We both know it, and aren’t saying anything. The surface is totally clean. Not a drop on it. It was fine yesterday, too. I’m just doing this because I can’t face reality.
“No discharge,” I say cheerily, as though this is exactly what I want. It is, for him. For me, I’m wondering if I can start sticking pins in him, so he has a mystery ailment I have to tend. For another, oohh, sixty years or so?
But the truth is, he doesn’t need me. The only reason for him to stay is the unlikely scenario that he opens up the wound again.
Okay, that’s possible. He’s careless of his arm, to the point of making me into a nag about it. But only because I care. It began as a general care, like I’m concerned for any patient, and it’s grown into an obsession.
Love.
What an idiot. Reid told me. He made it clear from the beginning that this was just a paid nursing job with dubious exit-clauses, but that when he was well again, I’d be surplus to requirements.
A horrible thought strikes me as I carefully tape the dressing onto his arm.
If he doesn’t need me anymore, he’ll leave, right? He won’t dispose of me? I reassure my galloping heart that it’s fine. I haven’t heard anything I shouldn’t have.
But I saw the guns. And he took me to the Maths Club event, and they were talking about the conflict with the Essex Cartel.
Reid slowly tugs on his shirt sleeve, then beginsto button up the front. He avoids my eyes. “Callie. There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Not now,” I chirp. “I have to get to work. We can talk later. When I get home.” When I’ve figured out whether to run for my life.
He gets to his feet and scowls down at me as I hastily gather up my supplies and shove them into the cupboard.
I give him a sunny and entirely fake smile, covering my worry.
If he really wanted me to stay with him, he’d say something, wouldn’t he? If he were going to murder me, he wouldn’t be coy about it.
“I’ll see you later.” I grab up my coat and phone, and practically run out of the house, my head full of Reid. It’s the mafia equivalent of “Fuck, Marry, Kill”. Reverse-kidnap, marry, kill.
I just hope I’m only the kidnap, and not the kill. Jack drives me to work, and it’s horrible how normal it feels.
And perhaps that’s why I don’t notice the man in the staff changing area. It’s only when a hand clamps over my mouth and I’m picked up that I realise something is horribly wrong. I kick, but a rag is held against my face and my head swims. My vision blurs.
“Settle down, girly,” orders a harsh, unfamiliar voice. Adrenaline surges in me at the Essex accent. I try to fight, but it’s too late. He’s drugged me, and my limbs are weak.
I’m being kidnapped.
19
REID
I need to show Callie that I’m serious. She left for work dodging my question, so I’ll make her understand that she’s my endgame. She’s going to be my wife.
As soon as she’s left the house, I walk out behind her. I don’t take my men. It’s just me for this job. I’m going to get her a ring, and arrange the house to be comfortable for her. Baking ingredients, all her favourite snacks. Anything and everything she likes. I call my housekeeping staff on the way to the jewellers, and reel off instructions.
In the jewellers I’m starting to browse the rings—one of the ones with a huge sapphire has caught my eye—when my phone goes.
My second-in-command.
I answer, irritated at the interruption. “This better be important.”
“It is. She’s gone,” Jack states.
“What?” For a moment, my mind can’t process what he means.
“Your nurse, Sir. I think the Essex Cartel have taken her.”
“Fuck.” I grab the sapphire ring and drop it into my pocket, before tossing my credit card at the shop assistant. “Charge me and bring the box to my house in Woodford.”
