Good.
The Collector clicked on the news article about Evan and Noelle. Their pictures were at the top of the page, the same ones that had been used in each article posted during the time they were missing. Their senior pictures. Evan in a suit and tie with a megawatt smile. Ah, the boardrooms he’d thought he’d command one day.
Not that he couldn’t still, if he chose to. But the Collector would bet his plans had shifted. Or they would.
Captivity changed a person, after all.
Priorities rotated.
And there was Noelle. His little rabbit. He felt a distant sort of flutter in his chest at the vision of her shy smile. If he didn’t know himself better, he might describe it as a form of love. But he had long since become incapable of that emotion.
By choice.
No, not love, then, but pride.
Yes, he was so proud of her.
She’d been so strong. She’d done just as he’d hoped she would.
And he felt a connection. The strongest connection he’d felt in a long, long time.
How could he not?
He ran a finger over the screen, tracing her dark hair. She’d curled it that day. It fell over her shoulders in long waves. He wondered what she’d thought about as she’d run that curling iron through her hair. Certainly not that in just a few short months she’d find herself bait in a cage, the innocent pawn in the twisted grip of a hundred psychopaths.
Life was unpredictable, though. It could be anyway, if you didn’t plan ahead for every possibility. And even then . . .
He opened a drawer, reached toward the back, and carefully removed a framed photograph. Celesse. His throat grew tight. He ran a finger over her delicate cheekbone, the same as he’d just done to Noelle’s image. How beautiful she’d been. He could still recall the fragrance of her hair. But it was growing fainter by the year. Someday soon, would he forget it altogether? The Collector seldom felt fear, but that thought distressed him greatly. He gazed at her shy smile. She’d rarely spoken to anyone but him. He’d been her voice then, and he’d be her voice now.
His finger traced her necklace and then moved to the jewel sitting in the hollow below her throat. A red diamond. He owned the matching ring. He didn’t wear it much anymore. It was too recognizable. “Schatje,” he whispered in his native Dutch before sliding the photograph back in the drawer. Little treasure.
He took a sip of tea. It had grown lukewarm as he’d sat and gazed at the photograph. He moved his mind back to Noelle as he again looked at the screen and began to scroll down through the article, but not because he wanted to read about the nightmare they’d survived. The press knew nothing, even if they thought they did. The police didn’t either. Nor did the FBI. They’d try. They’d find a few leads perhaps, but by the time they followed them, the game would have been moved, new codes sent out, deeper hallways built within the dark basement of the internet. These people had unlimited cash to spend, and there was always a dirty cop ready to be bribed somewhere.
He imagined some of the players even worked in the three-letter agencies. A king’s court required such men, after all, to operate outside the law.
No, he didn’t care what the article said or what the investigative update might be. He wanted to look at the photograph of Noelle being led into the police station at dusk, the high streetlamps in the parking lot and the flash of a multitude of cameras lighting her pale and haunted face.
He’d thought her plain at first, but that was before he’d seen the fire that made her glow from the inside. The one that made her beautiful.
He’d touched her naked body with his hands, but he’d also entered her mind. And that was far, far more gratifying.
Fulfilling in a way even he hadn’t thought it would be.
He stared at her for a few more minutes, his blood pumping swiftly through his veins, making him feel alive. Watching their escape, fueled by him, had been one of the greatest thrills of his life.
He’d never forget them. And while—by choice—Noelle might forget him for a while, she wouldn’t forget him forever. No, he was quite certain she would not.
The knowledge was intoxicating.
A message appeared on the phone, and he used the code to log in to the site he’d been directed to.
A new game was beginning. He’d play, of course. And maybe once again, he’d play to win. Because why the fuck not?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
One Year Later
Noelle’s knee bounced as she raised her head, glancing at the sidewalk just beyond where she sat on the umbrella-covered restaurant patio. Dappled morning sunlight sparkled off the water of the fountain nearby, and the soft splashing offered a sense of calm. Despite the still morning and the peaceful sound of flowing water, Noelle’s heart beat swiftly, anxiety causing her to shift her legs repeatedly.
She knew it was him approaching from down the block even before she could register any discerning quality that told her so. The man walking toward the place where she sat was taller than she remembered Evan to be, his shoulders broader, and she’d never become very acquainted with his walk. After all, she’d regularly averted her eyes when she’d seen him at school. And then after that, they’d spent the majority of their time together on their knees.
Or their backs.
He was blocks away, but she recognized him all the same. Maybe she’d know he was near even with her eyes closed. She didn’t necessarily like to think that was the case, but for a brief span of time, her emotional survival had been dependent on his presence. Perhaps they were fused in some inexplicable way, a tightly woven tether that stretched over seasons and distance. She’d felt the space between them this last year, and she felt his nearness now. A reeling. A buzzing inside. An internal meter emblazoned with his name.
Noelle stood, smoothing her hands over her jean-clad hips and then fluttering her hands, unsure of what to do with her arms.
God, she was nervous.
He came closer . . . closer. He didn’t glance around the open space. His eyes were focused directly on her. Perhaps he felt her too. He smiled, and her breath released, her lips curving in response. He was wearing low-slung jeans and a black T-shirt with some logo she was too preoccupied to attempt to discern. He was as staggeringly handsome, as breathtakingly golden, as he’d always been. Even more so. Something about that made her rejoice, and simultaneously made her want to cry. Truth be told, something about it hurt. She didn’t understand why, and maybe she’d think about it later, and maybe she wouldn’t.
Evan walked through the short black gate, let it swing closed behind him, and then made his way to where she stood at the small bistro table. His smile grew. “Hey,” he said. His voice. It washed over her. A ray of light. A hand in the dark. Fingers linking with hers. You’re not alone.
“Hey,” she greeted him, and she couldn’t help the way her smile widened too. It felt good. Effortless when so much in her life had felt forced this past year. Slow and lonely.
“You look good,” he said. “Damn good.”
“So do you.”
“Your hair,” he said. “It’s lighter.”
“Oh.” She ran a hand over it, shrugging in a girlish way, surprising herself with how much she liked that he’d noticed. “Highlights,” she explained, feeling ridiculous for her response. As if they were nothing more than old classmates who’d run into each other unexpectedly. Next they’d speak about the weather.