Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Fran
I’m trying my damnedest to pull together the pieces of the puzzle, but it feels like I’m putting it all together blind. I’m fumbling with the pieces, with what I know, but I can’t seem to make anything click into place.
I suspect a few things that would change the landscape of everything… and I do mean everything. But if I even hint at what could be… what I think… no. It’s premature.
Patience has never been one of my goddamn virtues.
Without the aid of Aisla and Blair, I’m left with precious few resources. Still, I have a way to hack into the Welsh chain of command. It’s risky as hell, especially if they trace me back to the McCarthy family home.
I have to be sure to block all possible tracking, and I have my methods.
Is Islan safe? Has she come of her own free will?
Is she even here?
I know Aitkens is likely the one who turned the others in to Interpol, I’m confident of that as well.
I know now that it isn’t just me, my books, and what I’ve revealed that’s led to all this.
The danger runs far deeper than anything I could have orchestrated.
And while that fills me with a measure of relief—I can maybe forgive myself for my part in this if I know I wasn’t fully responsible—I also can’t help feeling dread at what may come.
For if what I suspect comes to light, the threads of betrayal run so much deeper than anything anyone has imagined.
To think, just a week ago I was afraid that if my next book didn’t go to print, I couldn’t pay my bills. But now… God, now I’d give anything to take it all back, for the assurance of safety for my friends. The people I’ve come to know as family.
I hate what I’ve brought to them. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to make amends. But I’ll do whatever it takes.
My phone rings. I answer quickly, expecting one of my sources to follow through.
“Hello?” I whisper.
“Your wedding hasn’t saved you. You were ours before then.”
I freeze.
“Who is this?”
There’s a muffled voice and the sound of someone crying.
“Who is this?” I repeat.
“Fran?” A tortured female voice.
Ice pulses through my veins.
“Islan?”
“Do what he says, Fran. Do whatever he tells you." I can hear her blow out a ragged breath, her voice choked when she says, “He’ll take Paisley if you don’t.”
A chill shudders through me when he comes back on the line.
“You’ll stay where your husband is.”
He says husband like it’s a dirty word, like we’ve made a mockery of vows and marriage. And maybe I have. Maybe we both have. My hand trembles on the phone, trying to place the voice, trying to understand who it is, all the while my mind teeming with fear of what they’ll do to Islan.
“And you’ll tell your husband to come to the pier at noon. You’ll get him out here or we will find you and we will hurt you.”
“How original,” I quip, then I immediately regret the snarky comment when I hear Islan’s cry.
“Leave her alone!”
“The only way I’ll leave her alone is if you do exactly what I say. Exactly.”
My immediate gut reaction is to tell him to go fuck himself, but I keep my temper and speak through gritted teeth. “Fine. What do you want me to do?”