Page 90 of Captive Lies

Grant tried Blaire’s phone again and still couldn’t get through. He wanted to hurl the device out the window. He needed to get to her fast,dammit.

“The jamming signal is affecting cellular activity for a quarter-mile radius,” Jake informedhim.

When their vehicle hit another red light after barely moving a block, Grant had had enough. They’d be faster on foot with the gallery less than two miles away. He shoved the door open and hopped out. Not waiting for his bodyguard, he took off up WestStreet.

“Mr. Thorne,” Jake growled as he caught up with him. “You can’t just take off likethat.”

“I just did, Donovan” Grant told him, weaving in and out ofpedestrians.

“I can’t protect you if you disregard all securityprotocols.”

“Fuck the protocols,” he muttered as he jogged faster, shouldering past people who cursed at him. He may have shoved a hipster out of the way who had no business moseying at this hour like he was taking a stroll in Central Park. He was single-minded in his determination to get to Blaire, and no one was getting in his way. Jake learned this quickly, kept his mouth shut, and kept pace withhim.

Entering the SoHo district, Grant left the main road and crossed over to the side street where the gallery was located. Less traffic—both people and cars, but a few blocks up he saw the strobing lights of four NYPD cruisers. Grant broke into a run, thanking his daily workouts for enabling him to dash up Manhattan without breaking a sweat. If he was sweating for any reason, it wasn’t from physical exertion but from anxiety andadrenaline.

The police were getting ready to cordon off the perimeter to keep awayspectators.

Air whooshed out of his lungs as dizzying relief slammed him when he spotted Jeff, Blaire, and Tyler talking to a uniform just inside the gallery. He didn’t even think, he just approached the shop and was immediately stopped by anofficer.

“Sir, you need to standback.”

Grant pointed to Blaire. “That’s mygirlfriend.”

“Hold on.” The cop spoke to his shoulder radio. “Hey, Will, guy here says he’s Ms. Callahan’sboyfriend.”

The uniform talking to Blaire craned his neck to look through the glass doors. “Shit, that’s Grant Thorne. Let himthrough.”

Grant and Jake were escorted through the gallery threshold. With long purposeful strides, he headed straight for his woman whose face lit up when she spotted him. Her expression did funny things to hischest.

Blaire broke away from the huddle and rushed toward him. He quickened his steps and swept her into his arms, held her tight, and buried his face in the crook of herneck.

“Grant,” she breathed. The manner with which she said his name eased the crazy terror that dominated his thoughts during the fifteen-minute sprint throughManhattan.

“Blaire. Oh, Christ, baby,” he whispered in her ear. He must be crushing the shit out of her, but he couldn’t seem to get close enough. He wanted everyone to disappear so he could be alone with her. “I was so fucking scared,” he confessed roughly. He planted quick kisses over her upturned face before capturing her lips in a long searing one. Fear and adrenaline were morphing into a primal need to be inside her. He couldn’t stop touchingher.

“Ahem.” A clearing of the throat brought them out of theirhaze.

Grant glared at the uniform who interrupted him. “Are you done taking herstatement?”

“Mr. Thorne, right?” the officer confirmed. “It appears we’ve had a daring artheist.”

“I see,” Grant said. He didn’t really care about the art at this point, so he turned to Tyler. “How’re Bobby andDrew?”

“Bobby is critical with several GSWs,” Tyler said. “Drew has a concussion. He was still unconscious when the ambulance took himaway.”

“I don’t understand,” Jeff said. “They took four paintings—not one of them was from the old masters that was worthmillions.”

Blaire stiffened in his arms and dread swirled in his gut. He sensed she knew something. He tamped down the fierce desire to shake the truth out of her. So help her God, if she’d been keeping something from him again—but he’d already learned his lesson when he shut her out the last time she didn’t tell him everything. He accidentally squeezed her too tight as he struggled with his internalconflict.

“Grant,” sheprotested.

He relaxed his grip but continued holding her. The nagging fear that she could be snatched any moment had been festering since she’d first been abducted and, after this incident, it wouldn’t surprise him if he’d become psychotic with her safety. Heaven help him, he wanted to chain Blaire to his side so he could personally watch overher.

“Mr. Thorne,” the cop said. “We do need to clear this place for the crime scene crew to do their job. The detectives are on their way. I believe the paintings that were stolen belong toyou?”

“That’s correct, officer. Listen, I need to take Ms. Callahan home. Any questions regarding the paintings can be directed toward Mr. Hawkins. Tyler, stay to answer the questions for the detectives, but once that’s done, I want you back at thepenthouse.”

“Yes,sir.”

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