from Red, then force myself not to cry.
Images of blood and flesh flash through my mind. The memory of cutting when I’d been certain that the rescue had fallen apart and that Anne was dead. I glance at the table and see the knife. And somehow that strengthens me.
Because I won’t use it. Not now. Not even if—oh, God, no—I never see him again. I know that Damien wouldn’t want me to cut. He’d want me to be strong. He’d want me to believe that he’s safe. He has to be safe.
Right now, I have to believe. I have to stay alive and believe that Damien is well, too. Because I can’t go on without that belief. Except, of course, I have to. He’d want me to be there to be strong for the girls.
I draw another breath and try to feel him. Try to feel that empty void that would be left in the universe if he were truly gone.
I don’t, though.
Instead, I feel a tiny bit of hope.
“Could he have survived?”
“I don’t know. I hope so. I think we should both believe it.”
I nod, appreciating his honesty even as I hate the uncertainty. But it doesn’t matter.
The thoughts whip through my head at the speed of light, and now I glance around the room. Still full of fear and chaos. The second gunman has pushed Aubert up against the wall, a gun in his face. The blonde looks around frantically, her eyes wild.
“We’re going to be having a little chat with each of you,” the gunman with the phones says. “Nothing to fear if you tell us the truth. You lie, things won’t be good for you. You first.” He points to Aubert. “Then you,” he adds to the blonde. “After that, who knows? Guess it depends on who all are good little boys and girls.”
He signals to the other gunman, who drags Aubert into the alcove with the restrooms. I catch a glimpse of his face—fearful but determined—and hope when it’s my turn I can stay as calm.
Eight people who’d decided to come for a drink, held captive by gunmen, and I don’t even know if anyone outside this hotel has a clue. Are the police on the way? Do the hotel staff realize what’s going on? Had Red managed to hit a panic button?
I frown, thinking about the last question as I shift and look at him.
Red. The man who’d been behind the bar. The man who’d made a point of talking to us, and is now sitting next to me, acting like my protector. If I were anybody but Damien Stark’s wife, I might believe that he was doing this out of concern for a woman alone. But I am Damien’s wife, and I know this might be about him. Even though we hadn’t checked into the hotel under our real names, somebody would know. Somebody always seems to know.
Oh, God.
Red knew.
Instinctively, I inch away as an all-new fear starts to cut through me. “Who the hell are you really?”
“I told you. Red Cooper. Charles on my birth certificate.”
“The bartender,” I scoff, and feel fresh panic bloom as he flashes an enigmatic smile.
“Today, anyway. Guess I picked a bad one. Then again, my dad sure as hell couldn’t have handled this. Not with his heart. Fate, right?”
The words are only so much noise, and before I can reply, the second gunman returns, shoving a limp Aubert onto his knees. The jeweler simply lies there, his body shaking, as the gunman orders the girlfriend to her feet and shoves her down the hall with the butt of his gun.
The first gunman keeps a post near the front, his eyes scanning the room.
“You knew my name,” I accuse, my voice a barely audible whisper. “My real name. So tell me—what the hell is this about?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Do not lie to me. You’re with them.”
He faces me straight on, and I see the fury and disgust in his face. “I meant what I said. My father wouldn’t have survived this. I consider it a supremely good act of the universe that I ended up here in his place. But I am not—repeat not—part of this little charade. My role is the same as yours. I’m a fucking hostage. And frankly, I don’t much like it.”
“Then how the hell do you know who I am?”
His eyes narrow as if to say really? And, honestly, I have to concede the point. Damien and I don’t exactly move under the