Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,240

I can’t—”

“I know you hold the reserve for the Pacific Northwest. Just transfer it from the main holding account. Or liquidate some of my assets. I don’t care. Give her the money.”

“Mr. Grey, this is highly irregular.”

“Just fucking do it, Whelan. Find a way, or I’ll close all the accounts and move GEH’s business elsewhere. Understand?”

He’s silent on the other end of the phone.

“We’ll sort the fucking paperwork out later,” I add, in a more conciliatory tone.

“Yes, Mr. Grey.”

“Just give her whatever she wants.”

“Yes, Mr. Grey.” I hang up.

I want to cry. I want to break down here on the roof and weep. But I can’t. I close my eyes and wish that I were here on my own.

“Mr. Grey.” Taylor’s voice cuts through my pain.

I turn to face him, and he blanches. “What?” I snarl.

“Hyde has been granted bail. He’s free.”

I glare at him. What fresh hell is this?

Hyde is free? How? I thought we’d dealt with that.

Taylor and I eyeball each other, wondering, What the hell?

“You’re leaving me?”

“No!”

“It’s for you. For your family. Please. Don’t.”

“Ana!” I whisper. “She’s trying to withdraw five million dollars.”

Taylor’s eyes widen. “Shit!” he says.

We reach the same conclusion at the same instant. Whatever the hell she’s doing, deep down I know it has something to do with that fucker Hyde. I punch the elevator button, as my utter despair congeals into fear. Fear for my wife. “Where’s Sawyer?”

“He’s at the bank. He tracked her car.” We leap into the elevator and I jab the button for the garage as Charlie Tango’s rotors start again. It’s deafening.

“You have the car keys?” I shout to Taylor as the doors close.

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s get to the bank. Do we know where Hyde is?”

“No. I’ll text Welch.”

“He left a message. Shit—it must have been the news about Hyde.”

The elevator takes forever to descend to the garage. What is Ana playing at? Why can’t she tell me if she’s in trouble? Fear wraps around my heart and my gut, strangling me from the inside. What could be worse than Ana leaving me? The distressing picture from my earlier dream slips into my head, drawing on older—much older—disturbing memories: a woman lifeless on the floor. I screw my eyes shut.

No. Please. No.

“We’ll find her,” Taylor says with grim determination.

“We have to.”

“I’ll track her cell,” he states.

At last the doors open and Taylor tosses me his Q7 keys. He wants me to drive?

Get a grip, Grey. You have to get your wife out of this mess.

Perhaps that fucker is blackmailing her.

We climb into the car and I switch on the ignition. The tires scream as I reverse out of the space and speed up to the garage entrance, only to wait agonizing seconds for the barrier to rise. “Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on!”

Barely clearing the barrier, we roar out onto the street in the direction of the bank.

Taylor puts his phone on the dash, waiting for a signal, cursing impatiently under his breath.

“She’s still at the bank,” he says eventually.

“Good.”

The traffic is heavier than I expected. It’s frustrating.

Come on, come on, come on!

Why does Ana do this? Keep this shit to herself? Doesn’t she trust me?

I think about my behavior over the last couple of days.

Okay, it hasn’t been exemplary, by any means, but she takes all this crap on her shoulders. Why can’t she ask for help?

“Ana Grey,” I shout into the phone’s Bluetooth system. After a few moments her phone starts to ring, and ring, and ring…then it goes to voice mail. My heart sinks.

“Hi, you’ve reached Ana. I can’t take your call right now, but please leave a message after the beep, and I’ll call you right back.”

Christ!

“Ana! What the fuck is going on?” I yell. It feels good to yell. “I’m coming to get you. Call me. Talk to me.” I hang up.

“She’s still at the bank,” Taylor says.

“Sawyer’s still there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call Sawyer!” I shout into the hands-free, and moments later his cell is ringing.

“Mr. Grey?”

“Where’s Ana?”

“She’s just turned around and gone back into one of the offices.”

“Go get her.”

“Sir, I’m armed. I can’t go through the detectors. I’m standing by the entrance watching Anast—Mrs. Grey, and looking very suspicious. If I go back to the car to stow my gun, I may lose her.”

Fucking firearms.

“How the hell did she give you the slip?”

“She’s a very resourceful woman, Mr. Grey.” He sounds like he’s speaking through gritted teeth, and I recognize his frustration. It makes me feel slightly more sympathetic to him; she drives