“Maudit,” he muttered, his phone ringing again. He answered on speaker with brisk anger. “This is McCaffrey.”
“Hello, Ronan. Did you give my gift to Ireland?”
The voice was the same as the one Detective Vega had played for her in the hospital. She tried to communicate that to Ronan, desperately pointing at his phone screen.
They both went still, Ireland’s heart pounding so violently she felt dizzy. He caught her by the arm and steered her to a barstool.
“Who is this?” he snapped.
“Is she with you? I was really hoping she’d pick it up from the doorman herself so I could get a better look at her, but you’re so gallant for having done so for her.”
Ireland looked at him, her lips parted with short, quick breaths.
“What do you want?” Ronan asked. “The ransom?”
“Hmmm… I mean, who wouldn’t? But then it wasn’t actually a ransom, was it? I wonder, would Cross be more likely to pay if I took Chris Vidal? What about little Lorenzo or adorable Serena?”
Shocked fury pierced Ireland’s numbing fear. “What thefuckdo you want?” she screamed.
“Ah, there you are,” the voice singsonged happily. “I wonder what you’ll be wearing the next time we get together.”
“Why don’t you try me without your fucking goons?” Ireland countered, her voice pitched high and sharp, her body trembling.
The laughter that came through the speaker was chilling. “You sound a bit like your brother. Really, you two are turning out to be a lot more fun than I expected. We’ll talk soon.”
The call went dead.
