Chapter 4
RAFE
Riley sits on the edge of my couch now, gripping the duffel bag in her lap as if it's the only thing tethering her to reality.
Her eyes track every movement I make, and I can see the way her shoulders tense whenever I shift in my seat.
She's keeping her back to the far wall, her gaze flicking between me and the doors that lead out of the room.
She realizes she's a cornered mouse and the cat is ready to pounce.
I take another sip of my drink and watch her over the rim of the glass.
She's holding herself together better than I expected.
Most people would be sobbing by now, begging for mercy, promising to do whatever I ask if I'd just let them go.
But Riley's not about to beg. She's letting rage cover that primal fear.
I can see it in the way her jaw tightens, in the way her fingers dig into the fabric of her bag.
She's furious, and she's using that fury to keep the terror at bay.
I respect that.
"How long are you planning to keep me here?" Her voice is steady, but there's a tremor underneath it that she can't quite hide.
"That depends on you." I set my glass down on the table beside me and lean back, crossing one ankle over my knee. "How cooperative you are will determine how long this takes."
"Cooperative." She scoffs and shakes her head. "You kidnapped me. You threatened my sister. And now you want me to cooperate?"
"Yes."
Her eyes flash with anger, and for a moment I think she might lunge at me. But she doesn't. She stays seated, her knuckles white where they grip the bag. "What do you want from me?"
"Information," I say, "and your skills."
"My skills?" She stares at me as if I've lost my mind, with narrowed eyes and a scrunched forehead. "I'm a bank teller. What could you possibly need from me?"
"You work with numbers. You understand financial records.
And you have access to records and systems I may need.
" I pause, letting that sink in. "The man in your trunk kept records for me.
Handwritten ledgers, coded entries, cross-references that only he understood.
He's dead now, and I need someone who can decipher his work and finish what he started as soon as we find his ledger. "
Riley's face pales. "You want me to help you with whatever illegal thing he was doing?"
"Yes."
"No." She shakes her head, her voice rising. "No, no, no, no!" She shakes her head and glares at me. "Absolutely not. I'm not gonna help you launder money or hide transactions or whatever the hell it is you do. I don't care what you threaten me with. I'm not doing it."
I study her for a moment with amusement. She thinks she gets a choice in this and I find it sweet. Her defiance is easy when she's still holding onto hope. The trick is to take that hope away slowly, piece by piece, until there's nothing left but compliance.
"Tell me about your family," I say. Then I roll my glass around and sip the whiskey from it slowly.
Nothing she can say will surprise me. I've spent the last hour searching for every shred of detail about her life that's public, and I have more men working to dig up things she doesn't want anyone to know.
Her expression shifts, confusion replacing the anger. "What?"
"Your family. Your sister. The wedding. Tell me about them."
"Why?" she asks with a defensive tone that suggests she's feeling surprised by my change of subject.
"Because I want to know."
She doesn't answer right away. Her eyes dart toward the door again, and I can see her mind working, trying to figure out what game I'm playing. Finally, she speaks. "My sister's name is Lila. She's getting married on New Year's Eve. I'm supposed to be home helping with the wedding prep."
"And your parents?"
"My dad's a retired teacher. My mom runs a catering business." Her tongue slides across her perfect ruby lips and she grunts, "Why does any of this matter?"
"It matters because you need to understand what's at stake.
" I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I hug both hands around the glass.
"You're supposed to be home in Buffalo right now.
Your family is expecting you. If you don't show up, they're going to start asking questions.
They'll call the police. And when they do, things are going to get very complicated for all of us. "
Riley's breath hitches. "So let me go. Let me leave, and I won't say anything. I'll tell them my car broke down and I had to get it towed. I'll make up a story. Just let me go."
"I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because you've seen too much. You know about the body. And once you walk out that door, there's no guarantee you'll keep your mouth shut."
"I will," she says quickly. "I swear. I won't tell anyone. I just wanna go home."
I shake my head slowly. "You don't understand, Riley. Men like me, we don't trust easily, and right now, I need to control things to make sure the outcome I desire is the outcome I receive." I finish the last drop and set the glass on the table between us, and she winces.
Her hands tighten on the bag again, and I can see the fear creeping back into her eyes. Good. Fear's useful. It keeps people from doing things they'll regret.
"Here's what's going to happen," I say, standing and walking over to the desk in the corner of the room.
I pull open a drawer and take out a laptop, then carry it back to the couch and set it down on the coffee table in front of her.
"You're going to log into your email and send a message to your family telling them you'll be late getting home. Maybe a week or two…"
Riley scoots away like I'm holding a bomb, not a laptop. "No."
"Yes."
"I'm not lying to my family for you."
"You don't have a choice." I open the laptop and power it on, waiting as the screen loads. "If you don't send that message, your family's going to report you missing. The police will start looking for you. And when they do, things are going to get very messy. For you and for them."
Her jaw clenches. "You're threatening them again."
"I'm just stating facts." I turn the laptop toward her and watch the light of the browser shine on her face as I set it in front of her. The dark web makes it useful so her login can't be tracked back to my IP address. "Now log in."
I can see the conflict playing out on her face as she glares at the screen and her head keeps shaking. She wants to refuse and tell me to go to hell, but she's smart enough to know that won't end well for her.
"Riley," I say in a lower tone this time. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
I see it the moment the tension in her shoulders breaks. She sets the bag aside and reaches for the computer to log in. Her fingers glide over the screen easily and I watch her credentials appear in the dialogue boxes.
"Good," I say. "Now compose a new message. Send it to your sister."
"What do you want me to say?"
"Tell her you had car trouble and you'll be delayed a few days or a week, maybe more. Tell her not to worry."
Riley's hands hover over the keyboard. "She's not gonna believe me. I'd just call my mom for this. Not send an email."
"Make her believe you." My jaw is tight as I speak through gritted teeth because her hesitation is really starting to piss me off.
She swallows hard and starts typing. I move behind the couch so I can see the screen over her shoulder.
Her message is short and to the point. She tells Lila that she had a flat tire and some engine trouble, that she had to take the car to a mechanic and it's going to take a few days to get it fixed.
She says she'll be home as soon as she can and not to worry. Then she signs it with a heart emoji.
"Send it," I say.
Her finger hovers over the send button. "If I do this, will you let me go?"
"Eventually."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting." I reach over her shoulder and tap the trackpad, sending the message before she can change her mind.
The screen flashes, and the email disappears into the outbox, and Riley slumps back against the couch, her hands falling into her lap.
She looks defeated now, the fight draining out of her.
"How long are you going to keep me here?"
"As long as it takes."
"As long as what takes?" Now there's no more fight in her tone. She sounds defeated and upset, but not enraged.
"The work I need you to do. The dead man in your trunk was keeping records for me.
Financial records. He was in the middle of filing year-end reports when he died, and those reports need to be completed before the audit at the end of December.
You're going to finish them." Closing the laptop, I pick it up and return it to my desk in the corner and then lean on the desk and watch her.
Riley's eyes are wide with fright, face pale and drained of color. "I don't know how to do that. I'm not an accountant. I'm a bank teller."
"You'll figure it out."
"And if I can't?"
"Then you'll keep trying until you do." She may be right, but what do I have to lose in giving her a shot at it?
I need someone to do the job, and she's easily manipulated.
"You have a month off work. No one's expecting you back at the bank until after the new year.
That gives us plenty of time." Her Facebook profile was exceptionally helpful with this.
Some people think sharing their entire private life on the internet is a good thing.
They're wrong about that.
"The whole month?" Her voice cracks. "You're going to keep me here that long?"
"If that's what it takes."
She stands abruptly, knocking the duffel bag to the floor.
"No. No, I'm not doing this. I'm not staying here.
I'm not helping you. You can't force me to do this.
" Then she's moving, walking right toward me and the front door beyond, and the look on my face must be enough to make her step back because she does.
"Do you really want to test me on that?" I don't even have to show her my gun. She starts trembling when I give her a dirty look. She's so easy.
Her breathing is panicked. "You can't keep me here. People will notice I'm gone. They'll come looking for me." And when her lip starts trembling, I find it adorable. She wants to be a badass and fight me, but she's scared. If only she knew how much scarier I could be.
And my God, the woman is gorgeous too. She could—should—be on the cover of a magazine draped in everything that glitters, not standing in my living room preparing to be my bookkeeper until her time runs out.
My fingers itch to reach out and tuck that stray stand of hair around her ear, but I'm not planning to send the wrong signals tonight.
Riley Maddox is my new asset and she will comply or she will end up the same way my previous one did.
"No, they won't. You just sent an email telling them you're fine. As far as they know, you're sitting in a hotel room somewhere waiting for your car to be fixed. And by the time they start asking questions, the work will be done and you'll be on your way home."
"And if I refuse?" She lifts her chin defiantly, which is almost comical if it didn’t annoy me.
I walk toward her slowly, and she backs up until she's pressed against the wall. I stop a few feet away, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to look at me. "Do you really want to end up like the dead man they pulled from your car earlier?"
Her face goes white.
"I didn't think so." I turn away from her and walk across the room, opening a door that leads to a small bedroom.
The room is plain but comfortable. A bed, a dresser, a lamp…
There's a single window, but she won't try to run because she believes I will harm her sister if she does, and she's a very smart woman for believing that.
"This will be your room," I say.
Riley stares at the doorway, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "My room? I want to go home. Can't I do this job from my place? Why are you keeping me here?"
"For your safety and mine."
"This is insane—you're insane." Now she's pissed again, gesturing wildly.
"Maybe." I step aside and nod into the room. "But you're still staying here."
Fear and fury mingle together on her face as she glares at me before walking over to the couch. She bends down and picks up her duffel bag then walks toward the door and stops just before she crosses the threshold.
"What if I scream?" she asks quietly. "What if I try to run?"
"Then I'll stop you." I meet her eyes, and I let her see exactly how serious I am. "And you won't like how I do it."
Riley walks into the room and I shut the door behind her, and I don't bother locking it. She's not going anywhere, and even if she did, she knows what will happen.
I can rest peacefully tonight knowing that in a matter of time, my records will be restored and my accounts will be back on track. And I'll have Riley Maddox to thank for that.
And if she can't do it, I'll find someone who will.
Lombardi is out of the way now.
All that's left is to repair the damage.