Treasured by Thursday
Page 80
Hope flared when he saw Gabi’s name.
“Gabi,” he whispered her name as his answer.
Silence met his ears.
He was close to begging. “Talk to me, Gabi.”
He heard laughter . . . male laughter.
Hunter froze, looked at the screen again, saw Gabi’s name.
“Who is this?”
“Mr. Blackwell . . . I’m your new best friend.” The voice was deep, with a south of the boarder accent.
“Who is this? Where’s my wife?”
“Ah, your caring wife is right where she’s supposed to be . . . for now. That can change, my friend. I don’t take kindly to people stealing my money. Makes my fingers itchy to take from others. You understand, no?”
“What are you talking about? Who are you?” Hunter leaned over and took his office phone off the hook.
“Ten million, Mr. Blackwell.”
“Excuse me?”
The voice laughed. “Check your e-mail. Gabriella . . . beautiful woman your wife. She sent you a picture.”
Hunter started clicking, found a message in his private inbox, and opened it.
His stomach twisted. Gabi, from what had to be during the darkest days of her life, looked like the shell of the woman he knew. Dark circles under her eyes, the white dress hanging on her thin shoulders . . . her arm extended with a needle hanging out.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“A man who will be ten million dollars richer very soon, eh? And so you know not to fuck with me . . . I will give you ten minutes to keep your wife alive.”
Hunter gripped his desk and stood.
“Do I have your attention, Mr. Blackwell?”
“Yes,” he gritted out between his teeth.
“Aston Martins have been known to blow up in those Bond films. You might encourage your driver to end his driving lesson to watch the fireworks from outside the car.”
“What the—”
“I’ll be in touch.”
The line went dead.
His heart sped and the light inside him threatened to fade as he dialed his home number and yelled to the closed office door, “Tiffany?”
Andrew answered on the first ring. “Find some duct tape?”
“Put Solomon on the phone.”
“He’s not here.”
Tiffany ran into the room.
“Where is he? Where’s Gabi?” There was no mistaking the urgency in his voice.
Hunter glared at Tiffany. “Get Neil MacBain on the phone. Now!”
Tiffany fled the room as quickly as she entered.
“Driving around. Gabi wanted a driving lesson.”
“In the Aston?”
“Yeah. What’s going on, Hunter?”
Oh, God. “No time.”
He hung up as Tiffany scurried back in. “Line two.”
“Neil?”
“Talk to me.”
“I just received a death threat for Gabi. I have nine minutes to get her and Solomon out of the Aston.”
Fear kept Hunter’s hands moving. The cell phone sat on his desk, he took a chance and redialed Gabi’s number. It went to instant voice mail. He slammed his hand against the desk.
He heard Neil barking orders through the phone.
“Do you have him?”
“Not yet.”
“Eight minutes, Neil.”
It was a closed course, so why was Solomon gripping the side of the car with such intensity? Gabi let up on the gas and concentrated on avoiding the cones. She’d done rather well, when she kept the speed under thirty.
At fifty, things became a little dicey.
“You’re oversteering,” Solomon instructed her. “Relax your grip on the wheel and let the car balance itself out.”
The car jerked in the opposite direction.
“Relax, don’t let go.”
“Oh . . .” Gabi took the next curve a little faster and attempted to relax.
The phone in her purse rang, and she glanced behind her.
“Don’t even think about answering that.”
She looked at him with a frown. “Well of course not.”
Solomon swung his gaze out the window and gripped the door rail. “Watch it.”
Several cones went down as she missed the next turn completely.
She straightened the car as Solomon’s phone started to buzz. “Straighten her out and let’s try again. You can’t let phones and people distract you, Mrs. B., or you’re going to end up getting hurt.”
Gabi squared her shoulders and started again. They rounded the second turn for the umpteenth time. When Solomon’s phone went off again, Gabi praised herself on ignoring the noise.
She didn’t even look when Solomon answered his phone. “I’m a little busy right now,” he told whoever called.
“What?”
Ease into the corner; let the wheel do the work.
Perfect. Not one cone off course.
“Oh, fuck.”
Gabi wanted to look toward the passenger seat but thought Solomon was testing her resolve to avoid distractions.
She smiled and kept driving.
“Stop the car!”
The S curve was next. Gabi kept going.
“Stop the car!” This time Solomon grabbed the wheel.
Gabi hit the brake, hard.
As soon as the car rolled to a stop, Solomon hit the button of her seat belt. “Get out.”
“What? What’s—”
“Get out!” He reached over, opened the door, and pushed.
She couldn’t move fast enough before Solomon was out of his side and dragging her from the car. He grasped her hand and ran. She had no choice but to move her feet or risk taking them both down.
“What’s going on?” The words no sooner fell from her lips than noise, heat, and an unknown force pushed her off her feet.
“Gabi,” he whispered her name as his answer.
Silence met his ears.
He was close to begging. “Talk to me, Gabi.”
He heard laughter . . . male laughter.
Hunter froze, looked at the screen again, saw Gabi’s name.
“Who is this?”
“Mr. Blackwell . . . I’m your new best friend.” The voice was deep, with a south of the boarder accent.
“Who is this? Where’s my wife?”
“Ah, your caring wife is right where she’s supposed to be . . . for now. That can change, my friend. I don’t take kindly to people stealing my money. Makes my fingers itchy to take from others. You understand, no?”
“What are you talking about? Who are you?” Hunter leaned over and took his office phone off the hook.
“Ten million, Mr. Blackwell.”
“Excuse me?”
The voice laughed. “Check your e-mail. Gabriella . . . beautiful woman your wife. She sent you a picture.”
Hunter started clicking, found a message in his private inbox, and opened it.
His stomach twisted. Gabi, from what had to be during the darkest days of her life, looked like the shell of the woman he knew. Dark circles under her eyes, the white dress hanging on her thin shoulders . . . her arm extended with a needle hanging out.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“A man who will be ten million dollars richer very soon, eh? And so you know not to fuck with me . . . I will give you ten minutes to keep your wife alive.”
Hunter gripped his desk and stood.
“Do I have your attention, Mr. Blackwell?”
“Yes,” he gritted out between his teeth.
“Aston Martins have been known to blow up in those Bond films. You might encourage your driver to end his driving lesson to watch the fireworks from outside the car.”
“What the—”
“I’ll be in touch.”
The line went dead.
His heart sped and the light inside him threatened to fade as he dialed his home number and yelled to the closed office door, “Tiffany?”
Andrew answered on the first ring. “Find some duct tape?”
“Put Solomon on the phone.”
“He’s not here.”
Tiffany ran into the room.
“Where is he? Where’s Gabi?” There was no mistaking the urgency in his voice.
Hunter glared at Tiffany. “Get Neil MacBain on the phone. Now!”
Tiffany fled the room as quickly as she entered.
“Driving around. Gabi wanted a driving lesson.”
“In the Aston?”
“Yeah. What’s going on, Hunter?”
Oh, God. “No time.”
He hung up as Tiffany scurried back in. “Line two.”
“Neil?”
“Talk to me.”
“I just received a death threat for Gabi. I have nine minutes to get her and Solomon out of the Aston.”
Fear kept Hunter’s hands moving. The cell phone sat on his desk, he took a chance and redialed Gabi’s number. It went to instant voice mail. He slammed his hand against the desk.
He heard Neil barking orders through the phone.
“Do you have him?”
“Not yet.”
“Eight minutes, Neil.”
It was a closed course, so why was Solomon gripping the side of the car with such intensity? Gabi let up on the gas and concentrated on avoiding the cones. She’d done rather well, when she kept the speed under thirty.
At fifty, things became a little dicey.
“You’re oversteering,” Solomon instructed her. “Relax your grip on the wheel and let the car balance itself out.”
The car jerked in the opposite direction.
“Relax, don’t let go.”
“Oh . . .” Gabi took the next curve a little faster and attempted to relax.
The phone in her purse rang, and she glanced behind her.
“Don’t even think about answering that.”
She looked at him with a frown. “Well of course not.”
Solomon swung his gaze out the window and gripped the door rail. “Watch it.”
Several cones went down as she missed the next turn completely.
She straightened the car as Solomon’s phone started to buzz. “Straighten her out and let’s try again. You can’t let phones and people distract you, Mrs. B., or you’re going to end up getting hurt.”
Gabi squared her shoulders and started again. They rounded the second turn for the umpteenth time. When Solomon’s phone went off again, Gabi praised herself on ignoring the noise.
She didn’t even look when Solomon answered his phone. “I’m a little busy right now,” he told whoever called.
“What?”
Ease into the corner; let the wheel do the work.
Perfect. Not one cone off course.
“Oh, fuck.”
Gabi wanted to look toward the passenger seat but thought Solomon was testing her resolve to avoid distractions.
She smiled and kept driving.
“Stop the car!”
The S curve was next. Gabi kept going.
“Stop the car!” This time Solomon grabbed the wheel.
Gabi hit the brake, hard.
As soon as the car rolled to a stop, Solomon hit the button of her seat belt. “Get out.”
“What? What’s—”
“Get out!” He reached over, opened the door, and pushed.
She couldn’t move fast enough before Solomon was out of his side and dragging her from the car. He grasped her hand and ran. She had no choice but to move her feet or risk taking them both down.
“What’s going on?” The words no sooner fell from her lips than noise, heat, and an unknown force pushed her off her feet.
