Timeless (13 page)

“Yeah. Give me a second.” Gavin’s voice is preoccupied, and I can picture him typing away in his efficient way on his laptop. “Bridget Bowden. She checked in yesterday. She’s a Domme, and a delectably scary one at that. Dominic said he saw Ari doing a scene with her and the guy she was with.” His voice turns nonchalant. “Well, after the scene she did on the St. Andrews cross with those two hunky Doms.”

The little shit is deliberately trying to see if I’m jealous, which I sure as fuck will be as soon as I finish dealing with the fact that Bridget is at Five Pines and apparently has somehow found Ari. It could be a coincidence, but I seriously doubt it. Somehow Bridget must have figured out I had been to Five Pines, which means she’d had me followed. Which also means she probably knows Ari was with me all weekend. Hopefully she’s just trying to get information about me from Ari. Unless she plans to barter with me by using Ari…Panic hits me like a sucker punch. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that Ari is a trained FBI agent, and knowing her, most likely a damned good one.

“The guy Bridget is with. Is he a big guy? Dark slicked back hair?”

“Yeah. Let’s see…His name’s Justin Vico.”

Just what I’d suspected. She’s here with her driver.

“Fuck. Where is she now?”

“Bridget? Or Ari?”

“Either. Both. Dammit.” I’m already grabbing my keys as I wait for Gavin’s answer.

“Ari went back to her room. She said she was finished for the weekend. I haven’t seen Bridget or her friend.”

At least I don’t have to worry about Ari. But I don’t like the fact that Bridget and her thug driver are prowling around Five Pines with Ari still there.

“If you see either one, keep an eye on them,” I say, locking the door behind me. “I’m on my way.”

During the short drive to Five Pines, I call Griffin Black, who in addition to being married to Mila, is one of my closest friends and a former SEAL brother who now runs his own security company. I ask him to look into both Bridget and Justin’s backgrounds and see if the mafia rumors are true. If so, that changes everything. He promises to get back to me as soon as possible, and by the time I hang up with him, I’m at Five Pines.

“Have you seen Ari?” I bark at Dominic, who happens to be the first person I see when I walk into the banquet room of the resort that has been turned into something straight out of the roaring twenties. I scan the crowd filled with men in pin-striped suits and women in flapper dresses, from the traditional to the risqué, but I don’t see any sign of Ari or Bridget.

“Not since earlier,” he says in that calm way of his. “Gavin told me you weren’t interested in rekindling anything with her.” He arches an eyebrow at me. “Changed your mind?”

“No,” I say curtly. “I’m worried about her. I have a potential insurance fraud case that a couple of your guests this weekend are involved in. I’m pretty sure they tracked me here, but when they saw me leave with Ari Friday night, I’m afraid they may have decided to target her instead.”

Dominic’s forehead furrows. “Is it the Domme Bridget and the gentleman she’s with?”

When I nod, he frowns. “They’ve never been guests of mine before. Ari was with them earlier, but I haven’t seen any of them since. I’ll ask someone from the hotel to go check both Ari’s and Bridget’s rooms. The party’s about to officially start down here. It’s a ‘roaring twenties’ themed murder mystery.” He eyes my jeans and flannel shirt critically. “You’re not quite dressed for it, but stay here and mingle in case they happen to show up at the party.”

We agree to meet up in fifteen minutes, and I wander around the room, hoping for a glimpse of Ari. If the circumstances were different, it would be a fun party to attend, and for a brief moment I imagine what it would be like to be here with Ari as her Dom. Dominic has outdone himself with the decadently elegant décor, and the guests have thrown themselves into the theme. Several Doms are “checking” the female guests at the door for guns, and there’s a festive tinkle of glasses and a lively hum of conversation along with Big Band music. On one side of the room, there’s a poker game going on with favors or punishments at stake, and couples are dancing on the dance floor.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I quickly read the text from Griffin.

Justin Vico has ties to Cosa Nostra. He’s the cousin of “Skinny Joe” Vinzio, the head of the Philadelphia mafia. I can’t find any mafia ties for Bridget Bowden, although it appears she may be romantically involved with Justin. Be careful. I’ll be in Denver before midnight.

Damn. I should have thought to ask Griffin to look into the mob connection earlier. The private investigator the insurance company uses should have already told me this. Now I’m more convinced than ever that this is a sophisticated insurance fraud. And I’m sure if the mafia is behind it, they don’t appreciate me trying to expose them and won’t be afraid to send me a message to that effect. I’m relieved Griffin is on his way.

I’m still frantically looking for Ari when Gavin finds me.

“Dominic said neither Ari or Bridget are in their rooms, although there was some broken glass and some overturned furniture, like there’d been some sort of scuffle. The guy at the front desk said no one’s left the hotel. The murder mystery part of the evening is about to start and Dominic has to MC the introduction, but he said he’d come find you as soon as he’s finished.”

I nod brusquely. Dammit. I’ve got to find Ari.

I’m dimly aware of Dominic onstage telling the guests that a murder has occurred and it’s up to them to solve it. While he outlines the story to an enthusiastic audience, I continue to scan the crowd. I’m about to give up and go see what I can find in the lobby when I see them.

Bridget is dressed in a red dress with feathers in her hair and Justin, the seemingly congenial driver whom I interviewed just two days ago, is in a dark suit with his hair slicked back. Looking at the two of them dressed for the 1920’s theme, I don’t know how I ever doubted they were connected to the mob. In between them is Ari—bound, blindfolded, and gagged, with strands of pearls strategically wrapped around her mostly naked body. Bridget and Justin are each holding one of her arms as they coolly but firmly half drag her toward the door that leads out onto the back deck. Her movements are lethargic, like she’s been drugged, but she’s still struggling, and I watch Justin squeeze her breast cruelly and say something to her. Blood roars in my ears as I close the distance between us in less than five strides. Bridget looks up, her eyes widening in surprise as my fist makes contact with Justin’s face, and then the room goes pitch black.

Ari

Funny how being practically naked, bound and blindfolded can be the most sensual and arousing thing with someone you love and trust and absolutely horrifying with anyone else, especially if they’re as awful as Bridget and Justin. I’d fought them in the hallway upstairs, but three against one aren’t good odds, especially when the third one, whom I wasn’t expecting, had snuck up behind me. Whoever he was, he was strong, and no sooner had he wrestled the hood over my head than I’d felt the jab of a needle in my thigh and the world had gone black. When I’d come to, my head was pounding, my tongue felt thick, and my brain felt even thicker. I’d been bound with my wrists behind me, my clothes removed. The third guy was gone, and Bridget had calmly produced a knife and explained how they planned to take me downstairs to the party, indulge in a little knife play, take a photograph of me afterward to send as a message to Marcus, then take me to some remote cabin where I’d be kept until Marcus agreed to drop the fraud investigation and advise his client to pay the claim. If he didn’t…They didn’t have to finish the sentence; the sharp point of the knife trailed across my bare throat had spoken volumes. I’d fought them, but in my half-drugged state I hadn’t stood a chance. They’d blindfolded me so I couldn’t see, gagged me so I couldn’t call for help, and forced me into the elevator.

Judging by the sound of voices around us, we’re at the party in the banquet room. I mentally curse myself for ever participating in that scene with Bridget and Justin because now anyone who sees me with them, including Dominic, is going to think we’re just continuing our play. My only hope is running into Gavin; surely he’ll know something’s wrong. Or running away from them, which I have every intention of doing. I just don’t know how yet.

There’s a gasp from Bridget, and my brain dimly registers the sickening sound of flesh against bone, a grunt, and the fact that Justin has let go of my arm. I don’t know what’s happened, but I know I need to take advantage of the momentary reprieve and try to get away while I can still hear the voices of people around us. The cardinal rule when you’re kidnapped is to never let them take you off alone, but I’m having trouble making my limbs do what I want them to and my head is foggy.

There’s a sudden change in the air around me—a sense of surprise, or maybe panic—and I try to keep my head and focus so I can take advantage of the confusion, but there’s a sharp burning pain in my upper thigh like nothing I’ve felt before. I begin to feel light-headed, and despite the darkness of blindfold, or maybe because of it, my world goes topsy-turvy. My knees buckle, but strong arms catch me, scooping me off my feet and clasping me against a stone-hard chest as a familiarly masculine, clean, sultry scent fills my nose, coupled with something unfamiliar, almost metallic-smelling. I’d know the feel of Marcus’ arms anywhere, but it’s his voice in my ear telling me he’s got me, that everything’s going to be okay and he’s not going to let me go, that convinces me I’m dead.

“No!” My voice sounds hoarse and foreign to my own ears, and I claw at the pearls wound around me, not wanting to give Bridget and Justin the satisfaction of wearing them. I’d rather be naked. I have to get away. I struggle to sit up but hands grip my shoulders, pushing me back down. I can’t let them win, but I’m so tired. And it hurts to breathe. In fact, everything hurts—my head, my chest, my lungs, and my throat.

“Easy.” It’s a voice I don’t recognize and I desperately try to remember what happened.

“Ari, you’re safe now.”

First Marcus and now Tori. Tori’s soft voice with that telltale hint of a New York accent sounds so real. I’ve never experienced auditory hallucinations before, but I’ve been around plenty of people on drugs who have, and God knows Justin gave me enough of whatever they drugged me with. I open my eyes and see Tori’s face above me, her brown eyes filled with concern. Maybe I’m already dead. I realize I don’t really care one way or the other. I close my eyes again.

“Ariana Francesca McKnight. Don’t you dare give up! If you do, I’m going to sell every single pair of your shoes on eBay.”

Somehow I thought when your life flashed before you and your loved ones talked to you, they’d be a little nicer.

“Come on, Ari.” Her voice is pleading now. “Stay with me. You’re your father’s daughter; you’re a fighter. Come on. Wake up. I need you.”

My eyes flutter open again. Tori’s face is still hovering above mine, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “That’s more like it,” I say.

“Ari! Thank God!” Gripping my hand tightly, she turns and says excitedly, “She’s conscious.”

Another face joins hers, brown and kindly-looking and lined by time so that it resembles a walnut shell. “Well, there you are. We were hoping you’d decide to wake up soon. My name is Therese; I’m the shift nurse. You’re in the hospital.”

My eyes slowly take in my surroundings. What I’d thought were the strands of pearls are actually wires hooking me up to a machine that’s quietly beeping, recording my brain activity, pulse and heart rate. All of the trappings of a hospital room are here—the fluorescent lights, the hum and beep of an army of machines, and that antiseptic smell that I thought I’d never get out of my nose after my father died.

“What happened?” My question is directed at Tori.

She sits down on the bed next to me, still gripping my hand. “You were kidnapped at Five Pines. Do you remember anything at all about the weekend?”

“Unfortunately, I remember far too much,” I say ruefully, thinking about Marcus.

Misinterpreting the cause of my regret, Tori squeezes my hand. “It’ll get better. I felt the same after almost getting killed in New York before Drake and I got married. Of course, it helped that Drake had been there too, but eventually the memories will fade.”