Page 9 of Chain Me
“Your donor list,” I blurted, brandishing my brochure opened to the right page. “There’s one figure listed by only his initials. Can you tell me his name?”
He leaned forward and brushed his hand over mine while he read. “Why, I believe that is Donald Hildrand,” he said with a pleasant laugh, sitting back. “He tends to be too mysterious for his own good. I could arrange for you to meet him if that would put you at ease, though I would be loath to share your company—”
“No.” I shook my head and swallowed down the lump that had risen in my throat. “That’s not necessary.”
Somehow, I had known, even before he’d delivered his answer, that it wouldn’t be what I wanted to hear. No, perhaps wanted was too strong a word. What Ineededto hear. That was how paranoid delusions tended to work out, didn’t they?
One healthy dose of reality could make it all fall apart.
“Have I disappointed you, Ms. Gray?” Mr. Lanic wondered. He reached out, his fingertips sweeping upward to bat a loose strand of hair from my face. He must have misjudged the distance, because the tip of his thumb grazed my throat instead.
I flinched back, shaking my head. “No. In fact—” I withdrew my checkbook and scribbled a one in the farthest corner of the amount line. Meeting Mr. Lanic’s inquiring gaze, I pushed the check toward him. “Forget I asked. All that matters now is…how many zeros should I add onto this figure?”
Once the poor man returned his eyes back to his skull, I wrote the amount he requested without a second thought. After all, if I were dying, at least my family’s name might grace some bench or fountain at St. Mary’s to commemorate our benevolent nature. I choked out a laugh, picturing it. It was the only legacy my family could hope I’d pass on. No children or heirs to carry on the name, but an inscription:From the gracious Gray Family to the whole of the city…
“Ms. Gray? Are you all right?”
“Huh?” I looked up to find Mr. Lanic staring at the pristine tablecloth in front of me.
Or, at least ithadbeen pristine. Three ruby drops now decorated the space beside my plate.
“I’m f-fine.” I scrambled to my feet, snatching my checkbook from the table. “I should go—”
“What on Earth?” Lanic frowned, his gaze on something behind me. “I apologize. I insisted upon privacy.”
“What?” I turned, catching a glimpse of an intruder, who was already storming out through the doorway, their posture more confident than the average server. Bolder. Not to mention that they allowed the door to slam in their wake, which rattled the wooden frame. Perhaps the restaurant owner coming to bill me for the damage?
No. What little of his features I saw were too impressive for the average man. A luxury suit. Golden hair. Skin like ivory. And a spicy, wintry scent that lingered in the air, tainting my every breath. Either tall, blond men in Armani were becoming a regular occurrence or…
God, it was too dangerous a word to process at the moment.Or.
“I was assured this was a premier venue,” Lanic groused. “I can have the manager move us to a more private—”
“I-I have to go.” I lunged for the door, aware of movement behind me.
“Ms. Gray?” From the corner of my eye, I saw Gabriel start to stand. “Wait!”
I was already in the lobby within seconds, gasping for air. My rib cage had a vise grip on my lungs. My legs were jelly. I almost turned back in search of a chair before I made a fool of myself and fainted.
Obviously, I’d hallucinated.
As if to challenge that thought, the sound of a slamming car door brought my attention to the valet out front. A man was climbing into a car: black, sleek, imported, and most definitely expensive. I couldn’t see the owner’s face through the tinted windows as I staggered from The Maria’s entrance. He drove off, and I had only enough sense to race toward my own vehicle, parked paces away.
“Ms. Gray?” François gaped as I clambered into the front seat.
Then I spit out the most words I’d spoken to him since the day he’d been hired. “Follow that damn car or I will drive this thing myself!”
Already, our quarry had pulled off and woven through traffic nearly a block ahead.
“Okay.” François wrenched on the wheel, launching into a pursuit. For all his politeness, my new driver must have driven more than spoiled heiresses in his day. People who valued reckless speed. He tore through alleys and side streets, easily narrowing the distance between us and our prey.
But even he wasn’t fast enough.
“Damn!” He slapped the wheel as the other car sped off through an intersection before we could follow. “I’m sorry, miss. Let me try to—”
“Let me out.” I tugged on the door handle only to find it locked. “Let me out!”
I slapped the window until he finally unlocked the doors. Even as my heart raced, my strength failed me. It took everything I had to shoulder the door open and climb out. While I staggered down the deserted block, François resisted the flow of traffic to keep pace.
