“Cold?”
She nods. “So cold.” She snuggles into the blanket and I head back into Ana’s room to find her hair dryer.
I plug it into the socket beside the sofa and sit down. I take a cushion and place it on the floor between my feet.
“Sit. Here.”
Leila gets up slowly, pulls the blanket around her, and sinks onto the cushion between my legs, facing away from me.
The high-pitched whir of the hair dryer disrupts the silence between us as I gently dry her hair.
She sits quietly. Not touching me.
She knows she can’t. She knows she’s not allowed.
How many times have I dried her hair? Ten? Twelve times?
I can’t remember the exact number so I concentrate on my task.
Once her hair is dry, I stop. And it’s quiet in Ana’s apartment again. Leila leans her head against my thigh, and I don’t stop her.
“Do your folks know you’re here?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“Have you been in touch with them?”
“No,” she whispers.
She was always close to her parents.
“They’ll be worried about you.”
She shrugs. “They’re not speaking.”
“To you? Why not?”
She doesn’t answer.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out with your husband.”
She says nothing, but there’s a knock on the door.
“That’ll be the doctor.” I stand and go to open the door. Flynn enters, followed by a woman in scrubs.
“John, thanks for coming.” I’m relieved to see him.
“ Laura Flanagan, Christian Grey. Laura is our head nurse.”
When I turn, Leila is now sitting on the sofa, still wrapped in the throw.
“This is Leila Williams,” I say.
Flynn crouches down beside Leila. She gazes at him, her expression blank.
“Hello, Leila,” he says. “I’m here to help you.”
The nurse hovers in the background.
“Those are her clothes.” I point to the trash bag by the front door. “They need burning.”
The nurse nods and picks up the trash bag.
“Would you like to come with me to a place where we can help you?” Flynn asks Leila. She says nothing, but her subdued brown eyes seek mine.
“I think you should go with the doctor. I’ll come with you.”
Flynn frowns but keeps his counsel.
Leila looks from me to him and nods.
Good.
“I’ll take her,” I tell Flynn, and reach down and lift her into my arms. She weighs nothing. She closes her eyes and rests her head against my shoulder as I carry her down the stairs. Taylor is waiting for us.
“Mr. Grey, Ana’s gone home—” he says.
“Let’s talk about it later. I’ve left my jacket upstairs.”
“I’ll bring it.”
“Can you lock up? The keys are in my jacket.”
“Yes, sir.”
Outside in the street I put Leila into Flynn’s car and climb in beside her. I fasten her seatbelt as Flynn and his colleague sit up front. Flynn starts the car and pulls out into the rush-hour traffic.
As I stare out of the window, I hope that Ana is back at Escala. Mrs. Jones will feed her, and when I get home she’ll be there waiting for me. The thought is comforting.
FLYNN’S OFFICE AT THE private psychiatric clinic on the outskirts of Fremont is spartan compared to his office downtown: two sofas, one armchair. No fireplace. That’s it. I pace the length of the small room, waiting for him. I’m itching to get back to Ana. She must have been terrified. My phone has died, so I haven’t been able to call her or Mrs. Jones to check on Ana’s well-being. My watch says it’s nearly eight. I glance out of the window. Taylor is parked and waiting in the SUV. I just want to go home.
Back to Ana.
The door opens and Flynn enters. “I thought you’d have left by now,” he says.
“I need to know she’s okay.”
“She’s a sick young woman, but she’s calm and cooperative. She wants help, and that’s always a good sign. Please sit. I need a few details from you.”
I sit down on the chair and he takes a seat on one of the couches.
“What happened today?”
I explain all that took place in Ana’s apartment prior to his arrival.
“You gave her a bath?” he says, surprised.
“She was filthy. The stench was…” I stop and shudder.
“Okay. We can talk about that at another time.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
“I think so, though you can’t medicate against grief. It’s a natural process. But I’ll dig a little deeper and find out what we’re dealing with here.”
“Anything she needs,” I state.
“That’s very generous of you, considering she’s not really your problem.”
“She came to me.”
“She did,” he acknowledges.
“I feel responsible.”
“You shouldn’t. I’ll update you when I know more.”
“Great. And thanks again.”
“I’m just doing my job, Christian.”
TAYLOR IS BROODING ON the way home. I know he’s mad that Leila slipped through the cracks once more, in spite of the measures we have in place; Ana’s apartment was swept by security this morning. I say nothing. I’m tired and anxious to get back to Escala. Ana’s purse and cell phone are still in the car, and Taylor has informed me that she went home with Ethan. The thought is displeasing. So I picture her snuggled in the armchair in the library, asleep, a book in her lap. Alone.
I’m impatient. I want to get home to my girl.
AS WE PULL INTO the garage, Taylor reminds me, “We should review our security requirements now that Miss Williams has been found.”
“Yes. I don’t think we’ll be needing the guys.”
“I’ll talk to Welch.”
“Thanks.” He parks and I’m out of the car in an instant, headed right to the elevator. I don’t wait for him.
As soon as I step into my apartment, I sense Ana’s not home. My place has a ringing emptiness about it.
Where the hell is she?
Ryan is monitoring the CCTV. He looks up when I enter Taylor’s office.
“Mr. Grey?”
“Did Miss Steele come home?”
“No, sir.”
“Fuck.” I thought she might have been and gone. I turn and head for my study. She doesn’t have her purse or her phone? Why hasn’t she come home? Part of me wants to send the entire team combing the city looking for her. But where do I start?
I could call Kavanagh. Taylor says she left with him.
Shit. Ethan and Ana.
The idea does not sit well with me.
I don’t have his number. I contemplate calling Elliot to have him ask Kate for her brother’s number, but it’s after midnight in Barbados. With a frustrated sigh, I stare out at the city skyline. The sun is sinking into the sea off the Olympic Peninsula, reflecting the last of the light into my apartment. It’s ironic that all this week I’ve been looking at this view and wondering where Leila might be. Now I’m wondering about Ana. It’s getting dark. Where is she?
She’s left you, Grey.
No. I’m not willing to believe that.
Mrs. Jones knocks on the door.
“Mr. Grey?”
“Gail.”
“You found her.”
I frown. Ana?
“Miss Williams,” she clarifies.
“In a sense. She’s in the hospital, where she needs to be.”
“Good. Would you like something to eat?”
“No. Thanks. I’ll wait for Ana.”