“And you have. Oh, goodness, yes, you have, sir. Boss, I mean.”
He laughed then, genuinely amused. “You and I should get to know each other better. It seems we have a sense of humor in common at least.”
Mirabella was dying with anxiety and not a little fear, thinking frantically of what to do, while trying to maintain the conversation with the Boss, who was being so sweet and nice, so charming she almost did not want to believe what she knew was the truth. That was the trouble with charmers, they could sweep you into their safety net and then zap you over the head, like a dead fish. Oh God, she had to go and get Verity out of there.…
“Well then,” she said, quickly formulating a plan. “All I can say is thank you for caring so much about her. First you rescue her from the waves, and now you’re saving her all over again, by giving her the best of care. I think that makes you a friend for life. Boss.”
“Perhaps. Or maybe even more than that. After all, every savior needs a reward.”
Mirabella froze. What did he mean by that? Did he want Verity? Did he mean to keep her drugged for good, in that high, wide bed, looking like a golden angel? That familiar response of anger and fear roused her.
“I’m coming over right now, to get her,” she said. “Please have her ready. I won’t need an ambulance, I’ll just take her in my car.”
“If I remember, your car went over the edge of the canyon. Quite a disaster, Mirabella. We would not want that to happen again, now, would we?”
Chills ran suddenly down her spine. Could he be threatening her? “I have another car, my little SEAT. She’ll be just fine.”
“You could always ask Chad Prescott to give you a lift in his beautiful Jaguar.”
“Ohh, well, Chad is still in Paris. He had an emergency, a child, a road accident…”
“Ahh, yes. Good thing the surgeon was around. A man like that, a master of his profession.”
“Dr. Prescott is one of the best neuro-cranial surgeons there is. The child was lucky to get him.”
“I have no doubt.” The Boss knew he had her exactly where he wanted her. He could almost smell it. It had worked for him all his life, that sixth sense, both in business and pleasure, and he was about to put it to use again now.
“Well, of course, my dear, I could send a car for you.” He had no intention of sending a car for her, certainly not. He wanted no one to know she’d come here. Nobody would so much as see her. Of course he knew she would refuse.
“No, no, I’m already out the door, on my way.”
He could hear her in the background, collecting her stuff, keys rattling. “Better arrive at the back gate,” he said, smooth as butter that wouldn’t melt in her mouth. “Drive up the first lane, make a right, and you’ll come to a door. It’s covered in ivy, the darn stuff grows like weeds, just can’t seem to stop it. Anyhow the sensor will recognize you and the gate will open automatically. Just drive in.”
Mirabella didn’t even bother to put on lipstick, though she did put on her gloves. And the sapphire. It was like going naked without them.
She paused for a moment, her hands held out in front of her. She had worn gloves ever since the accident when she was twelve. She never showed anyone her hands. Not even lovers who had seen every other part of her. Not even Chad Prescott who as yet had never seen all of her. A surgeon like that, what would he think of the reddened objects with their ugly scars where the saw had sliced them open all those years ago? What would he think of the wounds with the imprints where the huge stitches had held them in place, so that one day she might use them again? As she did now. But never without the gloves.
How she envied women their pristine beautiful white hands, their shiny painted nails, made even more exquisite with bands of diamonds and gold. The sapphire, inherited from Aunt Jolly, had been her savior in a way, blazing under the lights so no one ever thought about what she might be hiding under its beauty, only about how remarkable it was.
The route to the Villa Mara took only a minute. Soon she was on the dark lane leading to the rear gates. A light came on as the car crunched to a stop. From the window she spotted cameras trained on her. She couldn’t blame the Boss. A man like that, with all his money, was a prime target for kidnappers. He needed security.
More lights came on as she drove down a path that led to the sea, and a house, or some kind of building overlooking it. There were no lights, nor even any windows.
Then right in front of her eyes, the ivy-clad wall slid to one side, revealing a steel door. And the man behind it was the Boss.
“Welcome,” said the spider to the fly.
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