“Ok.” I am shit at consoling people. “How long before you went back inside to look for her?”
“I stood there for like fifteen minutes and then went to the restroom to find her. I figured there might have been something wrong with her and since I had her purse, she couldn’t call me. When I went into the stall she was gone but the creepy guy was still at the table. I asked him if he saw her, and he gave me a confused look and then said he didn’t speak English in a really thick accent, that sounded Eastern European, but I don’t know.” She wipes her eyes and blows her nose on a dwindling scrap of tissue.
I push the box toward her. We are sitting at a table in my office at the penthouse because I have all the computers tracking and security there that we’d need. Both she and I have given statements to the police as did the restaurant owners and anyone who was on the reservation list for that time period.
“When I didn’t find her in the bathroom, I tried to look around for her, but she wasn’t in the restaurant. I asked our server if he’d seen her and he said no. I tried to think back if anyone had left, but how could they get her out of the restaurant? I did see a guy carry a girl into a cab with a friend of theirs, but they were really drunk and I couldn’t tell if they were carrying a man or a woman. The girl hailed the cab andit came.” She knows the minute she says it, that she’d watched Scarlett being abducted. “It wasn’t her was it?”
“It had to be,” I say gently, because how would she have known? At the time she was waiting for Scarlett to leave the restaurant, she wouldn’t have cared much about some drunk socialites acting like assholes which is the cover they used to get Scarlett out of the restaurant.
The guy at the table was a plant. He probably had a way to communicate with whoever tipped them off and the pick-up team at the restaurant. This was all premeditated and pulled together fast but with expert precision.
“Then, I called the police, and then you.” She hiccup-cries the last few words.
“Drink some water,” I nod to her glass. “Listen, I get it. You and Scarlett have been friends for years and you and I haven’t gotten along that well for most of your life. The two of you are incorrigible young women as you should be at your age. Thank God you didn’t take Rayne with you.” God if they had my baby as well… I don’t dare think of it.
“She’s tougher than you think and you keep her cooped up here. It’s been two months.” She is about to launch into a protest.
“Which is the bare minimum for healing from one injury or birth, but she’s had several injuries and is only eight weeks postpartum. I’m just asking that next time, God willing there be a next time—”
“Don’t say that,” she screams. “She’s all I have Beckett! Don’t you fucking dare say shit like that. God.”
She is a sobbing mess again and I realize I truly don’t have a heart.
No. I do. It is just buried behind numbness, fear, anger, and determination to find Scarlett. The moment I have her back in my home, I’ll lock her in for a while, but probably, hopefully, I’ll also appreciate her appropriately. My instinct is to just be angry, yet she isn’t a child nor is she my prisoner. It reminds me that we need to work on our communication. Even if we only have five years together, it isn’t going to be peaceful if we can’t talk to each other.
If she never comes home… well, I really don't know how I’d handle that. She is essentially still just a concept of a wife. A beautiful dancer with a gorgeous body and a snarky little attitude who gave me a child. She agreed to a legal document that is largely in my favor though she wouldn’t notice. I am giving her more money than she's ever seen, but much less than she deserves as my wife. I am taking advantage of her; however, I don't plan to always take advantage of her.
“OK. I’m sorry. Listen, I have to make some calls. If you feel better staying here with me you can. We have security everywhere." I am about to assure her when she interrupts again.
“Are you sure your people are safe?” she asks through her tears.
“No, actually I’m not.” I still haven’t heard back from Gloria and had to hire another temp nurse for Rayne.
“I’ll stay here with the baby. At this point, I’m the only one you can trust.”
She is right. Mia is my only ally in this because she adores Scarlett and will do anything to get her back.
I don’t know who initiated this abduction, but I have a feeling the sweet little granny-like Gloria was the one who tipped off the team that Scarlett was leaving and likely knew exactly where. All they had to do was confirm the location with my name on a reservation and they had a few hours lead time to set the operation in motion.
I have to call Griffin and see what I can find out.
Mia goes to clean up and sit with the baby. She decides to have a bed moved into Rayne’s room so that she can be with her at all times. Even if she is sleeping she will still be in the room. I put motion sensors on the door that will alert my phone when anyone walks in or out of the baby’s room.
I also double the number of security guards. I usually have security only on the outside of the building and in the hall. Now I have three private guards in total. They were hired through a company I always use that is known to work with questionable clients. Their loyalty to vendors has been tested in blood. I trust them as much as my sister. So that leaves Gloria as being our leak. I hate to do it but I will probably have to have that woman either arrested or killed.
“So what can you tell me?” I ask Griffin, one of my closest friends and a lawyer who knows how to work outside of the law. “I already called Trevor Blaine, he’s our muscle should we need it, and I think we do.”
Griffin has people who can get things done quietly, William’s team is stealthy and lethal. Working with them is going to give me the best chance of getting Scarlett back.
“Your security cameras weren’t hacked, so it was one of the staff, either your butler or one of the nurses. You’re going to need Trevor to question them.” Griffin is all seriousness that afternoon, with none of his grumpy boy charm. In fact, he is straight-up hateful.
“Mr. Craig will be easy to question and I’d be shocked after twenty years and just as many astronomical Christmas bonuses, he was in on this,” I tell him, “but Gloria likely was, so I need her found. What about the restaurant?”
“Their footage also wasn’t hacked and I’d say that the drunk and belligerent guests who happened upon a cab in Midtown Manhattan carrying a passed-out girl in a trench coat is your girl. Footage only grabbed their backs, Scarlett is not seen on camera at all, the woman is wearing a wig; the man a hat, so we got nothing identifying on them. We were able to pull the cab’s license plate…” he says hesitating for a second, testing me as he sometimes likes to do when he has big revelations.
“It’s fake?”
“Bingo,” he has a little smile in his voice.
