“Uh, Kane. How do I get this thing out of my butt?”
Every time I thought of Eliana asking me that question the other night, I laughed. She was so freaking adorable, and I didn’t think I’d ever laughed as much with anyone as I had with her.
While I was laid up, I’d developed a new favorite pastime — seeing how many pairs of Eliana’s panties I could steal.
So far, I’d managed to confiscate six pair. And I had no plans to give them back.
Instead of going commando as I’d hoped, she’d told me just this morning that she planned to shop for more. Maybe after she’d pampered some pooch on her appointment schedule and she’d fed her “babies.”
We’d gotten into the habit of getting up early, and I’d help her prepare their meals. I tried to convince her to let me pay for deli sandwiches, but she insisted on doing it herself.
“Those men deserve at least one home cooked meal, even if it’s just a sandwich.”
Being away from her was both good and bad. It let me focus on my strength training and stretching exercises before heading to the stadium for physical therapy. The bruise had blossomed to a good nine inches in diameter, and the muscle cramped when I used it too much.
I smiled. With Eliana, I’d definitely been using it too much. Two or three times a day too much. My good little girl was becoming a sex fiend.
Zoe moved out yesterday, and I kind of missed her. Kind of didn’t. It was nice to have the place to ourselves. Dad was true to his word and bought a nice walkup near where their old building burned and offered an apartment to all the victims, rent free for a year to help them get back on their feet. He even hired Whitney, Calvin’s wife, to fully furnish and decorate each one.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The ticking of the antique clock my grandmother gave me when I graduated college was driving me crazy, but not only because of the noise. It was a reminder that I was waiting on someone. Eliana. I wondered when she would be back.
I was becoming obsessed.
Pushing up from the sofa, I went back to the weight room for another set of reps. Then I went to my office and opened my email, double-checking that the camera on the computer was covered. I was becoming obsessed by that too.
Clicking through email, I opened the ones marked for the Steele Global board. Although I didn’t plan to join the company for a few years, it was a good thing to keep up with the “ever changing climate” as my dad called it.
A new email popped up. It was from Mom, letting me know how Nana’s doctor appointment had gone.
Hi sweetheart,
Just letting you know that Nana and I will be in California longer than expected. Her doctor approved her for an experimental treatment that might help shrink the tumor in her brain. I’ll let you know how it goes and when we’ll be back in NY.
Love you,
Mom
P.S. Give Eliana our love.
I fired back an email, asking her to give Nana my best wishes and love. Damn, I hoped the treatment worked. From what Mom told me one day in private, the doctors thought Nana would start fading soon, as the tumor grew and increased the pressure. As Nana had told me, she would probably make it until Christmas. What Nana hadn’t told me was that she would be normal until Christmas. After that, the tumor would systematically shut her down until she died a few months later.
I hated the thought. Hated knowing she was going to be in so much pain. It made me sick to think about it.
My computer pinged again. I clicked the message. The subject read: My favorite.
Clicking on the source code, I noted the IP address was from Russia, although I doubted it hailed from there. A good hacker could ping their IP around the globe many times. This one just probably landed in Saint Petersburg last.
With dread sinking its claws in me, I clicked it open.
I’ve miss you and your antics. Very satisfying to watch. I’ve been taking notes. But since you’ve gone dark, I’ll be forced to enjoy the library I’ve accumulated. Here is a favorite. Give Eliana my best.
A fan.
P.S. Send one million dollars to account 871-324-8889-21345-7843 in exactly two hours. Don’t tell me you don’t have access. For every lame excuse you provide, the amount increases by a million. Additional account information is below. Enjoy the show.
The video was set to a private YouTube account. There was a password for me to unlock it. And yes, it was a video of Eliana and me in the shower, her finger in my ass as she jacked me off.
I’d been expecting it, but the reality was even harsher than my imagination. What she and I had done with each other was private. And precious. And now it just looked dirty and wrong.
I thought I hated that the most. Something once beautiful turned ugly.
Grabbing up my phone, I found the FBI agents’ cards and called Mason. She answered on the first ring. I told her about the email and offered to forward it.
“No, it’s probably being tracked. Better to do nothing, just print off a copy. We’ll swing by later and take a look.”
I punched the print button, and my laser printer whirred to life.
“What do I do? Send the money? Don’t send? What?”
The agent blew out a long breath. “If you send it, you’ll never get it back. If they want it sent at a precise time, then they’ll be waiting to do an immediate transfer the second it arrives. They’ll transfer it from account to account until it becomes untraceable.”
“I don’t care about the fucking money, I—”
“If…” she interrupted my tirade, “they take the money and flee, then you’ll be fine. Game’s over. But, you’re a very rich man. My gut tells me they may be looking to you as a steady income source.”
She was right. My gut told me that too.
“Look, we’ll get there as soon as we can. We’re upstate, and it might take an hour or so. Stay put until we arrive.”
Disconnecting the call, I dropped my head in my hand, wondering what I should do. I could make the payment and see if they go away. If they didn’t, I could then tell them to suck my balls and deal with the video scandal after that.
Or…
I was distracted by the sound of the front door opening, followed by the squeak of rubber-soled shoes on the marble. And then a… bleat?
Picking up the email from the printer, I launched myself from my desk chair and headed out of the office.
A woman screamed when I rounded the corner. Then her hand flew to her heart. “Mr. Steele, I wasn’t expecting you here today.”
It was one of the housekeepers who came to clean up what little mess I made throughout the week. “Sorry to scare you, Jan. I’m lame so had to stay home. Forgot you were coming today or I’d have let you know.”
The bleat came again. I looked down. In her other hand was a baby carrier, the top up and a blue blanket peeking out.