Total Submission (3 page)

“Right?” Olivia grins. “She not-so-secretly
hates you because she thinks you’re perfect. Let’s make up some
hideous secret affliction and see how long it takes the rumors to
spread. Maybe you’re getting a belly-button tuck to fix your
disgusting outie.”

“While I’m there, I can finally get my third
nipple removed, too.”

Olivia and I collapse in laughter. It feels
really good to know she’s on my team.

“Ugh, I totally envy you.” Olivia sighs.
“I’d love to get away.”

“Why don’t you, even for a short break?”

“Duty calls, you know?” Olivia rolls her
eyes. “My calendar’s booked for the next six months, at least.
Charity things and family events. Plus there’s Jeffrey…” she trails
off. Olivia’s been engaged to a total stuffed-shirt of a guy for a
year now, but she doesn’t seem excited to make it down the aisle.
“Anyway, I’ll call Pedro on the island and tell him you’re coming.
You have a blast and send me a postcard, and don’t worry about a
thing.”

I smile and sip my juice. There’s still
plenty to worry about, but with the money and an escape plan set,
I’m halfway to my fresh start. I can stay on the island long enough
to get a real plan sorted, and then Isabelle Ashcroft will be just
a memory.

A memory, like my time with Cam. His face
clouds my mind, and I feel an ache, remembering what I’m leaving
behind.

But he’s out of reach now, and he deserves
so much better than me. One day he’ll see, leaving him was the best
thing I could ever do for him.

If only I could believe it myself.

My investigator, Jake, calls first thing to
arrange a meeting. I should have known it wouldn’t take him long –
he’s the best in the business. With a background working for the
FBI, Jake usually only takes high-profile murder cases or
multi-million dollar corporate espionage gigs; it’s a personal
favor that he’d swing by my office at nine AM on a Saturday morning
when he’d usually be hung-over and tied up with some gorgeous
woman. Usually, literally.

But he can tell, my query about Isabelle
won’t wait.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Jake whistles
as he saunters into my corner office. The views of Manhattan are
spectacular, but I’m more interested in the file under his arm.
He’s looking rakish and disheveled like he’s been out partying all
night.

Still, I keep control. “Coffee?” I offer.
“My secretary can get whatever you need.”

Jake chuckles. “You got her in, too? Poor
thing. You better be paying overtime.”

“Rest assured, my staff is more than
adequately compensated for their time. As are you,” I remind him.
Jake’s minimum retainer is fifty thousand dollars. Worth every cent
if he can help me figure out what’s going on with Isabelle.

“Yeah yeah, I get it. All work and no play,”
Jake grins at me. “You need to spend a little more time at that
club of yours, stop getting wound so tight.”

I bristle at the mention of the Underground,
but I’m not surprised either. Jake makes it his business to know
everything about everyone – that’s why he’s so good at his job.

“I’ll be more relaxed when I know what
you’ve found.” I gesture for him to take a seat on one of the sleek
leather couches, but I stay standing, too tense to stay still.

“Your girl, right.” Jake flips open the file
and spreads some pages on the marble coffee table. “First of all,
she changed her legal name to Isabelle Ashcroft after the adoption,
but before that she was called Izzie Johnson. She was born in
Tallahassee, addict mom, no dad on the birth certificate, but word
is he was another junkie who didn’t stick around. She grew up at an
address outside the city, a trailer park, it doesn’t look to be
much.”

Jake slides some photos over to me. I glance
down, filled with sadness. Isabelle skirted around her past so
much, I knew it was bad, but this is bleaker than I ever
imagined.

How strong Isabelle must have been to make
it through all of this. How brave she is, even now.

“Her mom bounced in and out of the system,”
Jake continues, checking his notes. “A couple of arrests, some
court-ordered rehab, a caution for possession. I’m surprised social
services didn’t catch up with her sooner, but I guess they slipped
through the cracks—at least until Isabelle was five years old. Then
her mom gets arrested for solicitation, can’t make bail, spends a
couple of nights in lock-up. It took them three days to realize
Isabelle was on her own in the trailer. That’s when they took her
into custody and she went into the foster system.”

My blood runs cold, imagining Isabelle all
alone like that. Just a kid left to fend for herself, she must have
been so scared and confused.

“After that, the paper trail is simpler.”
Jake kicks back. “Isabelle bounced around foster families and group
homes until the Ashcrofts adopted her when she was thirteen.
There’s no more police reports except some fire at a foster home
when she was twelve, which killed the father, but she wasn’t
around. Most of these places aren’t real homes,” he adds. “A lot of
people just keep kids for the benefit checks, give them food and a
bed to sleep in, but not much else besides.”

No wonder she craved love and affection,
taking it wherever she could – even from Brent. All those years,
alone. All those years with nobody looking out for her but
herself.

“And Brent?” I demand. “What’s he doing now?
He’s got something on her, I just know it.”

“Oh yeah, that’s obvious. She’s been
propping him up all year. Credit cards, car payments, and now cash
too.” Jake shows me the paperwork. “She’s moving ten k at a time
into his account, and he burns through it just as fast. Has a taste
for high-class strippers and blow,” he adds, rolling his eyes.

“And you don’t?” I shoot back.

Jake gives me an easy smile. “Real men don’t
have to pay for it. And I keep my body clean. You have to in my
line of work.”

I shake my head, still concerned with the
matter at hand. “Keep digging, I want to know exactly what he’s
holding over her. It’s something big. Has to be, with all that
payout.”

“I’ll dig all the way to Australia, if
you’re the one paying for my shovel.” Jake unfolds his body and
gets to his feet. “One thing you should know though, your girl had
an appointment at the bank this morning. Met with an advisor and
asked about transferring out all her funds.”

“How do you know this?” Once again, I marvel
at Jake’s skills.

“I’ve got my ways,” he winks. “But she just
sent over the transfer account details. It’s a Swiss bank account,
totally anonymous. It looks to me like she’s getting ready to
run.”

Run? I tense. “Keep watching. Call me the
minute you find out what’s got her so scared.”

“Sure thing.” Jake salutes me and saunters
out, leaving me alone with the file.

I pace the floor, my mind racing. I knew
Isabelle’s background was troubled, but

I never dreamed that she would have so much
pain and loss in her life. It’s a miracle she’s made it through
this far. Other people would have become brittle and bitter, but
she’s kept her sweetness—even if she has buried it deep beneath the
surface.

Suddenly, it all makes sense to me. Why she
keeps up the perfect act, and pushes her own feelings aside.

She’s a survivor. She thinks she can only
rely on herself.

But she’s wrong. I’m here now, and I swear,
she’ll never have to feel alone again.

My intercom buzzes, breaking through my
thoughts.

“Mr. McCullough, you have a visitor.”

I pace over to the desk. “There’s nothing on
the schedule,” I reply. “Who is it?”

But the door flies open before I get an
answer. Brent Ashcroft strolls in.

It takes everything I have not to slam his
smug face into the fucking wall.

Mary scurries after him. “I’m sorry, I told
him to wait.”

“That’s fine.” I pull myself together and
dismiss her. I turn to Brent and arch an eyebrow. I refuse to lower
myself to his level and reveal how much I hate him. There’s a
reason he’s here, and until Isabelle is out from under his thumb,
I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.

Even if that means leaving him
untouched.

“Is there something you need?” I ask,
keeping the rage from my voice. “I have a busy day ahead. You
should really make an appointment in the future.”

He looks disappointed. He wanted to get a
rise out of me.

Not today, buddy.

“Corner office, huh?” Brent makes a show of
strolling around, examining the place. “But then Dad always did
think you were perfect. Cam the brown noser. Sticking it where the
sun don’t shine, right up dear daddy’s wrinkled old asshole.”

I hold back my revulsion. Brent was always a
disappointment to Charles Ashcroft – all the money and expensive
education in the world couldn’t fix what was rotten, deep down
inside.

“What do you want, Brent?” Anger simmers but
I don’t give in to it. Brent came here wanting a fight, but he
doesn’t realize, control is my talent.

“It’s more about what you want. Or rather,
who.” Brent smirks. “Was she good for you? Personally, I think her
skills could use a little work, but hey, maybe ‘frigid bitch’ does
it for you.”

I concentrate very hard on my breathing. He
wants me to snap. I won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead I
blink at him, affecting a bored expression.

“Huh, maybe I read it wrong,” Brent shrugs.
“I figured, for the right price, maybe I could give her back to
you.”

“Price?” I repeat the word, sickened. But
Brent interprets the edge in my voice as interest.

“See, I knew you were my guy.” Brent smiles
smugly. “I want my trust reinstated, and the shares in the company
that Keely bitch stole. If you make that happen, if you get me what
I’m entitled to, then I’ll give you Isabelle.”

I decide to play his bluff, see if I can
make him show his cards. “And how do I know you’ll deliver on your
promise? Isabelle might not agree. In fact, she can be rather
stubborn, don’t you think?”

Brent snorts. “You’ve just got to know how
to handle her. Don’t worry, I’ve got leverage like you wouldn’t
believe.”

“Like what?” I press him, but Brent
chuckles,“What do you think, I’m dumb or something? You’ll get your
little whore back, just give me what I want.”

I swallow back my rage. Breaking his
pathetic face in two would be satisfying, but it won’t give me what
I need.

Isabelle, free from his control. Mine again
– of her own free will.

But one day soon… Brent and I will have
words. The kind of words that involve my fists pummeling his
sniveling face.

I give him a nod, lying through my teeth.
“I’ll see what I can do with the board this week. I’ll let you know
if I can meet the terms of your arrangement.”

Brent grins in victory. “I knew you’d come
around. Can’t see what you want her for myself,” he adds, turning
to leave. “I mean, she’s used goods by now, right?”

He strolls out, leaving me with nothing but
rage in my blood and a new determination. I’m not leaving Isabelle
another night under the same roof as that animal.

I’ve waited long enough. Isabelle is mine,
and it’s time I do what I do best: take control.

The last time I started my life over, it
took months of adoption paperwork and social worker visits; court
dates and interviews before I finally was seated in the back of a
limo, driving up to the gates of Ashcroft Manor. And then there
were years of social niceties to learn, attitudes to mimic, and a
million different ways to appear blasé, to become Isabelle Ashcroft
not just in name, but for real.

This time, all it takes is a few quick phone
calls. Just like that, I’ve got a new, secret bank account and a
red-eye flight booked to the Caribbean. All I need to do now is to
collect my bags and my passport, and head for the airport.

By the end of the day, Isabelle Ashcroft
will be gone forever.

It should be a relief. An end to all the
mess and pain. So why does my heart ache like this, thinking about
leaving New York – and Cam – behind for good?

I push aside the emotion and head back to my
apartment to pick up my things. I already checked in at Brent’s
favorite sports club, and he’s propping up the bar with his
friends. The coast is clear to disappear.

But when I step into the apartment, all my
bags are gone. I left my luggage by the bedroom door, ready to make
my escape. Now, they’re nowhere to be seen.

What the hell! Brent. He must’ve gotten in
somehow and taken everything. It’s not just the clothing, I can
replace that easily, but the few personal tokens that mean the
world to me: photos of me with the Ashcrofts, old diaries, and the
only thing I have from my real mother, a broken down old music box
that’s the last symbol of who I really am.

Tears well in my throat. I can’t go without
them, but what can I do now?

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. I
flinch, expecting Brent, but then I remember: he would never knock.
I go to answer, wondering why the doorman didn’t buzz me with the
arrival.

Cam’s driver is waiting outside. He shifts,
looking awkward.

“Eddie?” I ask, confused. “What are you
doing here?”

He clears his throat. “Mr. McCullough sent
me to collect you. I’ve already taken your belongings to the
penthouse.”

“Collect me?” I echo. “Wait, you took my
things?” I’m angry. “How the hell did you get in? What gives you
the right?”

“I’m sorry.” Eddie looks totally
uncomfortable. “I’m just following orders, ma’am. If you come with
me, you can talk to Mr. McCullough yourself.”

My heart pounds. See Cam again? I can’t. I
remember the last time we met all too well. The way he seduced me
in the bathroom at that restaurant, reawakening the desire I
thought I’d dampened down for good. His hands on my body, his sexy
Scottish accent commanding in my ear. Feeling his fingers inside me
took me to the brink in a moment, like only he knows how to do. It
was insanely hot, so intense I could have come right there.