Chapter
twenty-two
Zander was in high school again.
He and Britt stood side by side at Bradfordwood’s kitchen counter, making cinnamon rolls at ten o’clock at night. She’d pulled her hair up into a high ponytail and wore a navy and gold sweat shirt that saidMerryweather Panthersacross the front.
She explained to him how to roll the dough so that it was thick but not too thick.
He watched her. Slim arms. Graceful hands. Serious concentration in the familiar angles of her profile. When she had the dough how she wanted it, she scooped up handfuls of the cinnamon-sugar mixture to sprinkle on top.
She gave him a nudge and peered up at him laughingly. “C’mon, Zander Ford. You have to pull your weight.” She scooted the bowl of cinnamon sugar in his direction, and he went to work.
“No One” by Alicia Keys played quietly and the scent of bread dough filled the air. But it was Britt—it had always been Britt—who commanded his senses most.
She rolled and sliced the dough, then slid a pan full of rolls into the oven. “They’ll be gorgeous when they’ve baked and we’ve drizzled them with frosting.”
You’re gorgeous.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Zander?”
His breath fled. “Yes?” Mighty emotions, too big to control and almost too big to bear, expanded inside him.
“I love you.”
Elation came swift and deep in response.
Except ... something seemed off. Not quite right. He kicked his misgivings to the side.
Her hands bracketed his face, and she arched onto her toes to bring their eyes closer to level. She gave him a winsome smile. Then her lips met his.
Only, she hadn’t kissed him in high school. She’d never told him she loved him. Reality began to intrude. At first he fought to thrust it away because he longed to cling to the dream. But then a nagging sense—that there was something he needed to focus on in the real world—slithered around him.
Whatever it was, this dream was better. He tried to wrap his arms around Britt, to keep her with him, but she dissolved, and he was left with nothing but darkness.
He woke filled with regret because the dream had ended.
Why was he... Cobwebs blanketed his brain. Why was he stretched out ... on such a hard surface—
My God. Terrible realization split into his mind. In a single pulse, everything that had happened rushed into his memory. The four men. Him, stomach-down on the parking lot’s asphalt. Britt flailing as one of the men wrestled her toward their SUV. He’d felt a sting in his neck, and then ... nothing. Until now.
Tom had said to tie him up and leave him in Frank’s apartment. That’s exactly where he was, in the living room, hardwood floor below him. The lights were on. The humidifier whirred. A nail poked from the wall where the painting had hung.
A piece of what he guessed to be duct tape covered his mouth. He tried to move and discovered that his feet were cinched together with a plastic restraint. His hands were likewise bound in front of him at the wrists.
He looked for Britt, though he knew, in the place where his worst fears seethed, that she was gone.
Gone.
The men had taken both the painting and Britt.
Dread made a grab for his throat. His nose strained to push air into his lungs. He’d told Tom he’d go with them. He’d wanted it to be him. But Tom must have been able to tell how Zander felt about Britt. Tom had decided to leave behind the one who loved the other because the one who loved would be less likely to gamble with the life of the one who’d been taken by going to the authorities.
Britt’s well-being was one of the most important things in Zander’s life. His desire to protect her had motivated his choices for years. But if Tom thought that he’d pursue Britt’s safety in this situation through silence, then Tom had misjudged him.
Zander would move mountains and oceans to get her back.
He levered himself into a sitting position and checked his watch. He’d been out for approximately twenty minutes. With effort, he inched toward the wall shared by the apartment next door. He banged it with his feet. Then he banged the floor. Then the wall.
