Читать книгу The Mistress - Tiffany Reisz, Tiffany Reisz - Страница 17

Wesley stood in the bathroom of the guest room Kingsley had escorted him to and pressed a wet washcloth to the back of his head. He’d seen enough head injuries working at the hospital that he knew his was minor enough he didn’t have to worry about it. He needed a Band-Aid, though. Otherwise, he was going to be bleeding into his hair for a week.

What did it matter? Wesley dropped the bloody washcloth into the sink and went back into the bedroom. On any other day he might have admitted to finding the room beautiful, even opulent. Nora had told him about Kingsley’s house—the four-poster beds in every room. Better for bondage, she’d said, and Wes could see the marks on the footboard, remnants of metal handcuffs probably. Silver and pale blue, the room looked like something out of a Founding Father’s house, one he’d visited as a kid on vacation with his parents. Wes’s foot slammed against something under the bed. He knelt down and found a metal briefcase. Curious, he opened the latches and saw a dozen different types of sex toys, plus condoms and lubricant. Behind so much beauty lay so much sin. He slammed the case shut and shoved it under the bed with such force his head started to ring. Forget it. His pain didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting Nora back. He couldn’t believe he had to trust her life to Kingsley, the biggest asshole he’d ever met in his life, and to Søren, who was apparently still unconscious. These were the men Nora trusted more than anyone else on the planet? Her judgment was getting worse all the time. Agreeing to marry him might have been good evidence of that.

He sat on the bed and rubbed his aching temples. His hands shook a little. Was it from low blood sugar? Or from the fear, the bitter aching gaping fear the likes of which he’d never felt before? Both probably. He should be planning his wedding right now curled up in bed with Nora. Not here. Anywhere but here.

This was stupid. He didn’t need to be thinking about the future, anyway. Nothing mattered, nothing at all, except for getting Nora back as fast as they could. Every minute that passed put her deeper into danger. He wished he knew where she was. He’d take her place in a heartbeat.

Wesley jumped as Nora’s cell phone started to ring again. He grabbed at it, praying it was the kidnappers with information.

“Yes?”

“Wesley, this is Grace again. I’m in Kingsley’s house.”

“So am I.”

“Good. Could you help me? He’s trying to kick me out.”

Wesley hung up and raced from the bedroom. He didn’t find Kingsley in his office or anywhere on the second floor. Finally in the front room of the house he found a redheaded woman with freckles arguing vociferously with Kingsley.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Wesley inserted himself between the two of them.

“I’m attempting to rid myself of an intruder in my home,” Kingsley said. “I’ve shown her the door. She simply needs to walk through it.”

“I’m not leaving until someone tells me what’s going on with Nora. No, that’s not true. I’m not leaving until I see Nora.”

“I think she means it,” Wesley said, standing at Grace’s side.

“Mon Dieu, the entire vanilla world has taken over my house. Fine. Both of you stay. Have tea. Turn everyone in my house boring. If you need me I’ll be trying to find Nora if only to get rid of you two.”

Kingsley turned and stormed out of the front room.

“Charming, isn’t he?” Grace turned to Wesley. “Thank you.”

“So you’re Zach’s wife?”

“That would be me.”

“I’m Nora’s fiancé.”

The look of shock on Grace’s face prompted Wesley’s first laugh in over twenty-four hours.

“I know. Long story,” he said.

“Nora never ceases to shock me. I’m not even going to ask.”

“Good idea.”

“I will ask this—do you know anything about what’s going on?”

“Really, really long story.”

“I’d like to know it. This may come as a shock to you, but Nora’s about my only female friend in this world.”

Wesley walked over to the sofa and sat down, sinking deep into the black-and-white-striped cushions. He felt light-headed, tired, lost. He knew he needed to eat something, check his blood sugar, take care of himself. But he didn’t have the energy for it, didn’t have the will.

“Nora doesn’t have many female friends, either. She says she scares women.”

“I’m not scared of her. Maybe I should be but I’m not.” Grace sat next to him on the sofa and spun her wedding band on her finger. “When Zachary and I reunited after our separation, my closest friends were furious at me for taking him back. He’d run off to America, had an affair with another woman. I forgave him but they wouldn’t. The only person who seemed to be genuinely happy for us was—”

“Nora.”

Grace nodded. “She’s been a good friend to both of us. I’m sick to my stomach with worry. Zachary’s in Australia at a conference and now the one friend I had in the States I wanted to see is … God, Wesley, what on earth is happening here?”

“I probably shouldn’t tell you.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his hands. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this sick or this tired or anywhere near this scared. “But I guess it doesn’t matter now. When Kingsley and Søren were teenagers, they had a relationship.”

“They were lovers?”

“Yeah. That. They were in school together. It was a—”

“Catholic school, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was.”

“This is starting to sound familiar.”

Wesley told her what he knew of the story. Kingsley and Søren falling in love, the sister, Marie-Laure, coming to visit, Søren marrying her so that she and Kingsley wouldn’t have to live an ocean apart anymore. But the sister had fallen in love with Søren and when she discovered that he loved her brother …

“She faked her own death?” Grace asked, aghast.

“By killing a runaway who had the same color hair as her. The body had on her wedding ring. Nobody even guessed it was someone else. Kingsley thinks his sister crossed the border into Canada and lived in Quebec for a while. According to him she was the most beautiful girl in the world. Easy to find a rich man to take care of her.”

“But why all this? Why take Nora now after all these years?”

“No idea. He doesn’t know what set her off, either. Something must have.”

“Where’s Søren now? Can I speak to him?”

“He’s in Kingsley bedroom. Third floor. Door at the very end of the hall.”

Grace stood up.

“I don’t think you’ll get much out of him, though.”

“Why not?” Grace asked from the doorway.

“He’s unconscious.”

“What?”

“Kingsley gave him a shot of something. Apparently Søren was going to call the cops and the rest of the world. Kingsley said it would be the worst idea ever.”

“Unconscious or not, someone should check on him.”

“He’s all yours.”

Grace started to leave but hesitated in the doorway. She turned back around, came to him and dropped a quick kiss on his forehead.

“She’ll be all right. I have faith in her,” Grace said, squeezing his shoulder. It was the first kind thing anyone had done or said to him all day. He could have wept from simple gratitude alone.

“Thank you,” he said, and could barely hear himself speak. Grace said nothing, either, merely smiled at him before leaving the room.

Alone in the front room, Wesley prayed. He prayed helplessly, not even knowing what to pray for other than a miracle. That’s what they needed now. A miracle. A sign from God. Something to tell them everything would be all right, Nora would be safe, the world hadn’t spun out of God’s control even if it felt like it had.

Somewhere nearby Wesley heard the sound of a car door slamming. He ignored it.

If Nora were here she’d tell him to relax, to take deep breaths, to take care of himself. Stop worrying about me so much, Nora would say to him, had said to him a thousand times. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.

But he was supposed to take care of her. Søren had entrusted Nora to him and he’d let her get taken by some lunatic with a thirty-year-old grudge. And now he felt forsaken. Losing Nora was his punishment for not taking better care of her while they were together. He’d thought she’d be so much safer with him than with Søren, and now she was gone. Stolen from him. He’d failed her, failed them all.

Please, he prayed once more. Give me a sign you’re still listening.

Wesley heard a sound then, a knock on the front door. He waited, not knowing if he should be answering the door in someone else’s house or not. But then it came again, louder this time. The door had a bell. Why was the person knocking instead?

He went to the door and opened it. A girl lay curled up on the landing, bleeding from a cut on her face.

She opened her eyes—bright blue eyes, intelligent and scared.

“Hello?” He knelt down and met her face-to-face.

“I have to deliver a message,” she said, her voice strangely accented.

“From who?” Maybe it had happened. Finally. A message from the kidnappers.

“From God.”