In her impaired state, his words seemed reasonable, even helpful. But as he pulled her toward a service corridor, some instinct deep in her mind began screaming that this was wrong,that she was walking directly into the trap set for her with such devastating precision.
His fingers dug into her arms, propelling her forward with increasing urgency. The delicate fabric hem of her evening gown began to tear as he dragged her along the carpeted corridor and through several doorways. Her high heels snagged as she stumbled on the carpet, sending sharp pains shooting up her ankles. “Too f…f… fast…” she managed to say, hoping he would slow down.
"You're mine," he said, his voice taking on a possessive tone that chilled her blood. "You've always been mine. My Rose."
The drugs coursing through her system made every movement seem to take too much effort, but terror began cutting through the fog. When her legs gave out completely, he swept her up into his arms, and she instantly felt that this wasn't Casper's familiar, protective embrace.
"Casper?" she mumbled, her tongue thick and unresponsive.
Her captor's grip tightened painfully. "He's nothing. He never deserved you. He didn't wait for you for years like I did. I waited for you to finally see me as more than a brother. You belong to me."
Brother?The word penetrated her drugged consciousness like a knife.I don’t have a brother.
Fighting against the induced stupor with every ounce of strength she possessed, Willow managed to swing her hand at his face with desperate force. Her fingernails caught on something that felt rubbery, and as they curled in, she tore away part of a facial prosthetic. With the hall lights still strobing, the torn facial image that met her gaze now glared at her, their gray hair sliding to the side, exposing dark brown.
She screamed for help with what little voice she had left, but the fire alarms drowned out her cries completely. Through her blurred vision, she caught a glimpse of a face she recognized.Doug. Doug Malone.Not my brother. Rose’s brother. The man who had hugged her just days ago in Los Angeles, who had seemed protectively concerned about her safety.
Now he snarled, his lined brow now dripping with sweat. “The kitchen is just a floor below and should be empty by now.” He shoved a stairwell door open with her body in his arms and began carrying her down the concrete steps. His breathing heavy, she heard the air rasping in and out of his lungs.
Her dress was making the process more difficult, and he tripped on the trailing material that caught around his feet. They tumbled down several steps to the landing, and she cried out in pain.
“Goddammit!” he cursed, trying to untangle his limbs from hers and the evening gown that still threatened to make every movement impossible.
He whipped out a pocket knife, and her gaze landed on the blade but her body was unable to stop whatever his intent. He slashed at her dress’s skirt, shredding the material until he could free her legs. Then he folded the knife back and shoved it into his pocket as he stood. “Come on,” he growled, taking her arm in his bruising grip once more. Pulling her to a stand, she winced at the pain in her ankles and crumpled to the floor.
“No, no,” he screamed. “You need to come with me. This is our chance. Our chance to escape together. Our grand scene… remember?”
The reality of her situation crashed through the hazy mind. This wasn't a stranger obsessed with her teenage character. This was someone she had trusted, someone who had been part of her television career, someone who had twisted their relationship into a dangerous delusion.
The pain in her head intensified, and with drunken movements, she swiped at her forehead. When her hand moved down, she stared at the red now coating her fingers. Asconsciousness began slipping away completely, her last thought was a desperate prayer that Casper would find her. Then the world faded to black.
37
The moment Casper lost sight of Willow in the surging crowd, his military training overrode every other instinct. The panic that threatened to consume him was ruthlessly compartmentalized as he activated his radio mic, his voice cutting through the chaos with deadly precision.
"I've lost visual on Willow," he reported, fighting against the tide of evacuating guests who pushed past him like a human avalanche. Every second that passed increased the distance between him and the woman whose life had become more important than his own.
"Copy that." Frazier's voice crackled through his earpiece, barely audible above the deafening alarm bells. "Todd, Cole, report your positions."
"Northeast exit, no visual." Todd's voice came back tight with controlled urgency.
"Main entrance, negative contact," Cole responded.
Casper's tactical mind raced through possibilities while his body continued its relentless push through the crowd. The chaos from the fire alarm was orchestrated. Someone had planned this evacuation to create exactly the kind of confusion that wouldallow them to extract Willow from her protection without being detected.
"Sadie, we need that tracer active immediately," Casper ordered, his voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to life-and-death operations.
The seconds stretched like hours as Casper fought his way toward the last place he'd seen her, bodies pressing against him from all sides, the smell of panic sweat and expensive perfume creating a nauseating cocktail that threatened to overwhelm his senses. He changed directions, scanning desperately for any glimpse of midnight-blue silk or blond hair in the sea of evacuating guests.
"Casper, I've got Willow." Sadie’s voice cut through his growing desperation.
Casper pressed his finger to his earpiece, straining to hear over the cacophony. "Location?"
"She's moving toward the service areas." Sadie's crisp voice came through, heeding the emergency. "Heading away from the main exits, toward the kitchen service corridor. I’ve also got a visual from the security camera. One male in a server’s uniform with her. Her movements are uncoordinated… might be drugged.”
Casper bolted toward the door leading to the kitchen, one floor below. While hundreds of people were evacuating toward the front of the building, someone deliberately took Willow in the opposite direction, toward the kitchen where the fire alarm had been triggered, using the stairwell.
"I'm going around," he announced, abandoning his attempt to push through the crowd and pivoting toward a side corridor he'd memorized during their earlier reconnaissance.
