Sophia had to shut that last line out of her head. She couldn’t truly believe that Frank, the anxious intern, would actually kill her. It was too much.
Still, in the volatile situation, with explosives spread throughout the place, she had to admit that anything could happen. And she needed to be ready to act.
“Got my notebook out in front of me, Frank. I’m ready.” Someone who didn’t know better might picture a therapist-looking guy on the other side of that line. Round glasses, tall, thin frame, and a goatee. Sophia knew better. It’s what made Blayze Brockton a rare mystery. All muscle and mass, enough angst trapped in him to fuel a jet, yet here he was, calmly talking through a situation that just might save her life and Frank’s. And if she knew Blayze— he was aiming for just that:no lives lost.
Frank cleared his throat. “I need a helicopter that can hold enough fuel for three hundred miles.” His last word stopped short as he shot a frantic look across the room, his eyes squinting in concentration.
Sophia followed his gaze, but saw only a mass of industrial style shelving, stacked tall and loaded with boxes, bags, and stage props.
“You want a chopper that holds extra fuel,” Blayze repeated in a lulling voice.
“Exactly. And I want my mom out of that stupid mental hospital and brought here, right now, with my little brother. He works as a janitor there, so you can get them at the same time.”
“Your brother and your mom,” Blayze repeated. Sophia detected a hint of sadness in his voice now. Something that sunk into her as well as she considered Frank’s demands.
Frank’s gaze darted back to the spot across the shed once more. His eyes narrowed, and then his chin lifted with a slight nod. A nod of understanding—the type you’d give someone offering silent instruction from across the room.
The idea slammed into her with a razor-sharp edge, causing a new dose of dread to pool over her skin: They weren’t alone, which explained why Frank had Blayze on speaker.
“Who else is in here?” Sophia blurted. The question was more for Blayze than it was Frank; she needed to tip him off that someone else might be there too, hiding in the shadows.
Frank’s eyes widened. His face turned hard. All harsh angles and crazed eyes.
“Is someone else there, Frank?” Blayze asked.
“No,” he snarled. “I’m by myself. This ismyidea, andI’mthe one in charge.”
Frank tapped the tip of his loafer on the floor furiously, his breaths coming loud and fast.
Sophia’s mind was working in a similar fashion. Fast and frantic. Working to figure out who was in there with them.
“You know how to fly a chopper, don’t you, Frank?”
His foot stopped tapping. “Yes. But that’s not all I want.” Despite what looked like his best effort to avoid it, Frank shot a side-glance at that spot across the room.
“I need two million dollars.”
A slow whistle sounded from the line. “That’s pretty steep, Frank.”
“That’s …just a minute…” Frank hurried across the cement floor before disappearing behind a packed shelving unit. “Hold on a minute,” he said again.
With Frank out of sight, Sophia pulled herself off of the chair and shot to her feet. The room swayed and spun, a reaction to standing so quickly, but she held strong, setting her mind to the trick Blayze taught her to break free. Frank was probably conversing with whomever was in on this with him. The thought was terrifying. At least she’d been able to tip Blayze off about the possibility.
A quick wiggle of her wrists caused the thin, rigid band to dig into her skin—the way she imagined a zip tie might. Hopefully, they were the hardware store ties, not the unbreakable ties cops used. With her arms strapped behind her back, she lifted her hands away from her body, then slammed them down against her back. The band’s cutting edge scraped her wrists upon impact, but as she went to pull her hands apart, Sophia realized they were still stuck.
“I said two million dollars, and I’m not going to budge,” Frank snapped.
Heart pounding, Sophia kept her eyes pasted on the spot she’d seen Frank disappear. Most likely he’d come tearing around that very corner any second.
“We lost much more than that,” she heard him say.
“I understand,” Blayze assured through the line. “You lost a lot, didn’t you? But you still have a lot, isn’t that right?”
Sophia tried again, her wrists stinging as the band dug in to her skin a second time. With a small grunt, she slammed her bound wrists hard against her back, envisioning the strong, plastic band snapping beneath the pressure.
This time it did.
Sophia rubbed her wrists, wondering if she should stay in place or try to find a way out.
