Chapter 40
Forty
River
Something is wrong.
I know it before anyone says the words.
Before the pancakes fully settle in my stomach.
Before Pascal calls and tells me Thorn’s car was found in front of his office building. Empty.
Before Attie arrives with a somber expression on her face and news that the meeting place for the so-called board meeting has changed.
Before Thorn doesn’t come home.
His coffee cup is still in the sink. His laptop sits on the kitchen island. His jacket is hanging over the back of a chair.
He just popped out to take a meeting and pick up some things at his office, which is literally right around the corner. He promised to be careful. Kissed me and said he would be right back.
It was a normal morning.
And now…this?
Sitting at the kitchen table, my stomach churning, waiting, hoping, praying for him to come home.
Desperate for it to be a horrible mistake.
Pascal’s phone rings, and he answers the call, his voice calm and controlled. But every line of his body is filled with tension as he listens and speaks and then, eventually, hangs up.
His eyes go to Attie’s and they communicate silently for a long moment.
Too long.
“Pascal,” I whisper.
He exhales slowly then moves over to me. “You need to see something.”
The room goes silent.
Completely silent.
Except for my pulse pounding in my ears, so loudly I can barely think.
I force myself upright, force myself to breathe as he places his phone in front of me and—
The first picture is of me and Thorn at my apartment complex, him leaning down to kiss me.
“Oh, God,” I say. “They—”
He swipes, pulling up a different picture and—
“No,” I whisper, my stomach churning, bile burning the back of my throat.
Because Thorn is on the screen, his body prone, his eyes closed, blood pooled beside him.
“No,” I say again. “No!”
The room suddenly feels too small. I can’t breathe. The walls are closing in. The ceiling is collapsing. The windows are shattering—or maybe that’s my heart—
“Breathe, sweetheart,” Pascal orders softly, his hand settling between my shoulder blades.
“Not Thorn,” I whisper. “Please not Thorn.”
Not now.
Now when we finally—
Pascal’s phone rings again, the sound slicing through me.
“Yeah?” he says after swiping across the screen and lifting it to his ear. He listens for a heartbeat then goes ramrod stiff. “What?” he snaps. “Well, fucking cut the feed and check all the others. Immediately.” He jabs at the phone, ending the call.
“What’s happened?” Attie asks.
“We’ve been hacked.” He drops his cell on the counter, shoves his hands through his hand, more on edge than I’ve ever seen him. “We need to do a full scrub of our systems.”
“How is that even possible?” she asks.
“Fuck if I know,” he grits out. “But we’re going to find out.
” He jerks his chin toward the phone in her hand.
“You need to check your channels too. They knew Thorn was leaving and they grabbed him in the middle of the fucking street in the middle of the fucking day. Which means that we’re all at risk, Ats. We need to move now.”
Her eyes come to mine for a single heartbeat and the bleakness in them somehow doesn’t send my panic skyrocketing.
They’re worried.
They’re scrambling and spinning.
And I’m…
Everything calms.
I can breathe, can think.
Can fucking figure this out.
“Call them back,” I say softly.
They turn to me, and I keep my voice low as I move close to them.
“What’s that, River?” Attie asks patiently (though the impatience sits heavily in her expression).
“Tell them to stop. But do it quietly so they”—I flick my eyes to the camera—“don’t know.”
“What?” Pascal says, brows dragging together.
“The feeds,” I press. “Let the Lyons think the hack is still working.”
He scowls. “Why the fuck would—?” Then his face clears and he nods. “Clever girl.”
“She’s right,” Attie says. “If we play this right, we could get him back.”
My stomach twists. “We will get him back.”
Their eyes connect again.
“We will get him back,” I repeat.
Pascal nods. “We’ll get him back for you, River.”
“Yes,” I say. “We will.”
“River,” he says, the warning heavy in his voice as my meaning finally penetrates.
I fold my arms. “Don’t even try it.”
His eyebrows rise. “Try what?”
“Whatever it is you’re about to say.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, but his words are not the least bit amused. “You’re not coming.”
The words hang in the air.
“They took the man I love,” I whisper. “I can’t do nothing.”
“You can stay safe. You can let the people with the experience take control.”
“And look how well that’s worked,” I snap.
His eyes flash and he opens his mouth.
But he doesn’t get to speak.
“She’s right.”
We all freeze and look over at Angela standing in the elevator.
“You can’t be here,” Pascal says. “They’ve—”
“Hacked the feeds, blah blah blah.” She rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry”—she leans back against the wall—“I know exactly where the cameras are.” A beat. “And how to avoid them.”
Pascal makes an annoyed sound.
“Now, the girl is right.”
Now I make an annoyed sound. I’m not a little girl.
But since she’s still talking, I push that down, focus on what she’s saying.
And then I grin.
Because Angela Rosseau née Dubois may be brash and bitchy and all kinds of stubborn, she may adhere to her own moral code that’s far from black and white…
But no one can say she isn’t a brilliant strategist.
Or that she won’t go to the ends of the Earth to get what she wants.