Jack’s was one of them. They drove through a wrought-iron gate that seemed to open for them automatically and then pulled up alongside the curb of the front walk. The house was isolated on the street, tall ever-green trees blocking them from the views of other homes or passers-by and lending the building a mansion-in-the-woods ambiance.
“You make entirely too much money for snuffing people, you know that?” Annabelle muttered, with a shake of her head.
Jack laughed out-right. But he didn’t reply. They parked and he opened his door. A second later, she opened hers and exited the car. Behind them, Dylan had already climbed out of the cabin of the vehicle. With a wary glance in every direction, he made his way over to Annabelle. Clara, Beatrice and Cassie followed.
“What is this place?” Dylan asked. His hands were in his pockets and his posture was such that he looked cold. Annabelle guessed it was just nervousness. Or maybe he actually was chilly. It was New York in May. And he wasn’t wearing a big jacket.
“Oh, it’s just a little place I like to get away to sometimes,” Annabelle replied haughtily. She tossed a long lock of her hair over her shoulder and assumed a vogue stance. “You know – it isn’t much, but it does keep the doldrums away.”
Dylan smiled at that. She was glad to see the kid smile. She winked at him and took his elbow in hers. “Come on. Let’s go check this dump out.”
“You’ll need this, luv,” Jack called out from behind them. She turned around and he held out a small silver key. She took it, her brow raised in mock surprise.
“What, no servants? No butler to open the door for us?”
“I’ve sent them away,” he replied, matching her aloofness with a haughty smile of his own.
Annabelle grinned and shook her head. Then, slipping back into Hollywood celebrity mode, she gave a snooty toss of her hair and strode up the walk and to the front door, Dylan in tow.
On the step, she let go of Dylan and slid the key into the lock. When the door suddenly swung inward, the key stayed in the lock and was jerked out of her hand. She had no time to react as an arm shot out of the darkness, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her violently around. She was roughly pulled against someone’s chest and something cold and hard was placed to her left temple.
Around her, people seemed to be shouting and moving all at once, a chaotic dance that she couldn’t keep track of. Her heart had leapt into her throat from first contact and stayed there, making it hard to breathe.
Through the fuzziness of her sudden terror, she could make out Jack, in a film of red, standing a few yards away, his hands out at his sides in a placating gesture.
“Take all of your weapons and place them on the ground in front of you, Thane.”
Jack nodded, once, and ever so slowly pulled his jacket away from his body so that Annabelle’s captor could see the gun in the shoulder holster. He then, just as slowly, pulled the gun out of the holster, using only his thumb and index finger on the grip. He bent and placed the gun on the ground in front of his feet, never breaking eye contact with the man behind Annabelle.
“All of them.”
Annabelle noticed that the man didn’t have a particularly deep voice. And it wasn’t exactly loud. But there was a magnetism to it.
Jack didn’t say anything. He simply proceeded to carefully and gradually rid himself of various weapons on his body, placing them on the ground beside the gun.
“Everyone else, get in the house and close the door behind you. Thane, you and Miss Drake are coming with me.” It was a voice of reason, actually. So perfectly collected and self-possessed. It was hard to argue with a voice like that.
It took a minute for the order to sink in, but after a brief, shocked pause, Cassie moved to Dylan, who had fallen back a few feet away from Annabelle. She took him gently by the arm and pulled him around Annabelle and her captor to head for the door. Beatrice and Clara followed after, Clara holding Beatrice’s arm just as Cassie was with Dylan.
“Close the door.” The man reminded them. Cassie nodded and shot Annabelle one last look before stepping inside. There was a lot of unvoiced sentiment packed into that look. Fear, regret, disbelief – and hope. Annabelle could recognize it because she refused not to see it. If her captor was insisting on leaving the others behind, then maybe she and Jack had a chance. Maybe Cassie would figure something out. Maybe Clara would. Hell, maybe her father had trained her for this kind of thing…
One could always hope. And, so, she did.
The others closed the door and the man holding Annabelle turned his attention to Jack.
“Turn around and get back in the car. Nice and slow. Thane, you’re driving. If you decide to find another weapon somewhere in the car, don’t forget where the first bullet will land.” Again, the orders came in tranquil composure and, again, Jack said nothing. He simply did as instructed, turning around slowly and heading back to the limousine. Annabelle watched him go, feeling utterly helpless and completely terrified. Then she was moving, being pushed forward by her captor.
Jack went around the car and opened the driver’s side door. It occurred to Annabelle that if they’d been in their original car, he might have actually had a hidden weapon somewhere within it. If they hadn’t traded off for another limo back at the City Coach rental office, they might have had a chance of getting out of this mess before it really ever started.
Then again, she might just get shot. It didn’t take much time at all to pull a trigger. The man holding her hostage would certainly have at least that much time to react. And that would be all he needed.
“When you get inside, open the passenger side door and swing it wide.”
Jack nodded once and slid into the car. In another second, he was reaching across the seats and opening the front passenger side door as well. The man holding Annabelle moved her forward and then let her go, keeping the gun to her temple as he placed his other hand on her head, forcing her to bend and enter the car.
She didn’t fight him. As she climbed in, her eyes found Jack’s and their gazes locked.
“Start the car, Thane.” The man behind her said, and Jack broke eye contact to focus on the road ahead. He straightened, stuck the key in the ignition and started the engine.
The man got in beside Annabelle and, luckily for her, the front seat was a bench seat or she would have been balancing between two bucket seats or seated uncomfortably atop a storage compartment.
The gun was moved from her head to her ribs, which was decidedly more uncomfortable, as he found the need to dig it in somewhat.
But she refused to complain, as a bullet between the ribs would have been far more uncomfortable, still. Instead, she wondered, rather frantically, whether she was going to survive this day.
And then, when she felt the very old, familiar stirrings of panic spring to life somewhere at the base of her spine or the pit of her gut, she decided to try to focus on something besides her fear and discomfort. Now that her captor was seated beside her, she was able to get a good look at him. He was not the most physically imposing figure she’d ever seen. He couldn’t have been much taller than her, in fact, and though he was slim and trim, he was not what she would call “built”. He had a balding head and wore wire-rimmed glasses. His body was unimpressive, all in all. His face, however, held a certain charisma. It was appealing, in a sense, because he seemed… kind. It was ludicrous. He had a kind face. How did a professional killer wind up with a kind face?
And he was dressed in a three-piece cage. He wore a gray pin striped suit and tie with a black wool trench coat over it. The clothes gave him a well-kempt, slightly blue-blooded appearance.