Chapter 38
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
AXEL
The vault feels different without her presence lighting it up.
I know that is stupid. Irrational. The lighting is the same as always, cool and controlled, reflecting off the glass display cases and steel shelving.
The temperature is steady. Nothing has changed.
And yet everything has. I step further inside, my footsteps echoing slightly against the polished concrete floor.
“Jo?” I call, not loudly, even though I already know she isn’t here.
I would feel her presence if she was. Silence answers me, and I feel the first pang of worry.
Small, but it’s there. She should be here.
This is where she comes every day. Without fail.
When she wants quiet, or control. When the world feels too big, and she needs something precise and measurable.
Art is measurable. Pigments. Brush strokes. Varnish age. It all makes sense to her.
Paris did not. And the leftover feelings from that weekend definitely do not.
I drag a hand through my hair and glance towards the restoration table she’s been working on.
Her tools are laid out neatly. Gloves folded.
Magnifier pushed to the side. The microscope lamp is off. She hasn’t been here this morning.
My chest tightens, not with fear. With uncertainty.
Maybe she’s avoiding me. I thought we were just like ships in the night, with me having to be at the office from stupidly early until stupidly late and Jo working down here, but what if it’s more than that?
The thought lands heavier than I expect it to.
Paris was intense. The agreement that what happens in Paris stays in Paris was her idea.
But the sex. My God, the sex. Even so, it was not just the sex.
The intimacy. The loving touches, the longing looks.
We said we’d leave it all behind like it was something indulgent and reckless.
I suppose when we made the pact, it was.
But we never counted on our feelings getting involved so quickly.
I was so sure we could continue when we got back here, but when I kissed her that first night back, she’d run from me.
She kissed me back, yes, but then she ran.
I think maybe I pushed her too hard. But the way she looked, the way she smelled and the way she looked at me, it all just came together.
Then, when she didn’t resist my kiss, I thought she felt it too, that we were going to make it work.
When she ran off, she didn’t look like someone who had been kissed against her will. She just looked overwhelmed. I knew then she needed some space. If she needs space, I’ll give it to her, but I need to know that she’s ok.
And I don’t know that she is. I’ve got a bad feeling. I don’t get this strange vibe often, but when I do get it, I’m never wrong.
I leave the vault and head upstairs towards her suite. I reach her suite and knock on her door. There is no answer. I knock again, firmer this time.
“Jo?”
Still nothing.
“Jo, I just want to know that you’re ok. If you don’t want to talk, I’ll go, but just tell me you’re ok.”
Nothing. A muscle in my jaw ticks. I try the handle. The door is unlocked. I step inside.
Her room is immaculate. The bed made, the curtains half-drawn. Like the vault, the room is empty of her presence. She isn’t here.
Where the hell are you, Jo? I think to myself.
I step back into the hallway and head downstairs, my thoughts shifting from insecurity to irritation. If she wanted space, she could have just said so. She’s not a coward. She wouldn’t just disappear. Would she?
At the bottom of the stairs, I see Betty down the corridor, pacing restlessly by the console table beneath the portrait of Joseph.
“Betty,” I say, walking toward her. “Have you seen Jo this morning?”
Her face drains of color. And that is the moment when the first real spike of fear hits me. She wrings her hands immediately, the cloth twisting between her fingers.
“Mr. Rhodes, I …”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my voice sharp. “Where is she?”
“I saw her. But I think I’ve made a terrible mistake,” she blurts out.
The hallway feels suddenly smaller. “What mistake? Betty, what’s happened?”
I’ve known Betty for years, almost all of my adult life, and except for when Joseph died, I have never seen her like this. She isn’t a drama queen. Something is actually seriously wrong here. Tears spring to her eyes.
“I thought I was doing the right thing. I promise I did. I didn’t mean for anything bad to happen. I just … I didn’t want to lose my job …”
“Betty.” I step closer, lowering my voice deliberately. I force myself to sound calm. “You’re not in trouble, I promise. Just tell me what happened.”
She swallows hard. “Mr. Manswell, Sheldon, he called last night.”
“Sheldon?” I repeat.
“Yes. It was quite late. Past eleven o’clock certainly. He sounded …” She hesitates. “Not himself.”
“In what way?”
“He was slurring his words. He was angry. He demanded to speak to Jo.”
My jaw clenches.
“She was already in bed,” Betty continues quickly. “I told him I wouldn’t disturb her at that hour. He didn’t like that.”
“What did he say?”
Her fingers tremble. “He said … she should enjoy her early nights while she can. Because she’s about to disappear.”
The words hit me like she poured iced water down my spine. I don’t react immediately. I can’t afford to. I need the full story, and I don’t want to scare her.
“And you’re sure that’s what he said?”
“Yes.” She nods rapidly. “It didn’t make sense. I assumed he was just drunk. I mean, he was drunk. But the way he said it …” Her voice shakes. “It made my blood run cold.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this last night?”
“I didn’t want to overreact,” she whispers. “He’s said dramatic things before. And Jo had already gone to bed. I figured he would sober up and that would be the end of it.”
“Ok,” I say carefully. “What happened this morning? Where is Jo?”
Betty presses her hands together. “I saw Jo leaving. I asked her where she was going, just conversationally. She said she was going to Sheldon’s place.”
My body goes cold. “She went to see him?” My voice is quiet now. Dangerous. If he has so much as looked at her the wrong way, it will be the last thing he does.
“Yes. I tried to tell her about the call. I did. But she said her cab was already out front and we’d talk later. I told her to be careful, but I don’t think she took it seriously.”
She stops as if the story ends there, but something tells me there’s more.
“And?”
Betty looks at the floor. “This is the part that may get me dismissed,” she says faintly.
“You are not getting dismissed,” I say sharply. “Please, just tell me.”
She inhales shakily. “I put an air tag in her jacket pocket.”
“You did what?”
“I was frightened,” she rushes on. “After what he said. I couldn’t shake it.
I thought if nothing happened, she’d never know.
And if something did, well, we’d know where she was.
” Her eyes fill up again. “I know it was wrong, and I swear I wouldn’t have done it if I could have thought of anything else to keep her safe. I wanted to be able to find her.”
For a moment, I just stare at her. What she did is beyond invasive. It’s also possibly the smartest thing anyone’s done all week.
“You’ve tracked her?” I ask, unable to believe my luck.
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
She fumbles in her apron pocket and pulls out her cell phone. Her hands are shaking so badly that I have to take it from her gently. A map fills the screen.
“She went to Sheldon’s apartment,” Betty says quickly. “You can see it here.”
I zoom in. She’s right. The dot sits squarely over his address for a time.
“And then?”
“She left,” Betty says. “About forty minutes later. I thought that was it. I thought I’d been paranoid.
I figured she’d come back, I’d take the air tag back, and no one would be the wiser.
But then she didn’t come back and I didn’t know what to do.
I thought of calling the police, but I didn’t dare do it.
I was going to wait five more minutes and then come and find you. ”
My eyes track the path. The dot has moved south. Out of the residential area. Toward the industrial estate on the edge of the city. My blood turns to ice.
“Where is that?” I ask. I think I already know the answer to that, but I want confirmation.
Betty swallows.
“I googled it. It’s an old trading estate. Hawthorne Trading Estate.”
Hawthorne Trading Estate. I was right. I know it. Joseph owns a piece of property there. He had a warehouse there. I almost forgot about it because it has been unused for years. My pulse slams in my ears as I try to make sense of this.
“Sheldon might have taken her to show her the warehouse,” Betty says, automatically trying to think of something that doesn’t involve Jo being in danger. But she doesn’t sound convinced. Because at this point, I’m not either.
The dot on the screen stops. Right over the warehouse.
“And then where did it go?” I ask.
Betty’s voice is barely audible.
“It cut off.”
I look up sharply. “What do you mean cut off?”
“The signal vanished. As if the device was destroyed. Or out of range.”
My heart starts pounding properly now. Please let it just be that it’s out of range, not that Sheldon has done something to her.
I hand Betty her cell phone and pull my own cell phone out and call Jo.
It rings once. Then it goes straight to voicemail.
I try again. Again, it goes straight to voicemail.
“Her cell phone is off,” I mutter.
“That’s not like her, is it?” Betty whispers.
No. It isn’t. Jo is meticulous. Careful. Prepared. She wouldn’t switch off her cell phone for no reason. And I don’t believe for a second she’s someone who would forget to charge it. A slow, controlled fury begins to build inside of me.
“Sheldon wouldn’t hurt her,” I say, trying to convince myself of that.
But the words taste hollow. He’s unstable.
Entitled. Angry about the will. Angry about Jo being here.
Angry that she exists at all. He has most people fooled into thinking he doesn’t care about any of that, but I can see right through him.
I should have warned Jo about him. I didn’t really think he would do anything more than have a tantrum about it, though.
“She’s clever,” Betty says, almost pleading. “Perhaps he’s showing her something stored there. Something of Mr. Joseph’s.”
“Joseph hasn’t used that warehouse in years.”
Silence falls between us. Neither of us believed that explanation anyway.
“I’m going there now.”
Her shoulders sag in visible relief. “Thank God,” she whispers.
“If I haven’t called the house phone in thirty minutes,” I continue calmly. “I want you to ring the police. Send them to the warehouse.”
Her eyes widen. “Mr Rhodes …”
“Thirty minutes,” I repeat, cutting off her question with the answer before she even has time to finish asking it. “Tell them you believe a woman is being held against her will at Joseph Manswell’s old warehouse in Hawthorne Trading Estate. Give them my name. They’ll take it seriously.”
She nods quickly. “Yes, sir.”
I step back, already turning toward the front door.
“Mr Rhodes,” she calls softly.
I pause.
“I’m sorry.”
I meet her gaze.
“If that air tag leads me to her,” I say evenly. “You’ve saved her life.”
Her hand flies to her mouth. I don’t wait to see if she is going to say anything else.
I stride out of the house, the cold air hitting my face like a slap.
My car is parked at the curb. I don’t think.
I just move. Door open. Engine on. The roar of it fills the quiet street as I accelerate.
My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles whiten.
If Sheldon has touched her …
The thought fractures into something violent and uncontrollable. My tires squeal against the road as I tear away from the house, heading straight for Hawthorne Trading Estate.