Page 16 of Wicked Heat

Then I realize I haven’t seen the worst of it. Because right there in the center of the screen is Anne sitting in her cute little play outfit and surrounded by a ring of toys. She’s dopey from the Versed, and I know she doesn’t understand what’s going on, but it doesn’t matter. This is Damien Stark’s little girl, and from the way the shot is framed, it looks like some horrible bastard is putting on a show especially for her… and using my body as the stage.

Six

Anne.

All I can think of is that little girl. A sweet kid who may have started out as my professional charge but has become part of my family.

“She’s older now,” I whisper. “If that video’s released, she’ll know it’s her.” The last word is broken by a sob as I lift my head and look at Aria through tear-filled eyes. “She won’t understand all of it, but she’ll know people are watching her. Pitying her. I can’t let that happen. I have to⁠—”

My frenetic thoughts are interrupted by a high-pitched tone coming from my phone, followed by that terrifying, filtered voice. “And now a word from our sponsor.” The voice is almost lyrical, the humor unmistakable underneath that tinny, canned voice.

“Remember the rules,” it says. “You will not call the police or any sort of law enforcement official or private security company, team, or person. If you do, we will know. Break this rule and the videos will be released.”

There’s a pause, as if my tormentor is letting that settle in. As if I need more time to understand how much the people I care about will suffer if those videos get out.

By the clock, the voice is silent for only a minute. In my heart, it’s an eternity. When it returns, it’s harder somehow. The danger even more palpable.

“If you want to protect the little girl—if you want to know the price to keep your own secrets hidden—if you want to know the price to make this all disappear—scan the code again in five minutes.”

The image of me and the stranger and Anne freezes, then turns to black. A beat later, a yellow smiley face emoji fills the screen, along with the words See You Soon in a comic-style font.

“Fucker,” Aria whispers.

I say nothing. I’m too numb. Too scared.

“Bree—”

I hear the catch in her voice, and I lift my head to look at her through tear-filled eyes.

“You have to tell Mr. Stark.”

Ice floods my body. “I can’t.”

“They said price. And I’m pretty sure this house doesn’t have enough equity to cover a blackmail demand. Besides, Anne’s in the middle of it. He and Nikki should know.”

She’s right, but I just shake my head. “I can’t. They’ve finally healed from the kidnapping. They’re on a family vacation. I’m not even sure where to find them.” That’s not actually true. They own an unpopulated private island in the Caribbean, and they’ve gone there for a family getaway. Damien took his satellite phone for emergencies only, but I’m not about to track down the number and call.

Aria gives me the look that says she knows perfectly well that I could get in touch if I wanted to. “Oh, well, then, definitely let them come home to find this blasted all over the internet.”

I sag, my whole body sinking into itself. “I can’t do it to them. The family. How can I draw them back into this?” Just the idea makes me queasy, and hot tears are already pooling in my eyes.

“You don’t have to,” Aria says as she gently wipes away an escaping tear. “Just Damien. Tell him what’s going on. Tell him that you have to pay to keep it quiet, and you need his help. You know he will.”

I want to nod. I want to say that, of course, I’ll contact him. After all, Aria’s right that he makes the most sense, and he could have ransom money wired within the hour. But I can’t make those words come to my lips. I remember only too vividly how broken he was. I’d been through hell, and they’d released me without Anne. I felt like I’d been turned inside out. Like I’d never be me again. Like the world was bearing down on me, and I was only half-living in my body.

When I’d looked at Damien, I knew he felt the same way, too. He hadn’t been taken, but his little girl had, and the trauma had gone through him like acid.

“I won’t,” I whisper. “Not unless I’m a zillion percent certain there’s no other way.”

I can tell Aria wants to argue, but to her credit, she only nods. “Fine. You win.” She groans with frustration. It’s a strangled, rough sound, and she stands up, then runs her fingers through her choppy hair. When she starts pacing, my spirits lift. Not much, but a little.

The truth is, my bestie’s pretty much a hot mess who’s quit or gotten fired from every job she’s ever held. She’s edging up on thirty and still doesn’t have a clue about what she wants to do for the rest of her life.

She’s worked as a receptionist, vet tech, Uber driver, and more. She has a degree in biology and dropped out just shy of getting another in physics. She has a zillion trophies from gymnastics competitions, and she taught herself to speak near fluent French. She’s worked as a runway and print model, and even did some background vocals for an indie record.

None of which has translated into a paycheck that lasted longer than five months.

But toss her in a pressure cooker? That’s when she shines, and I feel the tiny, green shoots of hope start to push up through the black that has swallowed me.