Page 28 of Captured

“Thank you. I’m glad you were there tonight.”

There was an awkward moment that drifted between us, something that had started only a year before. I knew he was attracted to me, but he’d have a bullet in his head if he dared act on his desires. Still, the way he looked at me tonight was exactly what I had imagined the stalker doing. It was irrational for me to be thinking that way. Jessup was a good man. The stalker was a monster. I had to remind myself of that little ugliness.

“I retrieved the roses your father gave you as well. They’re in your room.”

“Thank you.” You should have dumped them on the side of the road. I had every intention of trashing those, putting the white ones in their place.

“Carson and I were instructed to check the perimeter of the estate while your father is gone. If you need anything, just text me. And Emily. Be careful what secrets you keep. One day I might not be there to protect you.”

“Stop worrying, Jessup. As I told my father tonight, I’m all grown up now. I think I can handle being alone for a little while.”

He grinned and gave me more of his usual professional nod before walking out. I turned in a full circle before leaving my father’s office, walking slowly toward the conservatory, a name my father had used when my mother had practiced inside the room. It had been my comfort zone for as long as I could remember, the room in the house where I felt closest to her.

I wasn’t certain why I hadn’t told them or anyone else what I’d suspected had happened the night I’d found her… bloodied body. I’d also wondered why I hadn’t mentioned I thought someone had been inside our house, other than for the first time in my life, I had something of my own, a little secret that no one else knew about.

Secrets and lies. Weren’t they the things movies were made of?

As I walked into the room, only turning on a single light, I was struck by how different it felt tonight. Maybe because another storm was approaching, the hint of lightning coming in through the large picture window attacking my senses. Or maybe because I’d worked my entire life to get into a fabulous music school and to be accepted as a performer. I’d accomplished both feats, enjoying the applause and the quiet reverence I’d seen every time I finished a concerto or prelude, but the accolades meant nothing.

Not without the approval of my dad.

Maybe that’s why the ache of missing my mother was even more significant. My feet felt as leaden as they had when walking across the stage after the standing ovation had concluded.

As I sat down, another flash of bright neon light drew my attention. I eased the bouquet onto the top of the glistening piano, wondering how long the housekeeper took to polish the ebony surface.

I lifted my head as I pressed the tips of my fingers to the keys of the baby grand, curious if he was out there.

If he was still watching.

Or if he, like my father, was disgusted with me. Disappointed in me.

As I began to play, I allowed myself to become lost in the music. It was another Rachmaninoff piece, another moment where the world faded, replaced by the darkness of sin and shame, a foretelling moment lingering in the haunted music. I’d always chosen such pieces, becoming lost in them easily.

It was more so tonight. I closed my eyes, reeling from the evening, from the understanding that my life was about to change once again. No longer was I just a girl protected in a warm cocoon but a woman with needs and desires, a longing to see the world for what it truly was.

The music spoke to my soul, the endless tickling of the ivories creating a dull hum inside my head. Images played out in the shadows of my mind, as dark and demanding as the rest of my life had been. Only this time, I was allowing myself to surrender to the madness of it all.

As the crescendo increased much like the tempo, I started to feel rage, taking it out on the keys, my body swaying back and forth from the force I was using. My mind was suddenly a blur, my fingers flying. I felt more alive than I had in years, enjoying the moment as if I was lost in the woods, a notion of the story the great composer told.

It was spectacular, as if I couldn’t be stopped. I smashed my hands down, taking gasping breaths as I neared the end.

And when I was finished, I remained breathless, locking in a moment where my imagination was better than life itself. After glancing at the roses, I lowered my head, keeping my fingers placed on the keys out of reverence and out of thankfulness that my playing had pulled me out of the terrible tragedy of insanity.

But was it enough to hold in the future?

CHAPTER 9

Styx

Gideon was standing outside his vehicle making a call.

Why did I have the feeling a dangerous game was being played and I’d been drawn into the middle of it? That pissed me off. Maybe it was time I eliminated the players myself. Yes. Then I could feel damn good about saving the damsel in distress.

I stood in the darkness just far enough away from the security cameras that I wouldn’t be detected, bringing the binoculars to my face once again. The two men assigned to guard my perfect budding flower were still walking the grounds. As if they had the power to protect her. Amateurs. They were the same ones from the night I’d seen her first, the two goons barely able to keep up with her.

I’d watched the taillights of the bright red Ferrari fading into the distance as Gideon left the premises, hating the man more than I’d felt before. He was the worst of mankind in my mind, a corrupt bastard who’d managed to keep his hands free of blood, while convincing more than one of his enemies to take his own life after losing everything.

Ruthless wasn’t the word for Gideon’s actions.

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