Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Ronan, where are you?
Except I don’t want him here. He would come in here unarmed, and any surprise could mean the worst thing possible.
Take any one of these gunmen by surprise, he may shoot.
And I can’t have Ronan hurt.
As much as I wish he were here, saving me, comforting me, I’m glad he’s not.
If I don’t get through this alive, I at least want him to live. I love him that much.
“Oh, honey, it’s all right,” the mother says.
I look over at the little girl.
She’s had an accident. There’s a puddle on the floor.
“For Christ’s sake,” a gunman says. “Get some napkins and clean up that mess.”
The woman nods, grabbing napkins from the napkin holder on her table and wiping her daughter’s accident from the floor.
My God, these people are horrible. Of course they are. Nice people don’t hold up coffee shops. Don’t scare little children.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I ball my hands into fists. “They’re just children,” I say, pleading. “Let them go. You’ve got the rest of us. Let the children go. Please.”
“Yes, please!” The mother looks at me, gratitude in her eyes. “Just let my children go. I’ll stay here. Let my babies go, please!”
“No one’s going anywhere.” The gunman puts the gun to the mother’s head. “And you won’t say another fucking word.”
My God, what’s going on? They got all the money. The cashiers and the baristas are huddled behind the counter. At least they have that bit of a shield. The rest of us? We have nothing.
I melt into my chair, wishing so much I could disappear. I wish magic were real and I could make myself invisible, slink out the door.
I’m one woman. I’m not close enough to anyone else to talk to them and formulate a plan.
There’s nothing I can do.
Nothing—
“No!”
The mother yells and races after her toddler son, who has escaped her embrace and is running toward the door.
Then a shot. A fucking gunshot.
Chapter Forty-One
Ronan
Mémé’s premonitions have been wrong before, but where Mary’s concerned, I cannot take a chance. Besides…on a few occasions, her premonitions have been right.
“Pull over, Phillipe,” I say.
I get out of the limousine. “You’ll have to do this without me.”
“Sir?”
“Please. Stay with her. Make sure she gets on the flight. I have somewhere I have to be.”
Once I’m out of the car, I call Mary.
It rings once, twice, three times, and on the fourth I get her voicemail.
I don’t bother leaving a message. If she doesn’t have her phone or can’t answer, she won’t get the message anyway. But if she does have her phone, she’ll see that I called.
What time is it? Almost ten. Mary was supposed to be at work by now.
Is she still at home?
Where do I check first?
I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know.
Most likely she tried to go to work. She made a big deal about having to get back to work today.
I head to Treasure’s Chest.
The store isn’t open yet, but I knock on the window.
A woman comes bustling toward me. “We’re closed,” she says.
“I need to see Mary. It’s important.”
She widens her eyes and then unlocks the door. “I’ve been trying to get hold of her. She should’ve been here to help open the store.”
My heart races. “Something’s gone wrong. Do you know where she could be?”
“She still has a landline at her place, and she’s not answering that, either.”
“She’s not there. Or she can’t get to the phone.”
“Are you sure something’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure of anything right now.”
Except for one thing. I fell in love.
It hits me like a lightning bolt to my heart. I’ll find a way to make this work. I’ll be the Dominant she needs. If I have to go to Las Vegas and she refuses to leave New York, we’ll make it work somehow.
We have to.
What I couldn’t give to Keira, I want to give to Mary.
Damn.
“She sometimes stops for coffee at the coffee house a couple buildings down. It’s called Bean There Done That.”
“All right. I’ll check there quickly only because it’s on the way. Then I’m hightailing it to her place.”
“Keep me in the loop,” she says. “My name’s Trish. You can call me here at the store.”
“Right. Sure.”
I’m sure Trish means well and she’s concerned about Mary, but at the moment the last thing on my mind is keeping her in the loop about anything. Not until I know Mary’s okay.
Coffee shop, coffee shop, coffee shop.
There it is. I walk toward it, noting the sign says it’s closed. Odd that it would be closed in the middle of the morning, the busiest part of their day.
Thankfully I’m not wearing a kilt today. I’m dressed in a suit for my meetings later, and I blend in nicely with all the passersby walking down this Manhattan street.
I walk by as nonchalantly as I can. Is the door locked?