But there wasn’t one. “Good choice.” The doctor pressed his palm to a wall-mounted datapad and swiftly keyed in a request. Soft plinks followed. The doctor cleared and locked the screen. He pulled two pills from the dispenser.
“Here.” He dropped the small white tablets into Killian’s hand. “These should hold you for the next few hours, until you get your prescription filled.”
“Thanks, doc.” Killian popped them into his mouth and swallowed them dry. There was a lot to do before he visited a pharmacy.
Chapter7
Security had arrived quickly.Alice faded into the background when a team of two joined her in Dizzie’s room. Two more waited outside. No one stopped Dizzie from grabbing her jacket, but she hadn’t been allowed to bring any electronics with her. She hadn’t made a fuss, still hoping it would be a quick meeting.
Yeah, that hadn’t happened.
Security had tucked her into a cell on the lower levels of Tremaine headquarters. That had been hours ago. When security had first appeared, she’d been glad it was late and no one was around to see her being marched through the halls. She regretted that now. As far as she knew, only security knew her location.
Dizzie shivered. Until tonight, the cells had only been rumors. Tremaine employees whispered about them, but she never knew anyone who’d ever seen them. Until now. Wasn’t she the lucky winner.
The cell was about ten feet by ten feet. Smaller than her room, but not by much. It hadn’t taken her long to pace from one side to the other. Plas-glass walls kept the space from being claustrophobic, but it also allowed her to see into the cells either side of her and beyond. They were all empty.
The silence was unnerving. She’d pounded on the glass, just to see what happened. Nothing. No one came. She’d bet her savings that there was a camera in the room, maybe even more than one. Thank god she’d only had a sip of champagne—what if she’d had to pee?
Now she sat on a hard mattress, her back against the wall. The room was cold and she was thankful she still had grabbed her jacket. Her nails clicked against the bed frame, a steady rhythm that was the only sound besides her breathing. The flickering light in the hallway was giving her a headache.
She hated being closed in like this. The best thing about being a courier was working outside. Her friends teased her about the freedom of the open road, but they’d never spent hours with the wind rushing past and the world speeding by.
Minutes later—or was it hours?—voices echoed down the hallway and shadows crept along the wall.
Her throat was suddenly dry. Were they coming to let her go? Or was this the start of the interrogation?
Dizzie fumbled with her braids, pulling them out quickly. She finger-combed the loose strands, gathered them into a high ponytail, and quickly twisted the rope into a single thick braid. She’d seen the Ice Queen wear this style once and instead of looking like her normal bitch self, Portia had looked like a badass. Dizzie hoped the style did the same for her.
The shadows drew closer and she couldn’t decide how she wanted to face them. When she was leaning against the corner, arms crossed over her chest was her first instinct. Afraid she couldn’t pull off intimidating, badass ponytail or not, she settled on nonthreatening.
So Dizzie perched on the edge of the bed, her feet pressed together, and her hands folded in her lap.
Four people stopped in front of her cell. Two wore Tremaine Security uniforms. Alice wasn’t one of them and Dizzie didn’t know whether she was relieved or concerned.
The third man was Phillip Tremaine’s assistant. He wore the same suit he’d had on for the televised interview, but it looked rumpled now. It had been a long night. Jaw clenched and lips pressed together, the man looked angry. He glared at her and she sat up straighter. Even though Leopold Brunswick was the CEO’s right hand, she wouldn’t cower. She hadn’t done anything wrong.
Her gaze swept to the fourth visitor. Her jaw dropped when she identified him and she was glad she was sitting down.
Killian St. John.
What the hell was he doing here?
Seeing that he wasn’t in a body bag sent a rush of relief through her. She mostly ignored it while she tried to make sense of the unlikely quartet.
Security she understood. The CEO’s assistant made total sense. But why was Killian St. John here? He should be in the hospital.
Dizzie had clung to the hope that they’d ask her a few questions, realize she didn’t have any useful information, and let her go. Alice’s warning about an inside job rattled around her brain, poking holes in her confidence. These were the big guns, people who didn’t mess around. She swallowed hard.
Brunswick gestured toward the cell. “Is this the courier you saw at the Ocean Wilde Gala, Mr. St. John?”
Killian stared at her for a long moment. Dizzie stood still as he studied her. There was no trace of the flirtatious charmer from the party. No smile, no hint of laughter in his eyes. His expression was grim, his shoulders tense under the dirt- and blood-covered white shirt. His coat and bow tie were gone. Gray dust covered his dark pants and streaked his dark hair.
“Yes, that’s her.” Killian’s voice was as cold as his expression. He and Brunswick shared a look she couldn’t interpret.
Brunswick looked away first. He scowled and motioned to security. A guard stepped forward and waved his hand in front of the scanner. The cell door opened with a hiss.
Freedom was so close, but it was an illusion. No way could she elude them all.
