Page 90 of Sinful Beauty

The absence of security troubles me. If this isn’t where Lucia is, then when we have no more leads.

I pop the back of my SUV open and reach for my kevlar. If we’re not at the right place, then every minute we waste here distances us from finding Lucia.

My personal mobile vibrates in the passenger seat. From this distance, I can’t read the screen, but I recognize my mother’s profile photo.

“Is that the girl? Lucia?” He’s pointing toward my phone, as if he’s thinking she escaped and found a phone to call us. But Lucia’s mobile is at the office. She doesn’t own a personal one. I should’ve bought her one.

“No.” I answer, strapping on a shoulder holster. “Do you have a photo of Lucia Oliviera?” He gives a quick shake of the head. “All the men should have her photo.”

At the front of the car, I pick up my satellite phone and attach it to my vest, then grab my personal phone and flick through the photos. The only photo I have is one that Lucia took of the two of us on our first weekend away, coincidentally not too far from here. I show it to Ryan and he looks from the screen to me.

“Jack said this was personal for you. Why don’t you let my men take the lead?”

“She’s carrying my child.” My throat tightens. “Our child. I’m first in.”

I finish prepping under his silent scrutiny. I shared too much information. While it’s not his business, he needs to understand that from my perspective, this is no longer an investigation. My highest priority is finding Lucia and saving her from these fuckers. There will be no warning shots. I will shoot to kill.

Chapter33

Lucia

The wind whistles through the breaks in the glass. My elbows and knees feel flimsy, the feebleness noticeable. I vomited the tea and crackers from this morning hours ago.

The physical sensation is nothing compared to the emotional battering. Tristan doing this is the only rational explanation. But then I remember his texts. He wanted to talk. And my heart argues he couldn’t have. That him doing this doesn’t make sense either.

I wonder, is this how my mother felt when my father proved her wrong? She swore he’d been wrongly incriminated. But was her defense of my father rooted in her refusal to believe she could have been so wrong about another person? Because for the first time in my life, if that’s the case, I feel her inner turmoil.

Obviously, Tristan is privileged and spoiled. But those attributes do not equate to evil.

It will be a week before Khalani raises concerns with authorities. She’ll assume I’m working hard, or maybe I’m dealing with the pregnancy. But, if I don’t get back to her by possibly Sunday, she’ll aggressively search for me. She’ll start by contacting one of our mutual acquaintances at Lumina. And Peltz? What on earth did Tristan tell people at work? Yesterday was the first time I called in sick in over eight years of employment. What did Mr. Peltz think when I didn’t show today?

He’d been concerned for me yesterday, and even asked if there was anything he could do for me. What did he think today when I didn’t show? When I didn’t respond to what must have been dozens of emails and texts?

I don’t have any idea what is happening, but I’m not helpless. If I ride this out for a couple of days, maybe the staff he’s hired to keep me here will become complacent. I can break the pitcher and water glass and use the remnants as weapons. The broken window itself can turn into a weapon. I can use the pillow cases to bandage my hands and protect them from the glass wedges.

If the doctor visits without the armed guard, I can take him. Presumably, someone will bring food, and if the guard doesn’t arrive with that person, I may overpower that person.

Tristan himself might come and I can plead with him. Of course, as soon as he lets me go, I’ll go to the authorities. I don’t care who he is or how much money he has, he’s a danger to society. A danger to other women.

I genuinely believed he cared, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Or fuck me, was I wrong? I can’t believe he’d do this.

A sound much like a door creaking has me curling my legs up against myself. Faint footfalls sound growing louder at a faster clip than earlier.

It sounds like one person. Will it be the doctor? The man with guns? Or someone else? Someone who might provide insights into what has happened today.

Metal rattles and the knob on the door trembles. I suck in a breath of air, waiting, fearful. Determined.

The door swings open, and I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing.

Tristan.

My eyes sting, and I blink furiously, attempting to tamp down a swirl of emotions. My gaze locks on his eyes as he rushes to me.

“Lucia. Are you okay?”

He reaches for me and I flinch, scooting away from him, not allowing him anywhere near me. My booted feet fall hard on the floor opposite the bed and I back up to the wall.

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