Twisted Together
Sergio held up a piece of paper. “It says here you were listed as missing by the Australian Federal Police. Then a few weeks later, your parents, Stephen and Mary Snow, closed your file under pretence of death overseas and asked for a death certificate.”
My chair legs squeaked against the floor as I jumped in dismay. A rush of grief mixed with disbelief. My own parents told the police to stop looking for me? They’d been so eager to close that messy chapter and become the grieving parents. All to garner the sympathy vote at their next bowling club rally.
I always knew they didn’t love me. It wasn’t news, but it still hurt like a bitch.
Sergio watched my reaction, but I kept my tormenting emotions free from my impassive face.
He continued, “Your file was closed, but then reopened when you magically reappeared, with no flight manifest or record of how you entered the country, and slotted right back into life with”—his eyes dropped to the paperwork—“Brax Cliffingstone.
“You retuned to university, finished your degree, then a month later picked up and flew to France.”
Shuffling the pages, he said, “Why wasn’t there a wrap-up interview from your disappearance. Why was there no closure or interrogation on your supposed kidnapping, brought to the attention of the AFP by Brax Cliffingstone? Care to explain how you had the AFP close your file with no conclusion whatsoever?”
The all-consuming love I had for my monstrous master overflowed. It was like swallowing a bowl of colourless light, trickling through my body, giving me strength I sorely need.
I laughed.
Q.
He tampered with my file. Somehow, he had contacts to ensure his anonymity and unique charity remained a secret. There was no explaining how I came into his company, or talking away the length of my stay at his chateau. So he did what he had to. He swept it all away.
God, I loved him. I’d never met a man with more resources, intelligence, or a bigger heart than him. And he was mine. And I was failing him by allowing this stupid cop to detain me.
I was done.
“Quincy Mercer can explain. Let me go and I’ll fetch him for you.”
Sergio ran a finger along his bottom lip. “Yes, and that brings me to him. You say you’re together? But I don’t see any mention of a marriage announcement or any news related articles of your relationship.”
Tick…
Tock…
I didn’t care. It no longer mattered.
I was getting out of there.
Now.
Crossing my arms, I demanded, “I want my phone call.”
He glowered, his black eyes battering me with law-keeping authority. But I wasn’t ruffled. I glowered right back, not backing down.
Finally, he huffed. “Fine.” He stalked to the door, holding it open. “This way.”
The moment light from the corridor bounced into the interrogation room, my heart leapt from my chest and flew away. Flew to find Q. Flew to give him hope.
I’m coming.
We’re coming.
I struggled to keep my feet slow and plodding as Sergio guided me through a typical police station with cubicle workstations, brown walls, and oscillating ceiling fans. The reek of burned coffee hung stagnant in the air.
He stopped beside a desk strewn with notes and empty cups. He pointed to a phone partially buried beneath manila files. “You have two minutes.”
Not for the first time, I thanked my photographic memory. Ever since Q gave me the note hidden in the pocket of the dress I’d worn back to Australia, I’d memorized his office number. It’d been embossed in gold on the heavy parchment of his business card.
By knowing his number, I felt like I’d never be too far from him—even while I slept beside Brax at night and went to university by day.
I also knew he allowed the office line to link to his home after hours. I just hoped either Frederick picked up or Suzette. Either would do. Both had Q’s power behind them. They would get Franco and me free.
Picking up the receiver, I curled over the handset, punching in the number. It connected.
And rang.
And rang.
And rang.
Please pick up. Terror squashed my hope like a bug. This was my only chance—who knew when I’d get another one. Who knew how much more time would pass.
Sergio looked at his watch.
Finally the ringing stopped, clicking into connection.
“Bonjour?”
Masculine.
For a flicker of a second, I suffered a stab of grief. I’d wanted to talk to Suzette. To lean on the girl who was so strong and my friend.
“Frederick,” I whispered.
“Tess?”
My heart bounced, whizzing into action. Frederick would get things done. He’d get us out.
“Yes, it’s me. Look, something happened.” The tears I’d been fighting all rushed in a quake, obstructing my throat. I forced through, cursing the wobble in my tone. “They took him.”
“It’s okay. I know. It’s all under control.”
His soothing voice robbed me of strength, knowing Q’s network of people were on the hunt. It wasn’t just me. I wasn’t alone in fighting for his life. “Thank God.”
At that point, I didn’t care about myself. All I cared about was Frederick using the resources to find Q. I completely forgot about my predicament or why I’d called.
My mind shut down as I went into shock.
“Tess? You still there?”
I clutched the receiver, wishing I could stuff myself down the phone line and be with him. I wanted to be beside the man who Q called his best friend.
What about his other best friend?
Shit, Franco.
“Frederick. I need your help.” I pulled myself together, running a hand through my hair. “Franco and I—we’re in jail. We need you to get us out.”
I tensed, waiting for a barrage of questions. But he just chuckled. “You’re about ten minutes too late. Already done. You’ll be out within the hour.”
My mouth hung open. “Ho—how?”
“Money buys a lot of things, and contacts in high places is one of them.” His voice dropped. I pressed the phone harder to my ear. “He’s okay, Tess. The tracker stays active as long as there’s a heartbeat. It’s programed to emit a new signal if that changes.”
My heart seized. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ll know if they cut it out. The frequency would be interrupted. We’ll also know if they…”
If they what…
My heart lurched. He didn’t have to say anymore. I knew.
“If he dies….” My eyes turned blind, filling with liquid.