Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 95609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“Now that is not a bad idea,” Ivy says.
“Hush,” Harper chides. “Anika, I’m not joking, and this is not some consolation surprise. You need…”
That’s when someone walks up behind me, wraps an arm around my waist, and starts hauling me backward. Right there on the street. It’s everything people outside of the city fear. You know those stories moms tell their daughters to keep them far from the scary city. Don’t go to New York or they’ll kidnap you right off the street and you’ll be carrying a latte that you really wanted and it’s going to fly out of your hand while some asshole drags you…
…to his limo?
“Hey,” I start to yell. I might have dropped my Danishes and my latte, but I keep that phone firmly in my hand. If I’m going to be murdered and chucked in the Hudson, I’m taking this phone with me.
“Calm down,” a deep, strangely familiar voice says. “I’ve been waiting here forever. This is tradition. In you go.”
Hans? I realize that Hans is the one in the limo driver’s uniform, and he’s hauling me up like I weigh nothing and dropping me into the trunk. Which is weirdly furnished. I catch sight of soft blankets and a bunch of pillows, and I smell lavender. Like someone tried to make sure the trunk smells fresh, and the murder victim has a smooth ride before dying.
“What the hell, Hans? What are you…” I’m so shocked that I let him get a hand on the door to the trunk.
“I told you. It’s tradition,” he replies with a grin that I think he meant to be cheeky, but it’s more like he’s going to enjoy murdering me. He needs to work on making his expressions more humanlike.
“What is happening?” I hear coming from my phone.
“Relax, please,” he says right before he slams the door shut. “Ich habe sie. Ich bin unterwegs.”
“Hey!” I kick at the top of the trunk. “Use your English words, Hans. What the hell is going on?”
“Ani?” Harper’s voice comes over the phone.
He’s a terrible kidnapper because he’s left me my phone, and I’m using it against him. I bring it to my ear as I feel the driver door open and shut.
“I need you to call the police. Hans just kidnapped me and threw me in the trunk of a limo,” I say, trying to feel around my new prison. “I think Luca wants him to murder me or silence me or something.”
“Uh, he kidnapped you but he left your phone?” Ivy asks.
“I guess they don’t have Dateline where he’s from. He’s not good at this,” I shoot back because she is missing the salient point. I am being driven to my… I don’t honestly think Luca means to murder me, but this could be some kind of play to get me to shut up.
The limo starts to move, pulling away from the curb.
Did anyone look up from the native New York game of pointedly not noticing other people or anything else going on around them long enough to witness my kidnapping? Or did they simply shrug and move on?
I bet someone got my Danish. I wanted that Danish. I bet a rat got my Danish. They’re fast, and they know a good thing when they see it. They’re city rats, and according to a recent study there are three million of the suckers living in the city, so I’m probably right.
I’m panicking, and I need to focus.
“Calm down, sweetie.” Harper’s voice is soothing over the line. “Something is going on. Ivy and I got texts thirty minutes ago telling us to come to Times Square, and there are a whole bunch of cameras here. Like a small crew, and I recognize them from the show. I thought the crew was going to Europe.”
There was crew in Times Square? “They are. They should have left days ago. But Jessica said Luca didn’t show up on the set today.”
“I think he might be here,” Harper says. “Though I haven’t caught sight of him. Something big is going down because they’ve blocked off a huge square. There’s police and everything.”
What the hell is going on? And why is Hans going so slow? I twist in my comfy prison, and something soft caresses my cheek. Are there rose petals strewn all over the trunk Luca’s had me kidnapped in? “Hans! What the hell is going on?”
“Hold please,” Hans barks.
“We’re not on the phone, asshole,” I shout back. “And if you’re trying to take 9th, don’t. I don’t care that the Internet says it’s two minutes on a good day. There are no good traffic days in the city.”
The car swerves as though he’s taking my advice. Two minutes my ass. More like half an hour, and you’ll be lucky to get there in one piece because the streets are a Mad Max fight between the yellow cabs and the Ubers. Which is why I walk.