Blood Price (The Blankenships Book 5) (8 page)

CHAPTER TEN

They didn
’t talk much on the way to the airport. If Zoey was completely honest with herself, she was a little sad that her first trip abroad had been a whirlwind business trip, but she saw the fear and concern in Alex’s eyes. He wanted to be back home, on his turf, where he would feel like he could keep them safe. She understood the desire, but for herself, she wasn’t sure that they’d be any safer in New York City than they were in London. After all, it couldn’t be much harder to hire an assassin in London than it was in the States.

But saying that would just sound like she was minimizing his justified fears, and she didn’t want to do that.

He elected a cab this time. They passed their luggage to the driver, then settled into the back seat. Zoey reached across the divide to try and grip his hand. He responded, after a moment, but his eyes were firmly locked out the window. Whether he was trying to see someone watching them, or he just couldn’t bring himself to look at her, she wasn’t sure.

Maybe her paranoia with the computer had been too much. She’d acted like she knew for sure someone was watching them, and that wasn’t true at all. But with everything she’d seen in Cindy’s files, it seemed naive, at the absolute best, to pretend that it wasn’t a possibility.

“Can you send Claire a message,” he said, after a little while, “And let her know we’re on our way home?”

“Sure?” She pulled out her phone.

He glanced at her. “If someone’s watching her phone. Maybe they won’t—a message from you—”

“It’s fine,” Zoey said, offering him a reassuring smile. He nodded, and turned back to the window.

She squeezed the pain out of her heart. This wasn’t the time for her to be petulant. She did some mental math. It took longer to fly from London to New York than it did the other way around, and they’d be chasing the time zones this time. They’d land at JFK around midnight.

They boarded the plane, but instead of relaxing on the couch this time and turning on the TV, Alex went directly to two armchairs bolted to the floor of the plane with a small table between them. Zoey followed him after a moment, swallowing the fear that he’d tell her to leave him alone.

She’d been afraid of a cold look, but the reality—his complete focus on the task at hand, which seemed to involved near frantic tapping at his computer—was so much worse. Exhaustion burned through her, especially as she sat in the chair, and the roar of the plane pushed them up in the air; she’d been tense all afternoon, and completely afraid by the time Alex had returned to the flat. Now, she had to admit that the simple fact that they were acting was easing her stress immensely.

But it wasn’t enough. She knew it wasn’t enough. If this was going to keep affecting them, then they needed to get to the bottom of it, and quickly.

There was a cold, bitter part of herself that kept reminding her that they still didn’t have proof of anything. That really, they could turn all of this over to the police when they were back in New York, and just walk away. No one else had to get hurt. The cops would protect the twins, and the rest of it—the rest of it wasn’t their problem.

She was starting to droop in her seat when Alex angrily snapped his laptop shut, and her eyes jerked awake. “Sorry,” she said, pushing herself into a more upright position.

It was almost as if he’d forgotten she was on the plane as well. His eyes darted around the cabin briefly before they really focused on her. “No, no,” he murmured, “I’m sorry. I’m ignoring you.”

“It’s okay,” she said, then paused. She didn’t know what to say, how to communicate that while she understood, it also wasn’t okay. “I just wish I could help.”

He nodded, and his hand reached across the table for hers, wrapping around her fingers and reconnecting the flow between them. “You are helping,” he said. “And Luke is going to meet us at the penthouse and help us make sure that the cockroach problem in the kitchen is resolved.”

She understood in a flash, then, the conversation she’d overheard at the flat. Cockroach problem. Bug problem. Luke was going to sweep the penthouse for bugs, to make sure there weren’t any surveillance devices in the area. Well, that was something. At least they’d be able to talk.

“Did you hear back from Claire?”

“Just a quick okay, nothing else.”

He nodded. “I’m glad. I hope she’s getting some rest. The past few weeks have been tough on her.”

It would have been the perfect moment to ask more about Claire, about her relationship with Olivia, about what it had been like growing up in what had clearly been a contentious household. It had obviously affected both of them. But Alex’s expression was locked tight and far away, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask him.

The flight attendant brought them snacks and a drink, and Alex ate absently, his mind focused very far away. When they were both sitting there, their eyes drooping, Zoey stood and held out her hand for his. He stared at it, puzzled, for a few moments before fitting his fingers to hers. This time, she led him to the couch, sat down against the side, and opened her arms to him. He gave her a look she could only describe as grateful before he snuggled down, his head in her lap. She ran her fingers over his neck and shoulder until his breathing dropped off into a slow steady rhythm. After that, she lay her head down on the back of the couch, and let herself fall asleep, too.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Zoey came awake in a rush as the flight attendant tapped her on the shoulder. Alex jerked awake in her lap, his eyes muzzy and his breath rapid.
“It’s okay,” she said, stroking her hand down his arm. It was strangely comforting, feeling him relax at her touch, accepting her reassurance.

“I’m sorry for startling you,” the attendant said. “We’re going to begin our descent in a few minutes, so I just need you both to secure your seatbelts.”

“Absolutely,” she said. Alex moved slowly in her lap, and then began to sit up.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. The attendant nodded, and as both of them dug under the cushions for their belts, she vanished back towards the cockpit.

“That’s two international flights we’ve slept through now,” Alex said, laughing quietly. “If this gets out, I’ll lose my reputation at Chez Vous faster than you can imagine.”

It took her a moment to muster her courage. It seemed like she was saying so much, when really, she was just echoing him. “Well. You said there would be more trips. So maybe next time.”

His smile was worth everything. “Yes,” he said, quietly, his eyes full of promise. “Next time.”

The plane landed smoothly, and they disembarked, carrying their luggage. Zoey felt inclined to giggle; her bags were substantially heavier than when they’d left New York, but she’d barely had time to shop for anything. They headed toward the main terminal. Alex said he’d rather call a cab than wake up David at this point in the night, especially when he wouldn’t be expected, but as they came into the main terminal, Alex was nearly bowled over by his sister.

“Claire,” he said, once he’d gathered himself enough to laugh and hug her. “What are you doing here?”

She leaned back a minute, then rolled her eyes and gave Zoey the same attack-hug treatment. “I got Zoey’s message, and when I called down to make sure David knew to pick you up, he said he hadn’t heard from you. So I thought I’d surprise you.”

Alex’s eyes were wide, and Zoey saw his posture become more alert. “Thanks for coming, Claire,” he said. “Let’s get home so you can get some sleep, okay?” He took Zoey’s hand and put his arm around his sister’s shoulder. It didn’t look exactly like he was trying to hustle them both out of the airport, but Zoey could feel the tremor of tension in his hand. Could Claire feel it, too? She was babbling happily about brunch with her friends and the movie night she’d thrown in the penthouse once they were gone. Alex laughed along with her, but there was so much tension in his voice that it made Zoey’s stomach quiver.

At the curb, in front of the long black town car, Zoey mused to herself that it had taken exactly as little time as she’d feared to get used to this lifestyle. A week ago, she would have freaked out at the idea of just handing off her laptop to a stranger and getting into a car without checking out the driver. Today, though, she just wanted to be out of the airport. She wanted to be somewhere safe. So she handed off her bags and followed Claire into the backseat of the car without a second thought.

Alex was the one who noticed. She heard him, outside the car, say, “Hold on, who are you?”

Claire leaned over Zoey. “It’s okay, Alex, David got sick. Jackson is his replacement. Come on, let’s go home.”

Alex stood outside the back seat, every muscle of his body tightened. Zoey couldn’t see what was happening with the driver, but his fear was extreme, all on its own. She started to reach out of the car. Alex made a sharp gesture with his hand, palm pressed towards her in a firm motion. Stop.

She heard a voice, coming from the back of the car. The driver, she thought, who’d been standing at the trunk, loading in their luggage. “Into the car, please, Mr. Blankenship.”

“It’s me you want, not them,” he said, his voice calm and level, completely at odds with the hand that shook like the surface of a pond on a breezy day. “Let them out of the car, and I’ll do anything you want.”

She heard a harsh, cold laugh. “Unfortunately, those are not my instructions. Into the car, please.”

Everything was completely surreal. Her vision was too sharp, like the time she’d gone to see a movie in a super high frame rate, and the movie looked like a documentary instead of a film. “Alex—” she said, in the same moment that his balance shifted, and he lanced out at the driver with a vicious punch. She thought,
we’re going to get out of this.
She thought,
He’s going to save us.
She thought,
it’s going to be okay.

Claire screamed.

If the driver had planned on using the gun, she thought, they would have been fine. Action movies aside, within a few feet, someone trained in hand to hand combat could easily disarm a gunman before the gunman could get a shot off. But the gun—there had to be a gun, there was always a gun—wasn’t the driver’s goal. He twisted, taking Alex’s punch on his shoulder instead of on the chin, and then he grabbed Alex’s hand and turned somehow, using Alex’s weight to slam his face into the roof of the car. The sound was incredibly loud in the back seat, and Zoey saw Alex’s body sag as the driver slammed the passenger side door back door, then bundled Alex into the front seat. Alex hadn’t gone completely unconscious, just limp, so shoving him into the seat, he looked like just another drunk New Yorker on his way home. Zoey heard a plastic sound as the driver messed with something in Alex’s lap.
Zip ties
, she thought to herself.
Harder to get out of than handcuffs.

Too late, Zoey thought to check the back doors. Of course the child safety locks were engaged. Leaving Alex behind would have been a nightmare, but she knew him well enough at this point to know that he would have easily chosen that she get his sister to safety and call the police to rescue him, rather than anything else.

The driver was already moving; the car had been running as they’d approached the curb. Claire was making tiny breathless screaming sounds, and Zoey pulled the girl in tight, holding her close and stroking her hair. “You won’t get away with this,” she said, pleased with the low anger in her voice. It was a stereotypical thing to say, but she didn’t care.

“I’m not trying to get away with anything,” the driver said, glancing at the back seat with an expression that Zoey could vaguely consider saddened. Not that she felt much sympathy for him, given that he wasn’t stopping the car and letting them go. “I want to help you. I know more about what’s going on, and I can help you get free of them.”

“Let us go, then,” Zoey said, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Hysteria was rising in her like a tide, choking off her air and putting sparkles into her vision. “Just let us go.”

The driver didn’t say anything, just kept driving. They were in the ass end of Brooklyn, now, the area where all the dastardly deeds were done dirt cheap, because no one here saw anything, heard anything, nothing. Claire’s voice calmed down, and Alex let loose a moan of pure pain. Zoey focused on breathing, and tried to think of a way to bargain, of some way to get the three of them out of whatever was happening. No one who actually wanted to help them would have started things off this way, no matter how it went in thrillers.

In an instant the world exploded into noise and destruction. Gravity became nothing at all, and there was screaming, screaming everywhere, and then everything smashed. She closed her eyes as glass sprayed at her in slow motion, felt the sharp crumbs of safety glass smash over her.

Things were slowing down. The car was canted at a strange angle—they were on their sides, and she was tangled up in the seat belt. She reached for it, found the lock jammed, and worked it for a few moments to get free. Claire had already gotten free from the seat belt and was crouched in the shattered glass, her palms leaking blood, her forehead gashed open. She was making sounds that sounded like gaspy sobs, but there were no tears now. Her eyes were wide open, her pupils wide, and the world was almost totally silent.

Zoey could hear the tick of the cooling engine, and footsteps coming towards the car.

“Claire.” Zoey kept her voice an urgent whisper. The girl didn’t respond. “Claire.” She untangled herself, and dropped down into the mess of the car. It wasn’t all the way up on its side; there was room for them to squeeze out the window on the passenger’s side, and they’d be able to run, or hide. In the car—it seemed safe, but it wasn’t. There was no way.

Alex was unconscious now in the front seat. She tried not to think about what happened when someone got repeated head injuries. It wouldn’t help her. She could see his chest moving, and she needed to focus on that.

Priorities: Get Claire out. Call the police. She patted her pocket and found her phone there, thanking whoever had charge of such things that she hadn’t left it in her bag.

“Honey,” she said, her palms on either side of Claire’s face. “Listen to me. I need you to climb through that window, and then we’ll run. Okay? We’re going to go together.”

The footsteps were leisurely as they came towards the car. Whoever was walking towards them had no fear, no concern that they would be seen. One slow and steady pace after another.

“I can’t,” Claire said. Her dark cheeks were smeared with blood—Zoey’s blood, from her cut palms—and her voice was high and tight with hysteria. “I can’t. I can’t.”

An urge to slap the girl nearly overwhelmed her. Zoey jostled her as gently as she could manage. Claire yet out a little yip, but her eyes focused tightly on Zoey. “You can,” she said. “We have to. I have my phone. We’ll call for help. But we have to get out of the car right now.”

“Good try,” said a voice. Male, deep, broken. “But too late.”

Zoey looked up towards the other window as two flashes from the muzzle of a gun burst her vision and filled her hearing with a white noise buzz. Her face was hot, wet—and she looked at Claire and she knew why.

The girl stared at the holes in her pretty blue T-shirt, her fingers trembling over them, trying to understand the spreading darkness that was destroying her clothes. She looked up at Zoey, her mouth gaping, her complexion already going ashen as everything that made her alive gushed out of her. Her mouth moved, and in the moment as Zoey leaned forward, already thinking in terms of medical dramas, hearing handsome actors shout
put pressure on the wound
and
prep two pints of O-neg
and
come on people let’s move
in real life, she whimpered.

“It hurts, Zoey.” Claire whispered, and for a moment she was a frightened little girl. “It hurts.”

The light left her eyes then. Zoey looked from the girl’s body, to her own bloody hands, to Alex unconscious in the front seat, and she began to scream.

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