Chapter Twenty-Three
Chloe heard the gunshot, heard Jayla scream a warning, and fear sliced through her so sharply it nearly dropped her to her knees.
With her heart pounding in her ears, she took off running down the hallway.
Hot tears blurred her vision, distorting everything as she barreled into the set department and searched for a place to hide.
Dropping down behind one of the unfinished background panels, she hugged her knees to her chest. She was breathing too loudly, every exhale coming out in a keening sound, and she covered her mouth with her hands in an attempt to stifle the noise.
Her heart was racing, and her skin felt so tight it prickled uncomfortably. She knew she needed to calm down, but she was so panicked she couldn’t recall a single one of the exercises her therapist had taught her.
Erik! She needed to call Erik. Dropping her hands, she reached for her pocket only to remember that she’d shut her phone off before the meeting and tossed it in her bag – a bag she’d dropped in the hallway when she’d heard the shot fired.
Another flood of tears spilled over, and a broken sob left her.
She didn’t know what to do. She searched as much of the room as she could see from her hiding spot, hoping to find a phone hanging on the wall or sitting on a table, but she knew it was pointless.
Cell phones had made landlines obsolete.
She didn’t even see anything she could use as a weapon; all the tools and supplies were locked away in cabinets.
Jayla was a highly trained operator, she reminded herself.
Any minute now, she’d shout the all-clear.
Chloe just needed to breathe. Slowly, she began to count in her head.
She’d only reached twenty-nine when she heard a door slam.
A partial scream escaped her, and she quickly clamped her hands back over her mouth.
She squeezed her eyes shut as she heard the distant, yet unmistakable sound of Jackson’s voice. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…”
Another door banged, and her shoulders jerked. Please go away. Please go away.
The sound of two more doors being thrown open, and Jackson called out in a sing-song voice, “Chlooooeee. Where are you, Chloe baby? I know you’re in here.”
The next door he opened was the door to the sets department. He was in the room with her, and Chloe tightened the grip over her mouth.
“Come on out, baby.” He let out a sigh. “Always making me chase you. You like the chase, don’t you, Chloe?”
She could hear him moving around, searching for her among the set pieces.
“I bet you missed me, didn’t you, baby? Especially with the pickings around here.
” He let out a sound of derision. “I mean, that scarred mother fucker at least looks like he could go a round or two, unlike that weak-ass pretty boy you were screwing, but come on. Talk about scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
His voice was too close, and Chloe cringed.
“Your friend gave me a pretty good workout. Bitch broke my damn nose. Had to choke her out.”
Had he killed Jayla? A sob broke free.
“Gotcha!”
A hard hand clamped her arm and hauled her to her feet as Chloe screamed for all she was worth.
“Hey! Hey! It’s just me,” Jackson said. “See?” He pulled the shaggy gray wig off his head with his free hand, then peeled away the gray beard, the adhesive pulling at his skin.
“It’s a disguise,” he told her. “One of the things I learned on the force was that no one ever looks too closely at the bums. It’s like the eleventh commandment: Don’t make eye contact.
” He was looking at her with an expectant smile, like he was waiting for her to praise him for his ingenuity or something.
Chloe gawked at him for a moment in stunned disbelief before a burst of anger exploded inside of her, momentarily overriding her fear.
This was her life, and he was treating it like some sort of game.
With a shriek of rage, she threw herself at him, her fists pummeling his chest, his shoulders, his face – anywhere she could reach – but aside from a brief step back to brace his weight, her strikes barely fazed him.
He swept his arms around her and pulled her in tight, pinning her arms between them and pushing her face into his chest. Chloe nearly gagged from the stench clinging to him, and she struggled to get away, but the arms around her only tightened.
Jackson rocked her from side to side and breathed against her hair, “I’ve missed you so much, Chloe. I know why you ran away, and I forgive you.”
He forgave her?
“What we have together is just so powerful. I know it can be scary and overwhelming, but once we’re home, I’m going to help you through it.”
The man was absolutely insane.
Keeping an arm around her shoulders, he began leading her out. “Let’s go see your friend. We wouldn’t want her to wake up alone and leave. She’d miss the performance.”
Relief hit Chloe so hard, she stumbled, and Jackson steadied her, keeping her tight to his side as they walked. She didn’t know what performance he was talking about, but Jayla was alive. That was all that mattered.
Jackson led her onto the stage, and Chloe immediately spotted Jayla.
When she struggled against his hold, he let her go, and she ran to the other woman’s side and dropped to her knees.
Jayla was lying on her stomach, unconscious, and her hands were secured behind her back with what looked like a wide plastic zip tie.
The skin on her neck was dark red and visibly swollen, and her face was spattered with blood.
Chloe glared at Jackson. “What did you do to her?”
“I told you. I had to choke her out. The blood’s mine, not hers, so throw a little of that sympathy my way.”
Chloe gently patted Jayla’s cheek and called her name, trying to wake her, but Jackson grew impatient.
His hand clamped on her arm, and he pulled her to her feet.
“Come on, now. She’ll wake up in a little bit.
In the meantime, you’re going to give me a private performance until your new boyfriend shows up. ”
She raised her chin. “What makes you think he’ll come?”
Jackson looked smug. “Oh, he will. Not long now, he’ll start wondering what’s keeping you. First, he’ll call, and when you don’t answer, he’ll come looking.”
Chloe sneered. “He’s not like you.”
Jackson moved into her personal space, crowding her until she was forced to take a step back.
“Deep down, they’re all like me. And this time, when I make an example of him, you’re going to watch so it finally sinks into that pretty little head of yours.
There is no you and them, only us. Now sing for me. ”
“I am not going to sing for you!”
Jackson pulled out a gun and leveled it at Jayla’s head. “You either sing, or I paint the stage with your friend’s brains.”
Lattimer was almost to the venue when he realized he hadn’t given the keys to Chloe. She’d have no way to lock up, and he’d had no choice but to turn around. He never should have left it up to her in the first place. The opera house was his responsibility.
Quinn would be angry with him. It was his boss’s retirement party, and Lattie had promised he’d attend, but a bottle of his favorite wine and some heartfelt groveling should smooth things over. Quinn never stayed angry for long.
Pulling into the back lot of the opera house, Lattie was relieved to see Chloe’s car was still there. He’d tried calling her a few times on the way, but she hadn’t answered, and he’d grown worried. Parking in front of the door, he hustled out of his car and opened the way.
Lattie smiled. Chloe was singing a piece from La Traviata. How marvelous! She must have been thinking of performing it for Danny’s tribute and decided to use the time to practice.
Heading briskly for the stage, he heard her voice crack before she stalled out. He should bring her some water. He was just about to turn and grab one for her when he heard an unfamiliar male voice bellow, “SING!”
Erik had put a call in to the general as soon as he’d dropped Chloe off at her door.
Unfortunately, the old man was busy, and Erik had to wait for a call back.
Stripping off his shirt, he dropped to the floor to do pushups.
Rep after rep until the sweat was dripping off his face onto Jayla’s carpet.
It was either that or smash all her furniture.
This was a fucking nightmare. Everything he ever wanted – Chloe’s love, his face fixed – it was all right in front of him.
There for the taking. But the price was Doctor Anne Dietrich, his torturer, having access to him again.
Standing over him with a scalpel in her hand, and he, unable to fight back…
Erik snarled, and he forced himself to rebuild the wall of ice around him that he’d erected at the doctor’s office so his fear didn’t betray him. Calm. Cold. Logical. Just another mission. Get in, get the job done, get out.
When the general finally called, Erik laid out the facts – no emotion. The price was what it was, and he’d pay it. Erik’s voice had been steel, and while General Davies had sounded hesitant, he’d promised to get it done.
That ice still surrounded him when he got out of the shower after washing away the sweat from his workout and saw the text from Jayla. A picture of a rose, a gift box, and a key, then a side-by-side comparison with Chloe’s apartment key, with the words ‘They match.’
With a vicious growl, the ice splintered and shattered. That fucking bastard. He’d tear his head off…
Putting through a call to Jayla, he pulled on clothes as he waited for her to pick up and give him an update.
Voicemail. Goddammit. He tried Chloe with the same result and cursed a blue streak.
Checking his laptop, he glanced at the feed for the apartment building.
No sign of Savoy, but also no sign of Chloe and Jayla.
Pulling out his duffel, he tried Jayla again as he geared up.
His SIG Sauer M17 with a full magazine and two spares, a fixed blade tactical knife, and a combat tomahawk.
Still no answer. A sick feeling of dread began to creep in on him as he pulled up the surveillance feed for the opera house.
No movement at the exits, dressing room doors, or costume department, and the catwalk above the stage was empty, but he picked up the sound of Chloe singing on the audio.
For half a second, he felt a surge of relief before logic took hold.
This wasn’t right. Jayla should have gotten Chloe out of there at the first sign that Savoy had been on the premises.
His phone rang and he snatched it up.
“Erik, it’s Lattie.” Lattimer Wilkes’ voice was a low, panicked whisper. “I’m at the opera house, and there’s a man with a gun making Chloe sing. I didn’t know who to call. Should I call the police?”
Erik grabbed his keys and headed out. “Don’t call the police. I’m on my way. Where in the opera house are you, Lattie? Are you in a safe place?”
“I’m in my office. Under my desk. He doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Okay. That’s perfect. Stay right where you are. Tell me everything you saw.”
“They’re on the stage. The woman Chloe came to the meeting with looked like she was unconscious and tied up. The man’s holding a gun on her and threatening to kill her if Chloe doesn’t sing for him.”
Erik’s upper lip trembled with a snarl. He wouldn’t just kill Savoy; he’d rip him to shreds and piss on the bastard’s disemboweled corpse.
“Hold tight, Lattie. Stay hidden. I’m coming.”