Promises to Keep (26 page)

Sixty-Seven

Ben hung up the
phone and stood, making the trip to the bathroom doorway to watch Val, knelt over the toilet, puking up the last of whatever Church had given her.

Church was a woman. Ain't that a kick in the ass.

Val rocked back on her heels, face white and clammy. “Did you talk to her? Is she okay?”

“Yeah, everything's unicorns and lollipops,” he said, doing his best to squelch his impatience.

“You don't have to be such a—” She turned toward the bowl to make another deposit.

“You're right. I'm an asshole. Sorry,” he said, cutting her off. She was an idiot but then again, so was he for not catching on sooner. He waited for her to finish puking before he started peppering her with questions again. “What's the last thing you remember?”

Val shook her head, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth. “I don't know.” She shook her head, looking up at him. “Standing in line, waiting for coffee. I was taking Lucy to the park after her four-month checkup but …” Tears flooded her eyes.

“You don't actually remember being at the park,” he finished for her. Whatever Church had used on her had planted a big black fucking hole smack dab in the middle of her memory.

Clever girl.

“Try not to worry about it right now,” he said, turning on his heel. Once he was in the hallway, he checked on the kid. He was still in the rocker, humming quietly to the baby.

“
Ona goloden.
” She's hungry. He said it quietly, his small pale hand patting a comforting rhythm on Lucy's back.

“
Khorosho. Ya seychas vernus'
.” Okay. I'll be right back

He turned and took the back stairs fast, the soles of his boots gripping to the floor firmly on the landing. He pulled his cell and dialed the number, listening to it ring while he opened upper cabinets to grab a bottle.

“Hello, Benjamin.”

“I want my plane back.” He filled the bottle with purified water from the gallon jug that sat next to the can of formula on the counter. “FSS has a whole goddamned fleet of planes and you decide to use mine to commit a kidnapping?”

“Kidnapping? Hardly. Ms. Vaughn has been in my employ for over a year now, Benjamin,” his father said in a distracted tone. “It's time for her to earn her keep.”

“And by
earn her keep
you mean die violently.” Ben measured three scoops of powder into the bottle before fitting the collared nipple in place. Screwing it shut, he could feel the ache in his hand, the stiffness in his fingers. He studied the scar that covered the back of it. “Why does this all feel so familiar to me, Dad?”

“Because you can't let the past go, Benjamin.”

It was a low blow, and he felt every bit of it. “I'll let it go when you're dead.”

His father sighed. “Don't be ridiculous,” he said as if he'd just revealed that he still believed in Santa Claus. “As soon as Michael completes the task I've set him, he'll be moving on to deal with the Reyes situation. I assure you, she's completely safe until then.”

Task. What the hell had his father forced Michael into?
Instead of asking, he let it go. If his father wanted him to know, he would. Asking wouldn't change a thing. “Let me help her,” he said, plugging the hole in the nipple with his pointer before giving the bottle a good shake. “Put me on a plane. I can be there within—”

“Stop trying to save everyone. The role of hero is one you are ill-equipped for,” his father said before hanging up on him.

Ben chewed on that and what it might mean while he climbed the stairs to the nursery. As soon as he stepped through the doorway, Alex repositioned Lucy in his arms before reaching for the bottle. He could hear Val retching and imagined her bent over the toilet, trying to get rid of whatever Courtney hit her with.

“
Yavlyayetsya li ona budet v poryadke
?” Is she going to be okay?

Ben nodded while he handed the bottle over. “
Da, s ney vse budet prosto otlichno
.” Yeah, she's gonna be just fine.

He could lie in eight different languages. His father would be so proud.

Sixty-Eight

The room Reyes's guards
led her to was hardly a dungeon. With its huge four-poster canopy bed and coffered ceilings, it looked like the executive suite at a five-star hotel.

But Sabrina recognized a prison when she saw one.

Standing in the middle of the room, she counted eight surveillance cameras that were activated by motion sensors. Every move she
made was being monitored … which would make retrieving her
weapons nearly impossible.

What was she going to do? How in the hell was she supposed to save the Senator's grandson when she was just as much a prisoner as he was?

The answer was simple: she couldn't.

What did Shaw expect her to do? She was a cop, not some highly-trained operative. Stealth was hardly one of her strong suits.

Sabrina sat down on the edge of the bed and carefully took in her surroundings as she wondered if Leo Maddox was being kept in a similar fashion. Was he locked away in some posh room somewhere close by, or was he being held captive in a cage like Alex Kotko had been?

A knock sounded at the door and she stood seconds before the door was opened. A young girl of about twelve or thirteen stood in the doorway, her hair pulled back into a tight tail at the nape her neck, the wild, dark curling mass of it falling nearly to her waist. She was slender, bordering on scrawny, all limbs and big eyes.

“The cameras are visual only. No audio,” the girl said without preamble, cruising the room with an air of familiarity. “And the man assigned to watch them is lazy. As long as you appear to behave, my father will never know otherwise.”

My father
…

“Christina.” Hope jittered inside her chest, too stupid to know better. “Christina Reyes?”

The girl went still, a wary expression on her face. “Yes. How do you know me?”

“Michael speaks very highly of you.”

No response.

“Christina?”

“He talks about me?” the girl said. “I'd begun to think … I thought my father killed him.”

Sabrina shook her head. “No. Michael's alive.”

An understanding she was too young to harbor settled into Christina's face. “That's why my father brought you … to lure him back to the island.”

She looked up and over, eyes trained instantly on the security camera perched in the corner above the girl's shoulder. “I don't think you should be here. You father made it clear that there would be consequences if I broke the rules.” What would happen now that Alberto Reyes's daughter had introduced herself to her father's kidnapping victim? It wasn't something she was eager to find out.

Christina took a slow turn around the room, ignoring her protests. “This was my mother's room for a while,” she said softly, as if any loud voice would disturb the ghost that lived with in these walls. She wandered over to the vanity to trail a finger along the gleaming line of a silver-plated brush, turning it over. Something rattled softly inside the handle. “Her things are still here. Sometimes I think she is too.”

The mention of her mother snapped Sabrina out of whatever insane plan she'd been harboring. She couldn't get this girl involved. Not after what Reyes had done to her mother. “Christina, please, there's no time. You need to leave.”

“I was sent by my father to invite you to dinner,” the girl said calmly, turning to look at her. “I would—
we
would—very much like your company.”

Sabrina looked at the porcelain clock perched on the mantel. It was eight o'clock. Food was the last thing she wanted, but this was a chance to get out. To get a look at the layout of the house. To see if she could figure out where Reyes was holding the Maddox boy.

“Okay,” Sabrina said, heading toward the bathroom. “Just give me a moment to freshen up.”

In the bathroom, a cursory glance revealed a camera mounted in the corner, facing the toilet. She'd be willing to bet money there was one in the shower as well. No possible way she'd be able to retrieve her weapons in here either.

Sabrina used the restroom while staring into the camera before washing her hands. She splashed cold water onto her face and dried them both on a thick white towel. Her jaw was tender from where it'd connected with Reyes's hand. The corner of her mouth was cut, and the blood leaking from it stained the towel she used. Sabrina dropped the towel on the floor and exited the bathroom without giving the camera another glance.

Christina was sitting on the rose-colored settee, hands folded into her lap. She looked up, a faint smile on her lips. She looked nothing like her father—her eyes were wide and expressive, so dark her iris and pupil blended almost seamlessly.

“I'm ready,” she said, and Christina stood, nodding.

The young woman crossed the room to the door and, producing a key, she unlocked it. “Follow me,” Christina said quietly as she pulled the door shut.

“Thank you,” Sabrina said, unsure of what else to say. Unsure if she was reading the girl correctly.

“Many things changed after my mother's death. My father has become very paranoid.”

Christina led her down a wide, dimly lit hallway, turning here and there, leading her deeper and deeper into the house. “He trusts no one. All guards and household staff are shuttled off the island after dinner and living quarters are equipped with timed locks. They are engaged at nine p.m. and released at six a.m. If you're caught outside your room between those times, you'll be shot.”

“What about you? If you're caught sneaking around, will you be shot too?”

The girl looked up at her, her expression carefully drawn blank. “There's no exceptions.”

“If there are no guards at night, then who's going to stop me?” she said, unable to curb the insolent tone that crept into her voice.

The girl didn't look at her, instead choosing to stare straight ahead as she walked. “There are cameras everywhere except for my father's study and his living quarters. No matter where you are, you are always watched. If you're caught wandering, someone
will
kill you.”

Sabrina followed along quietly, so many questions begging to be answered that, for a moment, she found herself unable to ask any at all. Finally, she spoke. “Your father blames Michael for your mother's death. Do you? Blame him?” The question seemed ridiculous when there were a million other, more relevant ones she could be asking, but she had to know if this girl could be trusted if and when the time came to defy her father.

“The person I blame is beyond my reach,” Christina said, casting her a glance. “No matter what face he shows you, my father is very dangerous. Do not forget and do not defy him.” She stopped in front of a set of heavy double doors and pushed them open.

Sitting at a long dining room table, laden with china and crystal, was Alberto Reyes. He'd changed into a pair of creamy white linen pants and a silk button-down, casually open at the throat. “Sabrina,” he said warmly, standing as she came into the room. “I am so glad you agreed to join us.” He beamed at her, but it, like his tone, was nothing more than pretend. The smile, the solicitous cadence of his voice—it was all a lie.

Before she could say a word, he continued, holding his hand out to someone behind a large centerpiece in the center of the table. “Come, say hello to our guest.”

A small blond head peeked around the polished silver urn that held the flowers. Leo Maddox looked at her, his green eyes flat and hollow. “Hello,” he said quietly. “Are you here to take me home?”

Sixty-Nine

Sabrina took a seat
at the table across from Leo, pushing the centerpiece to the right so she could see his face. He looked dull, like he'd been drugged or like maybe he'd given up hope of ever seeing his family again after nearly a month.

She could relate.

“Leo,” she said, well aware that Reyes still stood over her, watching and listening to everything she did and said. “Leo, I need you to listen to me, okay?”

The little boy looked up from his empty plate, his flat gaze trained on her face. Before she could speak, Reyes cut in.

“Choose your words wisely, Sabrina,” he murmured, taking his seat at the head of the table. “The wrong ones will cost you both.”

“You're not alone,” she said, struggling to keep a balance between giving him hope and saying something that would set Reyes off. On impulse she reached out and gripped the hand of the girl sitting beside her, squeezing it beneath the table before letting it go. “Not anymore.”

“And what will you do now that you're here, Sabrina?” Reyes said, baiting her. “How will you save the day?”

Kill you, for starters.

“If you know me as well as you think you do,
Alberto
, then you know that I've been here before,” she said, fighting to keep her tone light. “As for saving the day … I'm sure I'll think of something.”

The look he gave her told her that there would be a price to pay for her insolence. “No more talking,” Reyes said, ringing a silver bell that waited next to an empty wine glass. Instantly, a small army of servants pushed through a door, each carrying trays and dishes of food.

Sabrina watched silently as these dishes and trays were passed around. Reyes was served first, servants eager to please him.

Each time they came her way, she shook her head no. They would look to him for direction, and he'd nod. They scooped and piled food onto the plate in front of her before depositing dishes onto the sideboard behind her.

Sabrina kept her hands in her lap.

“Don't be stubborn,
querida
,” Reyes said, raising his fork to his mouth to take a bite. “You'll need your strength if you're going to play the hero, yes?”

Sabrina looked down at her plate. Beef Wellington. Asparagus. Herbed potatoes. Leo was watching her from across the table, his eyes once again flat and vacant. She picked up her fork, using its tines to spear a potato. She winked at him and shoved it into her mouth, eliciting no more than a ghost of a smile from him.

But it was enough.

“Our newest guest is a friend of
El Cartero
—you remember him, don't you, Christina?” Reyes said, choosing to ignore her small rebellion.

The potato in her mouth turned to glue as she watched the girl beside her. Christina took a small sip of water before nodding. “Yes, father,” she said without looking at him.

“He'll be coming soon. You'd like that wouldn't you, Christina?” Reyes said, his voice dangerously soft. “To see your old friend again?”

She looked at him then, her eyes finding her father's face and Sabrina felt her heart seize in her chest with the insane urge to slap a hand over the girl's mouth to stop her from speaking.

“Yes, father,” she said—the same words as before but in a tone that narrowed Reyes's eyes. Christina wasn't just paying her father lip service; she was defying him.

Small rebellions, it seemed, were going to be their undoing.