as he continued his probing stare. After nearly a minute, a faint smile curved his lips and he looked away, moving to the bar to fix himself a drink.
She let herself take a slow breath, wishing her racing heart would slow down. What in the hell was that about? No telling, really. She was terrified of the son of a bitch, but she couldn’t let him see that. It would only make him worse. Looking down, she stared at the sophisticated, elegant ring she wore.
It should be getting easier. She was getting closer. She knew she was—and her contact had even managed to show her proof. It was sealed up, tight and safe for now. But they needed more. More solid info . . . and an exact location would be nice. Something more than the few incriminating photos. That would be even better.
Could they find it soon enough, though?
Find it, she thought tiredly. She’d thought she’d find something soon two years ago, when she’d first stumbled onto this. It had been tangled threads that had led her here, and the more she’d unraveled those threads, the deeper she’d fallen into this mess.
And she was so deep now, she started to worry if she’d ever get out. If she’d survive.
Sometimes, like now, those fears got to be too much, and the weight of what she was doing crashed down so heavily. When that happened, she made herself remember why she was doing this. She thought of a girl. A poor, lost girl . . . So much time had passed that sometimes the girl’s face would start to fade. Then something would bring it back. Something . . . like Patrick’s cruelty. A touch from him . . .
She let herself think about the girl, gave herself a minute to shore up her strength, all the while projecting an outer image of calm. It was worth it, no matter what. In the end, Patrick would go down and he’d never hurt another young woman. She had to remind herself of that, even at times like this when she felt so completely stuck.
“I’ve been thinking about taking a day away at a spa,” she said abruptly, turning around and smiling at him. “I heard about a lovely one that I’d like to try.”
“I’ll have my assistant set a day up for you here. We’ve got wonderful facilities, as I’m sure you already know.”
Yes . . . someplace just under your nose. What she wanted was to be someplace completely away from his influence. Where he’d have no way of watching over her, spying . . .
Except she had to be close to him for her to get her job done.
He lifted a hand, laid it on her shoulder. The touch was light. “You’re not getting . . . nervous . . . are you, Ella?”
Nervous. Bugger all. Just his touch made a rush of cold snake through her—water, black and icy, closing over her . . . sucking her under. Brutal hands. Hard laughter.
Did you really think I’d let you leave . . .
Shaken, she forced those dark, odd terrifying thoughts aside. Have to get a grip. Suppressing the urge to shudder, she eased away from him and went to the bar under the pretense of pouring herself a glass of wine. “A bit, perhaps. A wedding is a rather important event for any bride.”
Even an unwilling one . . .
“Just think of it more as a business arrangement,” he advised, following her. Once more, he cupped his hands over her shoulders. Squeezed. A little too tight, a little cruel, until his fingers ground into her bones, but it lasted only a second. She swallowed the gasp before it could escape, knowing that any reaction would only make it worse the next time he tried to do it.
She’d learned her lesson well over the past few months.
Through her lashes, she watched as he moved deeper into the room, like he owned the place. Just as he thought he owned her. “A business arrangement,” he said again, turning to smile at her. “Thinking about it that way makes it so much easier to ignore any nervous inclinations, don’t you think?”
“Of course.” She inclined her head, smiling at him as her shoulders throbbed. One of these days, you icy piece of work, I’ll bloody you. It was a promise she’d made herself months ago.
After the first time he’d hit her.
It was a promise she intended to keep. She’d do it for herself, and