Rock Bottom (24 page)

Chapter Fifty-three

Carrie’s mom used to have these truffles imported from France. I thought they were good. I mean, they were chocolate, what’s not to like? But Carrie . . . she was obsessed. The nickel-sized candies didn’t exactly come cheap, so Mrs. Brenner kept them under lock and key in her desk drawer. That didn’t stop Carrie, though.

YouTube, a couple of bobby pin, and a few minutes were all it took to pilfer more chocolates than I cared to admit. Angela had always insisted it was a waste of study time. At the time, I’d agreed. Who knew it would end up being the most important thing I learned there?

Rosita was nothing if not punctual. Every morning at eight-thirty a.m. on the dot she unlocked my door, delivered my breakfast, and performed a surface clean of the room. The woman might have suffered from O.C.D. Or, perhaps, the strict schedule was Damien’s and all she suffered from was a fear of incurring his wrath. I could relate.

I lay in bed, pretending to sleep, mainly because it was awkward to watch someone clean up after you when you couldn’t so much as thank them for it without risking trouble for you both. It wasn’t until she left and I heard the door lock behind her that I let my mind focus on what it was I was about to attempt.

Conceal evidence of criminal behavior, pick lock, sneak out of guarded apartment, and attend secret rendezvous with police detectives.
Piece of cake
. And while I was living in Fantasyland, I added walking on water and spinning straw into gold to my to-do list.

My bathroom came stocked with everything a girl might need, including . . . bobby pins. I slid one off the paper packaging and stared at it, trying to remember how Carrie had done this.

Pliers.
I needed pliers. I didn’t have pliers. But I
did
have tweezers.

For a thin strip of metal, it proved more difficult to snap in half and bend than I would have guessed. I got it started with the tweezers and then had to use the edge of the counter and the heel of my hand to pound it into a ninety degree angle. That was it. I had my tools. Thoughtful of Damien to provide them for me.

I dressed quickly with security in mind. Leggings to allow me to move more freely, and my sweater had zip-up pockets. The last thing I needed to do was misplace the evidence along the way. That sheet of paper was my ticket out and I wasn’t taking any chances. Once it was safe, I took up position behind the door and eyeballed the keyhole.

Watching someone pick a lock and actually doing it yourself are two entirely different things. To a spectator it looks like you just shove the two little metal pieces in the hole and wiggle them around a bit.
Presto chango, the lock is open
. In reality . . . not so much.

I jabbed blindly at the stupid hole for thirteen solid minutes. Nothing.

“Come on, you stupid, useless, piece of—” Drawing a deep breath, I forced myself to take a step back. I was letting desperation impede my logic. “Okay. One step at a time.”

Carrie always started with the L shaped tool near the bottom. I stuck it in and gave it a little wiggle. Nothing happened, but I still had the pick to work with. Finagling it slightly more delicately into the top of the keyhole, I added pressure to the bottom tool with my thumb and wiggled the top one instead.

Click
.

Holy shit
. I scarcely dared to breathe. Setting the makeshift implements aside, a cold sweat coated my palm as it closed around the door handle.

Please. Please. Please. Please. Pl—

I twisted and it opened.

When you think about it, it’s such a tiny thing. The opening of a door. Something accomplished a million times a day. But opening this particular door would change my life forever.

It was an effort not to whoop or clap or throw a freaking ticker tape parade. Rosita could be heard clattering away as she rinsed dishes in the kitchen. I could see the front door down the hall. This was it. No turning back.

Checking once more that the paper was still zipped into my sweater, I eased the door shut behind me, turned the lock into place, and raced barefoot down the hall with a pair of sneakers dangling from my fingers.

Every step of the way I expected to be caught. After pressing the call button for the elevator, I took several steps back, half expecting Damien to be waiting inside when the doors slid open. The
ding
was loud enough to make me cringe, but Rosita didn’t come running, and when the doors opened wide, the elevator was mercifully vacant.

I gave a silent ‘thank you’ to my mother for years’ worth of memorization techniques as I keyed in the elevator code and began my descent. Floor after floor passed by as I slipped on my sneakers, rearranged my hair, and attempted to at least
appear
calm. A frantic, barefoot girl running from the building might raise a few eyebrows.

The small black orb on the ceiling weighed on me like an all-seeing eyeball. Fears that Damien watched my every move pulsed through my veins, but I shook them off. Damien Cross was a busy man. He had better things to do than sit around all day watching surveillance footage on the off chance I happened to escape. By the time he realized I was gone and checked the camera, it would be far too late for him to do anything about it. He’d probably be in custody before he ever even knew I was missing. These were the reassurances that kept my pace steady as I crossed the lobby and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Fresh air filled my lungs, clogged with the pungent smells of exhaust, boiled hotdogs, and hot tar. After the quiet confines of the penthouse, the sounds of the street were nearly deafening. Car horns blared, bass beats thumped, thousands of voices chattering away on phones, the crisp clip of shoes on concrete. It was all a bit overwhelming. But I’d done it. I was out.

There was a not-so-small part of me that honestly hadn’t believed I was capable of it. I stuck a mental tongue out at that part as I turned right and hustled toward the coffee shop ten blocks over. I’d passed it every evening on the way to the corner with Rafe, always filled with men and women in work clothes going about their normal lives, blissfully unaware. I’d envied them. When Tanner told me to set the meeting place, it was the first thing that came to mind.

Being mid-morning on a weekday, the shop was emptier than usual, making Tanner and Fawn hard to miss in the rear booth. They shared a bench facing the door and Tanner lifted his chin in recognition when I stepped inside. Bypassing the counter, I headed straight for their table, the evidence burning a hole in my pocket.

“I—” I was breathless when I reached the booth and whatever air I had left in my lungs came whooshing out when I saw who sat across from them.

Chapter Fifty-four

“You’re here.”

Elijah smiled up at me like I was some kind of simpleton. “Well, it
is
Taco Tuesday over at El
Sombrero, but I figured I could squeeze in a few minutes to give you a dose of all this,” he waved a hand idly in his direction, “before lunch.”

I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or smack him. So I did both. Elijah grinned harder, putting those dimples into full effect, and I may have swooned just a little before he sobered.

A tug on my wrist drew me into the booth and long fingers threaded through my hair. “Of course I’m here.”

“Of course he’s here,” Tanner grumbled. “Kid’s been riding my ass every damn day.”

We both ignored him.

“Rylie.” My name sounded raw coming from Elijah’s lips.

It had been almost two weeks since I’d seen him at the party. Over a month since all of this began. A
lifetime
since we’d really been together. “I missed you.”

“Christ, Princess, I’ve missed you, too. I’ve been—” His voice broke, my heart right along with it. “You have no idea. I’ve been so worried. Fucking terrified that . . .”

Elijah couldn’t bring himself to say it, but I knew what haunted his nightmares. The same things that haunted mine. Only difference was, I knew most of them as memories instead of simply dreams. Maybe someday I’d share them with him, but for now he already carried too much of my burden on his shoulders.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” I leaned into him, bringing my lips to his face. I gently kissed his cheek, his nose, his eyelids, soaking up every last moment until Tanner spoiled it by demanding our attention.

“You have what we need?”

What a stupid question. “Would I be here if I didn’t?”

Digging into my pocket, I pulled out the folded sheet of paper and passed it into the greedy hands of detective Fawn. Side-by-side they studiously examined their prize while my focus returned to what really mattered.

“It’s over.” Elijah pressed his forehead to mine, his relief almost as intense as my own. “You’re safe now. I’m taking you home and we’ll—”

“Nothing’s over yet.” Fawn’s words sliced through me like a razor blade.

Elijah tensed and his hand slid into mine, gripping tightly as though he intended to hang onto me at all costs. “She got you the evidence. What the hell do you mean—?”

“She has to go back.” Fawn said it matter-of-factly. As though that simple statement hadn’t just thrown me into cardiac arrest.

“Go . . . b-back?” I was barely capable of forming the words, much less comprehending them. “Back . . . where?”

Tanner’s eyes flicked up from the paper with a look that blatantly called me an idiot. “To Damien.”

“You son of a—” My hand tightened around Elijah’s. Whether it was an attempt to hold onto him or hold him back, I wasn’t sure. “You can’t make her—”

“Do you want all of this to be for nothing?” Fawn settled her hand on her dainty waist and stared right at me. “Getting a warrant takes time. Not long, but what do you think would happen if Damien notices you’re gone?”

“He’d be angry.” And that was putting it lightly. Feather-touch lightly.

“He’s not a fool. His first reaction will be to cover his tracks. All that evidence we’re looking for.
The girls
. They’ll all just disappear. We may never find them. Is that what you want?”

“No.” Of course that wasn’t what I wanted. I’d risked my life to save those girls. “I—”

Elijah’s grip drew me across the cracked plastic seat until my side pressed up against his. “And what happens to Rylie if she goes back? Where’s your damn judge now? Why isn’t he here with you, ready to sign your warrant?”

“Finding a judge willing to put their name on a search warrant for Damien Cross wasn’t easy. The man has connections.” Deep lines carved shadows into Tanner’s cheeks when he scowled. “Judge Philmore is willing to do it, but not here. He has a full docket this morning. We have to wait until he’s available to look over the evidence for himself. All things considered, it’s not asking too much.”

“What about Rylie?”  Elijah demanded. “How much is too much to ask of
her
?”

“Rylie will be fine.” Tanner brushed off his concern as though it meant nothing. And, I suppose, to him it did. “She won’t be there long. A few hours max.”

A few hours?
I’d already invested weeks of time. A few hours didn’t seem so bad. “Damien shouldn’t even be home by then. If I can get back before Rosita notices I’m gone, all I’ll have to do is sit in a room for a few hours.”

Elijah wasn’t so easily convinced. He glared at Fawn and Tanner and I got the impression that the table was the only thing keeping them apart. “What if she’s already noticed? What if she called Damien and he’s on his way there right now? What is Rylie supposed to—?”

“Act. It’s what your good at, isn’t it, Rylie?” The cold disdain in Fawn’s voice chilled me to the bone. “Sell him a story. Make sure he gets his money’s worth.”

I knew in that moment that Elijah was the only one on my side, but it didn’t change the fact that the detectives were right. I hadn’t gone through all of this to turn away now. To watch everything fall apart in the final hours and lose those girls anyway.

“Rosita sticks to a strict schedule.” I twisted to face Elijah, not really giving a damn what the detectives thought. They were getting what they wanted. That was all they cared about. “She won’t go back into my room until lunchtime. If I can be back there in . . .” I glanced at the clock on the wall behind the counter, “. . . forty-five minutes, she’ll never know I was gone.”

A coldness crept into Elijah’s eyes as though he were preparing to freeze me out. Maybe he was angry with me. Maybe he’d finally had enough. Maybe it was his way of protecting himself. I didn’t know, but I wormed my arms around him and drew him to me. I was running out of time, but I needed him like I needed oxygen.

“If you let me go just this one more time, I swear I’ll come back to you. Just one more time and I’m yours.”

“No.” A flash of lightning in his stormy eyes melted away the ice. “You’re
yours
. No one else’s ever again.”

I honestly couldn’t tell if those words broke my heart or healed it. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Princess.” A ghost of that cocky grin I loved so much. “You’re going to be the death of me. You know that, right?”

God, I hoped not.

Removing myself from his embrace felt an awful lot like someone shoving a fist through my chest and squeezing my heart.

I hovered beside the table as Tanner imparted a few last minute instructions. “Just stay in the apartment. It’s that simple. You’ll know when we have the warrant because we’ll be breaking down the door. I suggest you take cover when the shit hits the fan. Stay out of the way and you’ll be fine. The team knows we have an informant on the inside. They’ll extract you.”

The detectives said their goodbyes—which consisted of a couple nods—and left the shop ahead of me. I needed to do the same. The trip there had taken nearly half-an-hour. If I jogged, I could make it back faster, but I was still pressing my luck.

Before I could go, a warm hand snatched mine. “You take care of
you
, Ry. I don’t give a damn about Tanner or Fawn or Cross or any of their goddamn proof. All I care about is you walking out of there in one piece.”

I squeezed Elijah’s hand and felt his ragged breath on my skin. His free hand clenched the tabletop as though it were the only thing keeping him from following me up and out of that booth.

“You come back to me. I swear to God, Rylie, you better come back to me.”

I had to choke down the lump in my throat before the words would come. “I’ll always come back to you.”

And then I left him.

***

The lunch rush had crowded onto the sidewalks. People in suits and skirts and uniforms and work boots, all jostling for a breath of fresh air. A moment in the sun. A quick meal or maybe a drink before it was back to the grind. I pushed my way upstream, struggling through the crush of bodies, and ducked just in time to avoid being elbowed in the face by a man attempting to carry five cups at once.

I didn’t have time for this. Luckily, I knew this part of town like the back of my hand. The alley shortcut that ran between the cleaners and the florist wasn’t exactly scenic, but it would get me where I needed to go.

I dodged a woman in an orange vest, a man with a ketchup stain on his shirt, and rounded the corner. Two feet into the alley, I slammed to a stop, feeling like I’d run face-first into a brick wall.