Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 127249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Yes, it’s better that she never remembers, but my reasons for wanting that aren’t pure. I want to believe in the illusion of us. I want to own the happiness that’s within my grasp. Kent has been accusing me of losing focus. He thinks I’m not as invested in finding the necklace as I used to be.
If that’s the case, it’s because all my energy is going into tracking the people who hurt and without a doubt would’ve killed my wife. Whatever they did to her—what we did to her—was so traumatic that her mind blocked out those events. I want to find the persons behind her kidnapping and eliminate every one of them so that they can never touch her again. To protect Tatiana’s identity, I have to find Naomi Foster before anyone else does.
Yet it feels as if the web is closing in on me, as if I’m losing control, and I never lose control. Except when it comes to her. To one woman. To the girl I claimed as mine.
It’s a good thing Joni Stein died of a heart attack last week. The sick old bastard heard about Tatiana’s return. He didn’t say who’d told him when he called me for news about her, but it didn’t take much to figure it out. Of course Leander informed him. The coward no doubt thought he could get Stein’s protection in the name of a contract that had been broken years ago.
Tatiana was never Stein’s fucking business. If old age and a lifestyle of excess hadn’t taken care of him, I would’ve gone to his house and driven a knife through his fat, liver-stained belly. He had the nerve to threaten me with telling her the truth. He should’ve known that had already branded him as a dead man.
“We should vote on it,” my lawyer says.
The men turn their heads to me, waiting for my decision.
“That won’t be necessary.” I stand. “The profit sharing is fair.” I close the file in front of me. “I accept the terms.”
We shake on it. Each man congratulates me on a successful negotiation before taking his leave.
I’m halfway through the queue when Penelope opens the door. She waves me over with an apologetic smile.
Excusing myself, I walk to where my assistant is waiting in the hallway.
“There’s a woman on the phone. She said she needed to speak to you urgently, but she wouldn’t say why or give me her name. She sounds kind of looney. I was going to blow her off.” She lowers her voice. “But then she said the matter concerned Tatiana. She didn’t say Mrs. Morici or your wife. She used her first name. Do you want to take the call?”
A nerve pinches between my shoulder blades like when I get a bad feeling about something. “Put her through to my office.”
Penelope hurries away to execute the command.
In my office, I close the door for privacy and pick up the receiver on my desk. “How can I help you?”
“Dante Morici?”
I still, having a good idea who the woman on the other end of the line is. “Where did you get this number?”
When I think she might’ve been involved in Tatiana’s kidnapping, anger boils up inside me. Cruel anticipation follows in the wake of the fury because if she is who I think she is, she’s going to lead me to the men who attacked my convoy and kidnapped my wife.
She scoffs. “It wasn’t hard to look up.”
No, my office number is listed. I just wanted confirmation that she doesn’t have my cell phone number, which I only share with a handful of people. That means whoever she’s working with either doesn’t have it or didn’t give it to her. I’m guessing both scenarios would apply.
As much as I’d like to wring her neck, I don’t want to scare her away. I need to find out where she is and trap her like an animal by luring her out of her hiding place with bait. Sadly, my office line isn’t equipped with a tracking device.
I’m careful to keep my voice even. “What can I do for you?”
She sounds nervous. “I want to make a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“One million.” She hurries to add, “In cash.”
I chuckle. “That’s a hefty amount. What are you hoping on selling?”
“My silence.”
Just as I expected. Very predictable.
Playing along, I ask, “For what?”
“The woman on the news, the one they say was involved in the bank explosion, she’s not the one. She’s not your wife.”
My fingers tighten around the phone in an involuntary reaction as I imagine how I’m going to squeeze her neck until I crush her windpipe.
My cool tone gives nothing away of what’s going on inside me. “Then go to the police.”
I’m bluffing, playing her. Without having met the woman once, I can read her. It’s not difficult to put myself in her shoes or to get into her head.