September: Calendar Girl Book 9 (5 page)

“Hey, Mia.” Warren’s voice wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold either. It was firm and filled with sorrow. God, no.

I sat on the end of the coffee table and braced for the worst. Max’s eyes cut to mine, and he leaned forward, putting his palms on my knees. I clasped his hand with one of mine and held on so tight my knuckles turned white.

“Just tell me. Is he dead?” The two seconds before Warren answered could have been a lifetime. I’d never forget what I felt in that speck of time. Destroyed. Damaged. Broken. Three things I never wanted to be again came to life in a tiny spark of flint against steel. Thankfully, it didn’t catch fire.

“No, honey, he’s not.” He sucked in a breath and cleared his throat.

“Is he in the hospital?”

Warren sighed low and deep. There was nothing left to say. I knew. I fucking knew it. He was alive, but still gone. The man I loved, the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, the man it took me seven months to break down my walls for, was being held by radical religious terrorists half a world away, and I was here. Sitting at a table in a hotel practically connected to a hospital where my father was fighting to live. My world right now was more fucked up than it ever had been, and I had no idea how to fix it.

“Listen to me, the president and secretary of state are on this. Now, America does not negotiate with terrorists, but we are talking to other officials in Indonesia.”

“Indonesia? Is that where they were when they were filming?” I asked, confused.

“No, they were filming in a very remote area in the northern part of Sri Lanka. The northern part of the island hadn’t had a terrorist attack since 2009, and the military does have a solid presence in the country but not that far north. It’s considered a dangerous area.”

“Why the hell were they filming there if it was dangerous?”

Warren groaned. “Honey, the production team found out about a couple unique spots to shoot a scene, and your guy, he wanted to get the scene just right.”

Goddamn it, Wes.
Trying to take on this new role to the nth degree and conquer it. “Stupid,” I gritted through my teeth.

“Well, be that as it may, the team being held includes Weston and Gina DeLuca, the lead actress in the film.”

“Gina DeLuca.” I mumbled, her name alone grating along my nerves.

“They have both of them and four other men. It’s bad, though. Mia, honey, there’s something I need to tell you.” His voice took on a harder edge. The kind that meant I needed to listen and what I was going to hear was going to shake the very ground I walked on.

I swallowed down the fear and waited for him to continue. Max’s hand was warm, sending support and love, and I strangled it with my grip, but he didn’t move a muscle.

“A video was sent to the military and forwarded to us.”

“What’s in the video, Warren?” Shivers of dread rippled along my spine, and I sat up straighter. A knot in my gut twisted so tight I couldn’t do anything but hold my breath.

“In the video, your guy was talking. On his knees, face to face with another crew member. They forced him to say what they wanted.” His voice cut off and a few ragged breaths could be heard.

Tears rippled down my face as if my body knew before my mind that the situation had gone from horrendous to life-shattering. Max tried to wipe the tears away but I shook my head.

Warren cleared his throat and stoically continued. “Uh, he said they wanted to show westerners everywhere what was going to happen to them if they soiled their country with their vile liberal politics and disgusting religious beliefs. Honey, as Wes was talking, a masked man lifted up a machete and cut off the head of one of his crew.”

A sob tore from my lungs. “God, no. No, Jesus, please no!” I screamed.

Max grabbed the phone, put it on speaker, and set it on the table so he could hear.

“What did he say?” Max growled, his protective bear coming out in spades.

“They cut off a crew member’s head in front of Wes!” I cried, the tears pouring like Niagara Falls.

Max’s face turned hard, his lips white as they formed a harsh line. “Get it together, Mia. You need to get it together, darlin’. What else, Mr. Shipley? This is Maxwell Cunningham, her brother. You can speak freely.”

Warren coughed and then proceeded to tell us that the terrorists had traveled by boat with the six hostages to Indonesia, a much larger country where it was easier to hide. Our military already had a pretty good idea where they were being held, and after that video was sent, they were going in to every possible location in question. There were five possibilities. Special Forces teams were being brought together, and once information was gleaned on which location held the hostages, they would move forward with a mission to secure them. He said it could be days before we knew the end result.

When the call ended, I sat there in a daze. My laid-back movie-making surfer guy, the man of my dreams, had watched a co-worker and, knowing Wes and how he connected with people, a friend murdered right in front of his eyes. How the hell does someone get over something like that? Whatever it took, I’d be there for him every step of the way. If he survived, God willing, I’d kiss every single last one of his wounds, mental and physical. I’d take it all away with my words, my body, and by loving him more than he'd ever known in this lifetime.

“I love you, Wes.” I said the words out loud. To him,
for
him. Even though Wes was nowhere near, maybe, just maybe, those words would whisper along the air into a remote location in Indonesia, where he would, at the very least,
feel
them…against his skin, within his heart, as part of his soul.

T
wo weeks
in Vegas and the zombie vibe had taken on a whole new level of creep-factor. Both Maddy and I shuffled around one another like those little robots that cleaned your floor automatically but didn’t run into one another. The Roomba, I think it is? As if the two of us had a sensor a foot around our entire bodies, we moved through the maze of our days on autopilot without touching. Maybe we needed the touching, but neither of us could make an effort. They’d taken the breathing machine away a couple of days ago. Pops was definitely breathing on his own, and the medications were finally clearing the infection. The doctors were pleased with his new prognosis.

Maddy and I were as well, but the fact that he still had tubes coming out of every orifice didn’t make us feel all that content. In another week, Maddy and Matt would go back to school. She needed to get her life ready for that change. It was her third year of college and she was taking a full load as usual. My over-achieving sister. Secretly, I loved that she put so much on her shoulders because it meant that she definitely wouldn’t be tying the knot any time soon.

Remembering that, I still needed to have a chat with goody two-shoes Matt about his issue of pressuring my sister to marry. If he loved her, he needed to wait. Finish up school and show her the kind of man he is. Besides, I wondered how the conversation about Maddy being interested in Cunningham Oil & Gas and working in Texas was going to go. Would it be a deal breaker? Matt had a great family in the Vegas area, the type that you didn’t want to stray too far away from. Would he for her? I guessed only time would tell.

My phone pinged in my back pocket, and I pulled it out. It was a video text message from an unknown caller. Frowning, I clicked on the message, and what I saw almost sent me to my knees. I hadn’t even opened the message yet, but the square box framed a face I knew almost as well as my own. Ginelle. A black strip of fabric over her eyes, her nose bleeding, blood running down her lip into her mouth.

Without word, I ran, literally ran outside to the garden space and clicked over the little arrow that would play the video.

What the hell had I done?

The video started, and Ginelle’s voice was scared, tears coming down her cheeks from beneath the fabric tied around her head. She licked her lips and sobbed. Her bottom lip was cut, swollen, and purple. The video panned back, and I found she was dressed in one of her work outfits. Feathers and sequins were shredded as a man’s hand came into view. The fingertips of his meaty hand caressed down the open space between her breasts in a revolting show of power. I wanted to scream, yell, and throw the phone, but I couldn’t. Gin was there, somewhere, being manhandled by men I could only assume were Blaine’s goons.

The motherfucker had gone after my best friend.

It hadn’t occurred to me that he’d kidnap her. I stared in horror as the man put a beefy hand around her jugular, mimicking the hand placement of snapping one’s neck.

“Mia!” Gin cried, and I crouched low, the space around me turning black. The sun was gone. The garden disappeared. It was only me, the darkness, and the moment where I watched my best friend cry out in fear for her life.

“Say it, bitch!” The goon’s hands tightened around her head and neck.

Ginelle coughed and gagged and nodded. “Mia, uh, dinner at seven…tonight. You know the place. If you call the cops, they’ll…” Her voice cracked and the man shook her violently. More blood trickled from her nose and into her mouth. She licked it away and cried out when he yanked her hair tight in his fist. “They’ll k-kill m-me if you tell anyone.” As the screen started to pan back, Ginelle whispered. “Not your fault. I love you, Mia.”

The screen went black, and the ping of an incoming text jolted me into action. I clicked on it.

To: Mia Saunders

From: Blaine Douchebag Pintero

She’s a sweet little doll. My friend likes her a lot. 7:00 sharp. Be there.

As if possessed, I typed my response in record speed and clicked send without reading it.

T
o
: Blaine Douchebag Pintero

From: Mia Saunders

I’ll be there. Please, please don’t hurt her.

Before I could wipe the snot and tears from my face, he responded and my heart sank.

T
o
: Mia Saunders

From: Blaine Douchebag Pintero

Don’t defy me again or I’ll let him have her. Dress to impress. We have plans.

M
y ass hit the ground
, and my tailbone smarted when it banged against the concrete. The pain was nothing compared to the ache in my heart and the vile acid burning a hole through my stomach lining. Blaine and his goons had Ginelle. Terrorists had Wes. Pops was in a coma. Life had become a twisted action thriller movie. I was the unsuspecting character with few resources and I was emotionally jacked up.

There was no other option but for me to follow Blaine’s demands. He wanted to meet at what he called “our place,” and I’d meet him there. Such a twisted douchebag.

The place he referred to was Luna Rosa, an Italian restaurant he’d taken me to on our very first date. We sat outside on the patio that faced Lake Las Vegas. White twinkle lights wrapped on the palm trees had given his skin an ethereal glow. Back then I was completely enamored with Blaine. Six-foot-four, a few years my senior, with dark hair that looked perfect against a crisp navy-blue suit. He could have been a model with his svelte body and bone structure. His unique green and yellow eyes were one thing that always worked in his favor. He could mesmerize the panties off any girl in a heartbeat with a single glance.

Blaine had definitely gotten under my skin the very first time I’d served him a drink at the casino I was working at years ago. That night, he’d come in, ordered three fingers of whiskey, and watched me for a full twenty minutes while I worked and he sipped his drink. It was the beginning of the end. His eyes were glued to my ass, my tits, and everything in between, making me feel hot, bothered, and desired in a way I’d missed since Benny’d up and disappeared, only to find out he’d actually ditched me to save his own ass.

I delivered Blaine’s check, and he tipped me a cool hundred dollars and left the bar without a word or a look in my direction. At the time, I’d shrugged it off, figuring he must not have been as into me as I’d thought since he hadn’t asked me out. I guess I was just a nice distraction from the sports and news playing up on the screens in the bar. I gave it little thought, more thankful for the extra hundred that would buy my sister and me a weeks’ worth of groceries. Then, when I was leaving after my shift, and I hit the curb for a taxi home, a shiny shoe stepped out the open door of a BMW with blacked-out windows, and Blaine offered me a ride. The car was white-hot, but it didn’t even come close to the man who owned it.

Stupid, dumbstruck twenty-one-year old Mia got into the car with the sexy-as-hell stranger and let him take me home. He didn’t hit on me that first time. He was a gentleman the entire time he walked me to my door, kissed me on the cheek, and asked if he could take me out the next night. I agreed, and Luna Rosa was where we started our evening. We ordered pizza and an expensive wine, which I thought was cool. He could have taken me to some fancy dancy steakhouse and plowed me full of gourmet cuisine in an attempt to impress or bed me. Instead, we talked, had two bottles of wine, and ate pizza followed by the most mouthwatering tiramisu I’d ever tasted.

Once a month, for the two years we were together, we went back to “our place” and stuffed our faces with pizza and wine. Then we’d stumble into the Town Car, and one of his bodyguards would drive us back to the casino. Sometimes, we’d be so hot and bothered in the elevator, I’d be wrapped around his hips, him already deep inside when the doors opened to the penthouse floor, and he’d proceed to fuck me up against the wall. Blaine had absolutely no concern for the individuals who might live in or have reserved the few other rooms on the top floor finding us. He simply didn’t give a fuck, and I loved that about him. Hell, I thought I loved him, and I thought he loved me.

I was so young, dumb, and full of cum that I ate up every line of bullshit he fed me, throwing caution to the wind and living in the moment. Not anymore. I’d learned those lessons the hard way. If Blaine thought he was going to score some points with me for meeting me at Luna Rosa, he had another think coming.

I
didn’t have
anything dressy with me from Maxwell’s ranch because, well, we’d stayed on a ranch. We pretty much spent our time kicking it at their house, hanging out with their friends and enjoying their ranch.

A pang hit my heart when I thought about Max. When Pops took the turn for the better, he announced that he had to go check on his wife and daughter. Cyndi was a month from having baby Jackson, and he needed to check on the transition of the company ownership and deal with any pressing business activities while he was there. He promised he’d check in daily.

Throughout my life, I had never really aspired to be ridiculously rich, but I couldn’t help thinking if the transition moved faster and I was able to get access to my share, perhaps I could pay Blaine off, and this whole mess would be over. I’d live in Malibu and surf, kiss, and make love to the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Unfortunately, Max had warned that the process of finalizing the will and going through the change in ownership to both Maddy and me, using our DNA samples as proof of our relationship, would take some time but it would be worth it in the end.

If I made it alive through all of this, maybe Max would be proven right. For now, I had a really hard time seeing that sparkly light at the end of the tunnel. Right now, it seemed life was driving down a slick road with no streetlights during a hurricane in a car with broken wipers and faulty brakes.

I
arrived
at Luna Rosa promptly at seven. Maddy loaned me a dress I’d given her from my time shopping in Chi-town with Hector. It was a simple number, a dark eggplant with a deep V down the back. The skirt hit mid-thigh, and the fabric stretched across my breasts nicely. If I hadn’t been so pissed about who I was wearing it for, I would have felt like a million dollars. Instead, I felt like steam-rolled garbage, although no one could tell it from the outside. Heavy concealer hid the dark circles and bags under my eyes, and blush made me rosy-cheeked. Luckily, I was one of those girls who didn’t need to wear a lot of makeup to turn an eye, and I knew exactly what Blaine liked. I wore my hair down and full and over one shoulder, something he once told me he loved.

Making my way through the patrons, I spotted him outside. The patio. Of course, he’d pick the most romantic location possible at the same table where we sat on our first date.

He stood as I approached his table. He gazed up and down my length like a predator assessing his prey, stealthy and quick, never missing a beat.

“Trying to score points by picking this table?” I asked and sat down, a scowl firmly planted on my face.

His features, on the other hand, lightened considerably. “You remembered, I see. That’s good, pretty Mia.” I cringed. God, I hated hearing him call me that old endearment. When we were together, he’d constantly tell me how pretty I was, how beautiful, and that there would never be another who could catch his eye quite like I had…until, of course, he caught the two-for-one deal with his receptionist and her hobag twin. Who fucks sisters anyway? Gross.

Before I could say another word, the waiter came over with a bottle of wine. I knew that label. I’d recognize it anywhere.

“
Signore
, the Cignale Colli Della Toscana Centrale Cabernet Sauvignon.” He poured the dark crimson liquid into Blaine’s glass.

He picked it up, swirled it around the bulbous glass, sniffed, and took a sip.

So fucking pretentious, I could gag.

“Two thousand and six?” he queried the waiter.

“Absolutely,
signore
.”

Blaine nodded, and the waiter filled our glasses a quarter of the way full. I grabbed the glass and downed the liquid in one go.

Blaine looked around and smiled before placing one hand on the railing overlooking the serene waters of Lake Las Vegas and the other on the stem of his glass. His eyes were lasered on me.

“I’d like another,” I said, and he grinned, leaned forward, and poured another serving. This one I sipped and waited for him to speak. For a long time, he didn’t. He just watched me, seemingly cataloging my appearance. Eventually, I couldn’t take the silence.

“Where’s Ginelle?”

A sharp, dark look came over his snakelike eyes. “She is being taken care of, I assure you.” His tone was sweet, belying the subject matter.

I huffed. “Really? Is that what you call kidnapping and beating the hell out of an innocent woman on her way to work? Taking care of her?” I gritted through my teeth. I was gripping the wooden table so hard my nails might have actually left little crescent-shaped indentations.

Blaine waved his hand and leaned closer. “Mia, you and I both know that if I wanted your friend dead, she would be. Now let’s relax and enjoy our date.”

Date. Did that lunatic just call this coercion a date?

I blinked rapidly to try to clear the red rage. I wanted to grab the knife, so helpfully placed within range of my hand, and drive it straight into his cold heart. Unfortunately, the fucker likely wouldn’t feel it. He was already dead inside.

“I don’t understand why you want me here. You know I’m good for the money,” I whispered and looked around. “There’s no way in this lifetime that I’d stiff you.”

He grinned. “Oh, but my pretty, pretty Mia, you have already made me stiff.” His eyebrows waggled, and I sucked down the vomit I wanted to spew out over the table. Once upon a time, I was genuinely into Blaine. He’s devastatingly handsome, ridiculously charming, and a great lay. Now, I could barely stomach the sight of him and what he stood for.