Her breath strangled in her chest, her heartbeat a rapid thud in her ears. It was the second time he had uttered that phrase. The one that really meant I love you. But she didn’t think he understood the connection he was making with the movie. When he stopped to talk to the woman who wrote for the paper’s entertainment section, Samantha was sure he didn’t realize the true meaning of the words. Because he flashed that smile and twinkled those eyes at the busty, dark-haired harlot who had a set of teeth that belonged on a toothpaste commercial.
“Flirting is second nature to you, isn’t it, you big jerkface?” Samantha grumbled. Her brown eyes were definitely green this time.
She had to remind herself that Ozzie hadn’t done anything wrong. He had promised her nothing. Agreed to nothing. She was the idiot who had thought that if she got him into bed, he’d see how great they were together, and then he’d automatically want to…what? Settle down with her and make a million babies?
Mad at herself for being a stupid, hopeful, girlie cliché, and mad at him for being so wonderful that he turned her into a stupid, hopeful, girlie cliché, she turned back to her computer screen, determined to finish the damned article. The sound of her phone ringing from the depths of her purse interrupted her.
She didn’t bother to dive into the crap that was fundamental to her daily existence. Instead, she upended her purse atop her desk and snagged her phone from the pile. She smiled with relief when she saw who was calling. Donny. Dear, sweet Donny. He always seemed to know when she needed a sympathetic ear.
“Decided to play hooky today, funny face?” she asked, trying to sound chipper. “Or are you out following a lead? Because I have to tell you, you picked a hell of a day to be gone. I could really use—”
“Samantha,” a deep voice interrupted. Whoever was on the other end of the line wasn’t Donny. An icy finger slipped up her spine.
“Who is this?” She gripped the edge of her chair until her knuckles turned white. “Why do you have Donny’s phone?”
“The better question is,” the man hissed, his voice reminding her of a snake slithering through dry leaves, “what I’ll do with Mr. Danielson if you’re not out on the street in front of the building in two minutes.”
Samantha glanced up, hoping to see Ozzie still flirting with the wannabe Crest White Strips model. No such luck. He was long gone.
“And before you think to call the police or tell one of your colleagues what’s going on, know that the man standing by the water cooler is one of us. If he sees you do anything you shouldn’t, he’ll let me know, and Mr. Danielson… Well, you don’t wanna know what’ll happen to him.”
Samantha jerked her eyes over to the man in the brown coveralls beside the cooler. To the casual observer, he didn’t look out of place. The uniform, the mop bucket, the lazy way he cleaned the floor, said he was just one of the many maintenance people who kept the building spick-and-span. But upon closer inspection, she could see his baseball cap was pulled low over his eyes. And since his red, bushy beard covered the lower half of his face, his identity was completely obscured.
“How do I know you won’t hurt Donny even if I do come down?” Her chest hurt. Why did her chest hurt? Oh yeah. Because her heart was banging against her ribs like a steel fist.
“Guess you’ll just hafta take my word for it,” Snake Voice said. “After all, what other choice do you have?”
He had her there. She had no other choice. She felt like a colony of spiders crawled over the back of her neck.
“Leave your phone,” the man instructed. “Leave your purse. Ninety seconds and counting.” Click. The line went dead.
Samantha used three of her remaining ninety seconds racking her brain for a way to let someone know what was happening. A quick note? An SOS tapped out on her desk with a pen? Did any of her colleagues know Morse code? Of course, all of this was fantasy, since the janitor who wasn’t really a janitor was watching her every move.
Swallowing the bile that climbed up the back of her throat, she pushed to a stand and shakily made her way to the elevator. Janitor/Not Janitor followed her inside, careful to keep his hat pulled low, mindful of the elevator’s security camera. When she opened her mouth to say…she wasn’t sure what, he gave her a terse shake of his head. She clamped her jaws so hard that the sound of her teeth clacking together echoed around the small space.
As the car descended, dinging the passing of the floors, Samantha prayed that Ozzie had forgotten something—his wallet or his sunglasses or anything—and that he’d be waiting to ride the elevator back up when the doors opened.
Once again, no such luck. The silver doors slid open to reveal no Ozzie, just the normal hustle and bustle of people rushing through the lobby as they went about their day. Janitor/Not Janitor spoke for the first time. “Thirty seconds, Miss Tate.”
Goose bumps peppered her skin at the sound of his voice. It was that of an executioner. Unfeeling. Inflectionless. When she stepped from the elevator car, she realized that she’d lied to Ozzie for the first time. Not a lie by omission, like her love for him. But a flat-out, black-and-white lie.
She had promised she wouldn’t get up from her seat under any circumstances. And here she was walking across the lobby…
Chapter 19
Venom had little patience for weakness. And even less patience for sniveling, pansy-ass men wearing ridiculously large glasses and bright-red skinny jeans.
“Shut the fuck up!” He kicked the seat in front of him where Donny Danielson was hog-tied and gagged.
The stolen SUV was perfect for a kidnapping. Its third-row seats allowed Venom to keep his pistol trained on the back of Donny’s head, and the deeply tinted windows assured him no one on the outside could see what he was doing.
Even so, he felt twitchy. He didn’t like idling by the curb, waiting on Samantha to come down. Michigan Avenue was busy, humming with tourists and locals out for a day of shopping. And where there were tourists and commerce, there were cops. It wouldn’t be long before one of the doughnut eaters on patrol saw the SUV’s blinking hazard lights and came to investigate.
Venom flexed his shoulders. Blew out a hard breath. But nothing seemed to calm his nerves. Donny’s sniffling was making matters worse.
“Can you believe we went to war for assholes like this?” he asked Crutch. His VP was in the driver’s seat, impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
