like you’re getting helpful feedback.”
“I dreamed you would say that,” she says, “but it’s almost too good to be true. But…but it feels so right. Like in my gut. I know this song is the best it can be.”
“I’m glad you’re seeing sense,” I say. “Let’s record it.”
“Record it?”
“Yeah. Video. You can upload it to your VideYou channel.”
“My channel? I don’t have a channel.”
I give her a pointed look. “Maybe it’s time you started one.
You have a ton of content to perform, and you’re talented as fuck, Ella.
When I first heard you sing, I knew it, and as you’ve practiced over the past few weeks, you’ve improved beyond my wildest imaginings.
But I’m not going to pressure you into this. It’s totally up to you.”
She chews on her lip for a moment before saying, “Fuck it. You’re right. Let’s record it.”
I hold up my phone and record her as she sings the song again.
It’s not a pro job—the recording—but with a voice and a song like Ella’s, pro quality isn’t going to matter.
She’s going to shine no matter what. I make a mental note to investigate pricing for transforming my guest room into a studio.
I could set up cameras so Ella could get different angles for her performances.
There wouldn’t be a lot of space for accompaniment, but we could fit a drum set and there’d still be room for her at a keyboard and a guy—maybe me—with a guitar.
The plan takes shape while Ella sings, and I hold the camera steady although my heart is wildly beating with excitement.
When Ella’s song is finished, I send her the file. It should be up to her where and when she uploads it, if at all. Her eyes are shining with excitement, though, so I’m sure she’ll do it soon.
“Did it sound good?” she asks.
“Um, yes.”
“Are you sure?”
I give her a look. “Watch and listen to it, yourself, if you don’t believe me.”
“Not here.” She shakes her head, and her brown curls bounce in her ponytail. “I’m embarrassed for some reason. Take me home so we can listen there? I need to get some more clothes, too, if I’m staying with you tonight. Oh, crap, and I have that interview at Chez Michel.”
“Sure, princess.” I don’t love that she has an interview, but I’m not going to stop her from working an extra job if that’s really what she wants. I just wish she didn’t feel like she has to.