“You’re not going to kill me. You need me to tell you where Kaitlin would have gone.”
She’s right. I do need that from her. Sooner rather than later would be a bonus. “Why’d you bother asking, then?”
“To see if you were gonna flinch away from it. And since you didn’t, I’m guessing you’ve got no problem with hurting women?”
“You aren’t a damsel in distress, sweetheart. You nearly killed me.”
“You wanna go another round? I feel like I was a little off my game before. What with having just been in a car crash and all.”
“I think I’ll pass. How about you sit down,” I point to the drum of olive oil propped on one end against the wall, “and you and I can have that chat?”
“I don’t know where she’s gone. You should save your breath. And Paddy won’t stump up ransom for me, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s like the American government. He doesn’t negotiate with terrorists. Not for me. Not for his own daughter. Not for anyone.”
“We don’t want money.”
“Then you must simply want to die. He’s going to kill you all for this. You and your brother—I’m assuming he’s your brother?—could leave the state right now, this second, and it wouldn’t make a difference. He’ll find you and he’ll skin you alive.”
“Sal and I aren’t going anywhere.”
“Then enjoy what’s left of your life, moron.”
“Gladly.” I pull out my cell and hit the speed dial for Sal, waiting with bated breath for him to pick up. He doesn’t, though. I let it ring and ring and ring, but I get no answer. What the hell is he doing? We agreed a long time ago that we’d maintain contact in situations like this. How bad is it that we have an action plan in case of kidnappings gone wrong? Like this happens every goddamn weekend. “Where the fuck are you, man?” I growl under my breath.
“Boyfriend not picking up?” Tall and Beautiful asks.
“Shut up and sit your ass down,” I snap. I haven’t turned my back on her. She’s dangerous and she knows how to fight. I don’t intend on giving her the opportunity to hand my ass to me, escape the storeroom and vault out of a window or some shit. I’ve known her for all of five seconds but I feel like it’s something she would do. I give up on the phone and slide it back into my pocket, giving her my full attention. “What’s your name?”
“Why the hell should I tell you that?”
“Because I can find out easily enough, and you know not telling me would be a massive waste of time. The quicker we get through this, the quicker you can go.”
She shakes her head, looking away. “You must think I’m mentally challenged.”
“Are you? Most people who find themselves in this situation are less mouthy.”
“Oh, honey. I’ve been in this situation more times than I can count. I’m not gonna dissolve into tears and start begging for my life.”
“That’s a pity. I do love when a woman begs me for things. And please … feel free to call me honey again. I like how that sounds, too.”
She probably meant to barb me with the name, to condescend me, but I wasn’t lying. Her using that name on me sounded really fucking good. Like, way too good. I need to keep my focus here, but it’s not easy with her covered in blood and sweat and her clothes clinging to her, looking sexy as all get out. If Sal were here, he’d have probably already cut off three of her fingers but we’d know her social security number, bra size, the name of her childhood family dog, the works. I could hazard a guess at her bra size—34C?—but other than that …
“My name is Gracie O’Connor,” she says, her voice turning cold. “Patrick McLaughlin has been taking care of me since I was a kid. You could say he considers me his blood. So the sooner you figure out what you’re going to do with me and do it, the better. And by the way,” she says, lifting her eyebrows. “You look at my chest one more time and we’re gonna be having words.”
I’m about to give her a few when I’m cut short by a knock at the door. So much for no one ever coming back here. Fuck. I press my shoulder against the wood, praying it’s not Billie or Joseppi, or any of my father’s other half-witted lackeys. Gracie O’Connor is giving me an unimpressed look when I shoot her a warning glance. “Do not make a fucking sound,” I tell her.
“I’m trapped in enemy territory with Roberto Barbieri’s men at every turn. I’m not a complete idiot,” she hisses back.
“Theo? Theo, baby, I know you’re in there. Come on, open the door.”