Still no brilliant plans.
I flipped on the TV, more because I wanted some background noise than because I actually wanted to watch anything that was on at nine in the morning.
God conspired against me so that as soon as the TV was on, the screen filled with Adam’s handsome face. My throat tightened.
He was standing at a podium, a forest of microphones in front of him. Special Report, said the top left corner of the screen. Across the bottom of the screen, a headline scrolled: Director of Special Forces, Adam White, accused of murder.
I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, wishing I could make everything go away.
“Do you have any hard feelings toward your men for giving credence to the accusation?” one of the reporters asked.
“Not at all,” Adam said. His deep voice and good looks gave good TV. “They were only doing their job. I’d have been upset with them if they hadn’t been thorough. I’m not above the law. My only hard feelings are for whoever placed that call.”
Those hot caramel eyes stared directly into the camera, seeming to look through it straight at me.
“I promise you, the perpetrator will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”
I swallowed hard, instinct telling me it wouldn’t be the law that prosecuted me but Adam himself.
The cell phone rang. I muted the TV but wasn’t able to tear my eyes from the screen as I fumbled the phone open, praying it was Brian.
“Hello?” I said.
“Morgan, Morgan, where is your head, little girl?”
I shot to my feet, wishing I’d checked the number before I’d answered. “What do you want, Andrew?”
“Take a few mental leaps with me, dear sister. You called in a complaint to the police yesterday on Valerie’s cell phone. The police investigated your claim and found it was a hoax. Adam White is now hell-bent on arresting you. And you’re still carrying the cell phone. Should I give you a lesson in modern technology?”
I stifled a groan. Yes, I was a moron. But I wasn’t used to being on the run, hadn’t thought things through that far. Of course the police would be able to trace the cell phone. They could be converging on me any moment.
I started shoving my few belongings back in shopping bags, holding the cell phone to my ear with my shoulder. Yes, I should have hung up immediately and run for the hills, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Why are you calling me, Andrew? Why do you care?”
He chuckled. “Let’s just say it would be inconvenient for everyone involved if you were arrested and they revoked your bail. So get your ass out of wherever you are and dump the phone. And don’t worry, sis-I’ll still be able to find you when I need you.”
He hung up then, which was just as well or I’d probably have wasted more time cussing him out.
I was out of my room within five minutes, but I took the cell phone with me. I didn’t want to lead the police to the room, where they’d find my fingerprints all over the place and know for sure I was the one who’d placed the call. I turned it off and removed its battery, hoping that would be enough to stop the police from homing in on it.
A police car pulled into the hotel parking lot as my cab pulled out. I held my breath, but the police didn’t come screaming after us. I had the driver take me to Front Street — so named because it fronts the Delaware River. I got out, then tried to look inconspicuous as I did my best to wipe every fingerprint off the phone and its battery, then tossed both in the river.
My head started hurting as I wandered aimlessly along the riverfront, trying to figure out what my next step was. I pinched the bridge of my nose and said, “Cut it out, Lugh. You gave me twenty-four hours, remember?” The headache went away, but it had been an effective reminder.
I found a pay phone and called Brian, talking to his voice mail again. I told him to ignore the number I’d given him before. I wished like hell he’d just pick up the phone. I longed for him in ways I’d never imagined I could.
I took a bus back into Center City and bought a prepaid phone. I worried that Adam with his police resources might still be able to trace it to me. But my delusion that I’d be able to take care of myself was fraying around the edges.
I felt so desperate, I actually considered calling my mom and asking for her help. Luckily, I had a few more functioning brain cells than that. My mom claims she loves me despite my copious flaws, but she practically worships golden boy Andrew. She’d turn me over to him in a heartbeat, wouldn’t even consider the possibility that he might not be the Dalai Lama, Jesus Christ, and Mother Teresa all rolled into one.
At around three o’clock, I tried Brian yet again. And got his voice mail, yet again. For some reason, that bothered me, and I called the main office number. The receptionist told me Brian hadn’t been in all day and that he hadn’t called in sick. Everyone was worried about him.
I was worried about him, too. I assured the receptionist that I’d go over to his condo and make sure he wasn’t lying unconscious-or worse-on the floor.
All my keys were buried somewhere in the rubble that had once been my house, but I had a spare set at my office. I didn’t like going there, where people who wanted me dead might expect me to go, but I didn’t think I had a whole lot of choice.
“Hey, Lugh?” I whispered as I walked, hoping people on the street would think I was talking into a cell phone. “Can you let me know if you see anyone or anything that should worry me when I get near the office?”
My answer was a brief stab of pain through my eyeball. Lovely. I took that as a yes and tried not to scare the crap out of myself by thinking about being able to communicate with him while I was conscious.
No headaches battered at me as I approached my office. Didn’t stop me from constantly looking over my shoulder and starting at shadows.
Of course, with my keys lost, I had to find a custodian to open my office for me. The delay made me twitchy, but eventually I tracked someone down to let me in.
I made a beeline for my pencil drawer. I’d yanked it open and grabbed my spare set of keys before I noticed the padded manila envelope that sat on my chair.
It shouldn’t have been there. When I’m not in the office, my deliveries go to the mailroom downstairs. And no one but the custodial staff had keys to my office.
Nervously, I upended the envelope onto my desk. A videocassette and a sheet of paper fell out.
The note was short and to the point: Morgan. When you’ve watched this tape, call me on my cell phone. Andrew.
Words can’t describe how much I didn’t want to see whatever was on this tape. Unfortunately, not watching wasn’t an option.
I didn’t have a VCR in my office, and of course I didn’t have a home to go to. But Brian’s place was only a couple of blocks away. I hoped I’d let myself in and find out he was home sick and just hadn’t bothered to call his office to let them know.
I wasn’t holding my breath.
By the time I let myself into Brian’s condo, my knees were literally knocking, and my stomach was in turmoil. I wondered if I was on the way to a nervous breakdown, then sternly told myself I couldn’t afford a nervous breakdown.
Brian wasn’t home, and there were a gazillion messages on his answering machine. Looked like he hadn’t been home in a while. I looked at the tape in my hand and prayed it wasn’t what I thought it was.
My hands shook when I stuffed it into Brian’s VCR and hit play.
Static for a moment. Then the picture I’d been dreading.
He was chained to a wall, hands above his head, a ball gag stuffed into his mouth. They’d stripped him down to his tightie-whities and shackled his ankles together.
The wall he was chained to was of old-looking, rough stone blocks, no doubt to give the room its dungeon—cum—torture chamber atmosphere. There were plenty of other sets of chains hanging from those walls. The camera panned to show a collection of whips that would put Adam’s to shame, then a brazier holding a set of glowing irons, then something that looked like it might actually be a genuine rack.