Page 62 of Wrong Number. Right Don.
I turn to the bed and stare at the tangle of sheets I just abandoned. How many times did I fall asleep in his arms, convinced our life was perfectly normal?
Nothing about any of this is normal.
Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back because I won’t let myself cry over him. I can’t. I need to stay clear-headed for my baby. If I don’t get out now, if I don’t leave this house as soon as I possibly can, I never will.
I glance at the small suitcase I brought when I first moved in. It’s still sitting at the bottom of my closet. I drop to my knees and pull it out, tossing it open and immediately filling it with everything I can grab. Then I wonder, can I even go back to my apartment? He knows where I live. He probably has people who can trace my car and my debit-card transactions. I’ll need to get cash, and fast. Then I’ll need to ditch my car somewhere.
I don’t have a plan, but I’m good on my feet. Maybe Mia knows someone a few states away who’ll take me in. Maybe I’ll disappear entirely. But I can’t stay here, not another second.
My throat tightens as I think about Liliya. For the first time all night, I hesitate. I don’t know how much she does or doesn’t know, but I have to assume she’s aware. Maybe she wanted to tell me and she couldn’t. Maybe she’s just as much a victim of a man’s choices as I am.
I can’t leave without saying goodbye to her.
Quietly, I grab a hoodie and zip it over my tank top. I slip into a pair of sneakers and make my way down the hall, keeping my footsteps light. The lights are off, the corridor washed in moonlight. When I get to her bedroom, I crack the door open just enough to let the soft hum of her white noise machine drift out. I peek inside.
She’s fast asleep, looking utterly peaceful. She doesn’t look as frail as she did when I first arrived. She really is getting better.
I hesitate again. Every instinct in me wants to walk over and tell her goodbye. I want to thank her for everything she’s done for me, for being so kind and welcoming. I whisper it from the doorway instead.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “For everything.”
She shifts slightly, sighing in her sleep, but doesn’t wake. I swallow the lump in my throat and back away, careful not to let the door creak as I pull it closed behind me.
Then I’m moving. I slip swiftly, silently, down the main hall, carrying my suitcase by the handle so the wheels don’t betray me. I cut through the kitchen and head straight for the garage.
In the massive garage, my car keys dangle on a hook beside dozens of others. I snatch them down and heave my suitcase into the trunk. I quickly disable the alarm like Sergei showed me howto only a week ago in case I needed to get out. I open the garage door, praying the sound doesn’t wake anyone. Hopefully, if it does, I’ll be long gone by the time they get up to check.
I get in the car and turn the key in the ignition, but I don’t turn on the headlights just yet. I ease the car out of the garage and onto the road, glancing back at the mansion one last time in the rearview mirror. The house is dark. Still asleep.
And just like that, I’m gone. I don’t look back again; instead, I wind through back roads toward the highway. Then I realize I can’t go back to the city. I decide to head upstate for a few days while I figure out my next move. Sometime tomorrow I’ll get cash and ditch the car, but for tonight I just need to get somewhere safe. I turn onto a narrow back road, desperate to put as much distance between me and the mansion as possible.
The SUVs come out of nowhere, sleek and black, headlights off. I don’t even see them until one cuts me off at the next intersection, tires squealing, while the other pulls up fast behind me and blocks my exit.
Panic explodes in my chest.
No. No, no, no.
I slam my foot on the brake and try to reverse, but there’s nowhere to go. I’m boxed in. Trapped. My fingers scramble to lock the doors, to grab my phone, but before I can so much as dial, a figure steps out from the lead SUV.
I scream and fumble for the door, but it’s too late. The window shatters with a loud crack, sending shards across my lap. A hand grabs me, rough and gloved, yanking me out of the car and into the cold night air. I fight back, kicking and screaming, but no one hears me.
The last thing I see before the world goes dark is the red taillight of my car still blinking in the street.
26
SERGEI
Iwake up to a quiet house and an empty bed. I reach for Nicole but meet only cool sheets. Fog clings to my thoughts as I try to recall whether she ever slipped into bed last night, but nothing solid surfaces.
I sit up slowly, rubbing a hand across my face as unease flickers in my gut. It’s earlier than I usually wake up. Weak sunlight barely stretches across the windows, and only a handful of birds chirp.
I pull on a shirt and check the bathroom. She isn’t there either. In fact, there’s no trace of her at all. I’m shocked at how quickly I’ve grown accustomed to her presence. I used to relish an empty bed, but now her absence presses against me like a bruise. And this morning, more than ever, my gut insists something is wrong.
I go to her room to knock on the door, but there’s no answer. I walk the garden paths in case she went for a stroll, but they’re empty. None of the staff have seen her this morning, and the kitchen shows no trace of brewed coffee or a hastily made breakfast.
Finally, I head to Mom’s suite. If Nicole were anywhere on the property, she’d be at Mom’s bedside. But when I poke my head in, my mother is still sleeping soundly and there’s no sign that Nicole’s been here either.
Panic finally sinks its claws into me. I hurry back to her room and don’t bother knocking. I shove the door wide and find the bed unmade—and every trace of Nicole gone. She left. What the hell?
