Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
“No one had seen her. I asked at the market, and at that church.” Colette’s voice was tight with worry.
Andrei paced his gate at the airport. It felt maddeningly like he could have walked to Amsterdam in less time than it took to fly there from London. He’d bought the ticket this afternoon, but the only flight with space was this late-night one that was currently delayed an hour.
The fact that he didn’t know how long she’d been gone, let alone where she was, was killing him.
“She definitely flew back here yesterday?” Landon’s voice was distant. Colette must be holding the phone.
“Yes, confirmed with immigration on both ends. She landed in Amsterdam yesterday morning. She must have gotten on the first flight out.”
He felt slightly sick, thinking of her going from the club immediately back to the airport. Probably sore. Maybe in sub drop. He’d done hours of aftercare, but she deserved better.
His angel who’d rarely done more than go to the store and church but was so terrifyingly fearless at times.
“Did you see the papers I gave her in her place?” he asked. “Interpol envelope.”
“No. I didn’t. She might have tucked them away. She has secret vaults and safes in some of the walls.” Colette’s tone brightened, but if was forced. “Maybe she went to a hotel. Or a spa. I wish you’d been able to track her phone.”
Andrei closed his eyes. Once he'd had her number, he tried to track her phone, but she had ridiculously high security on it that prevented him from getting access. A panicked call to Rolf hadn't helped as even Rolf’s clearance wasn't high enough. She must have somehow been given diplomatic level credentials on that phone to prevent tracking. He doubted she had any idea, but it was another way Visser had isolated her.
And as for Colette’s suggestions…they both knew she wasn’t at a spa or hotel.
When he gave her the envelope, he'd expected her to go to Colette. It's the only reason he'd given it to her. Not only was Colette competent and dangerous, but Landon would go where Colette went.
“Fuck this,” he snarled. “I know where she is, because I fucking sent her there like a lamb to the slaughter. I’m changing my flight to Dusseldorf or Brussels.”
“We’ll meet you there.”
“No, you stay in Amsterdam in case she comes back.”
Andrei ended the call, pulling up the airline app on his phone. Storms over Central Europe earlier in the day meant many of the flights were delayed, and if he was lucky…
Yes! There was a flight to Brussels, delayed and leaving in half an hour. He raced through the airport, changing his ticket as he ran.
She’d left yesterday morning. Probably that meant she spent most of yesterday catching up on her sleep, and then maybe reading through the packet he'd given her. That put her in Belgium sometime today, probably afternoon at the earliest with travel time.
How long would she spend looking around? A few hours?
More than likely he was wrong, she’d found nothing, and was on her way back to Amsterdam. And that was fine because Colette would be waiting for her.
But what if she had found something. What if she found the headquarters of the organized crime ring her adoptive father was running and was there right now. Realistically the soonest he would reach her would be just before dawn, assuming he could get a rental car when he landed.
Nearly forty-eight hours after she’d left London.
A lot of bad things could happen in forty-eight hours.
With her third escape attempt, Noah Visser’s patience ran out.
It was somewhere around three a.m. when one of the guards hauled her back inside. This time, she'd managed to go out a second-floor window, creep along a ledge, and then climb down a tree. She never would have been brave enough to attempt it if she hadn't jumped out her own window into that tree with Andrei there to catch her only days ago.
This time, there was no one in the tree to catch her. Unfortunately, there had been someone out smoking, despite the hour, and after her a heart-stopping chase through the dark, he caught her.
She’d escaped from bedrooms on both the second and third floors. The money hadn't extended to a full remodel on the upper floor, so the doors and windows were both older, and apparently, she had done a very good job listening to Colette’s instructions.
“This is unacceptable, Sofie,” her father said, looking even older than he had earlier, thanks to the rumpled bathrobe he wore.
“Yes, it is," she snapped back. “Let me go. You cannot keep me here.”
Noah sighed. "I had wanted to wait and show you this tomorrow. It's best in the morning light.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "But I guess it is tomorrow, and close enough to morning.
“Bring her to the studio.”
There was one guard on each side of her, their hands too tight around her upper arms as they marched her down the long third-floor hallway. At the far end was a heavy wood door.
Her father opened it with a key, revealing a large room with windows on three sides. It must be the room directly above the gallery.
Unlike other parts of the third floor, this room had been remodeled. The windows were new as was the concrete tile flooring. Off to one side was a small kitchenette, and on the other, a half wall delineated a bedroom space with a bathroom beyond that. It was a little apartment.
With a door that locked from the outside.
Not just an apartment though. The majority of the space was a painting studio. Many parts of it were a near replica of her first-floor studio back home in Amsterdam. Long metal tables. Her preferred brand of easel. She saw jars of umber and lapis lazuli on bookshelves. There was even an apothecary’s cabinet.
It took her a moment to process the implications of this room existing.
“You made this for me,” she said as the guards released her.
“Yes. Everything just the way you like it.” He smiled indulgently. “You started telling me exactly what you wanted when you were just ten.”
“You made this for me because you knew someday the threats and scare tactics wouldn’t be enough and you’d have to lock me up.” She started to shake. “This is a prison.”
“This is a home. A place where you will be safe and you can do what you love.”
“No! No. I love art, but there’s something I love more.” She caught herself before she said “someone.”
“This is your home, Sofie. I have always made sure you have a home, and this is it.”
“No!”
Noah shook his head. “I’m needed in Rome, which means we cannot take any more time with you than we already have. We cannot stay so you…” He sighed again. “I will have to make it so you cannot leave, even if you get the door open.”
What did that mean?
Sofie yanked free of the men’s hold and started backing toward the windows.
“Perhaps it is a good lesson anyway.” Real regret touched Noah’s face. “Put her on the ground please and hold her legs.”
Sofie fought, even though she knew it was hopeless. She tried to punch, kick, run around them. She couldn’t stop them from doing what they wanted with her, lifting and carrying her to the center of the room and facing her down on her back.
Once they had her on the ground, one man pinning her arms beside her head, the other pressing her shoulders into the ground, while the third held her ankles, her father stepped up beside her.
Then he slowly and deliberately reversed his hold on his cane, the heavy marble ball dangling.
He was going to hit her with it.
She stared at the gray and green marble ball, about the size of a billiard, and it loomed larger and larger the longer she looked at it.
“Let this serve as mortification of the flesh. With each step, the pain will remind you of your greater purpose here. Let your spirit grow in strength, as your physical body feels the pain.”
Noah was no longer a strong man, but he had physics on his side as he brought the cane up and back like a golf club and then swung, the heavy marble head cracking against the side of her knee.
Sofie screamed at the tearing sensation. Finally, finally, stupid girl that she was, she believed what everyone else had tried to tell her.
Yes, her father would hurt her.
“I don’t have the strength for her other leg. Help me.”
Her other leg? Tears tracked from the corners of her eyes into her hair. She thrashed, but not hard because every movement sent shards of pain up and down her left leg.
She begged and whimpered as the man holding down her shoulders rose to his feet and took the cane.
“Please, Father! Please no! I won’t…I won’t leave. I’ll stay home. Like you told me. This is my home and I won’t leave home.”
“I know, my child.” He smiled down at her, then nodded to the man, who swung the cane high as he grinned.
This time, she heard bone crack.