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 me crazy, too.
“I want a thorough briefing when we have her back. Jack Hyde has been granted bail, and both Taylor and I have a hunch that Ana’s actions have something to do with him.”
“Shit!” Luke says.
“Exactly. We’re about five minutes away. Don’t let her go again, Sawyer.”
“Sir.”
I hang up.
Taylor and I sit in silence as I weave through traffic.
What are you up to, Anastasia Grey?
What am I going to do to you when I get you back?
Various scenarios cross my mind. I shift in my seat.
For fuck’s sake, Grey. Now is not the time.
Taylor startles me. “She’s on the move.”
“What?” My heart jump-starts as adrenaline courses through my body.
“She’s heading south, on Second.”
“Call Sawyer!” I shout. Moments later, his cell rings again.
“Mr. Grey,” he answers immediately.
“She’s on the move!”
“What? She hasn’t come out through the main entrance.” He sounds confused.
“She’s heading south on Second,” Taylor interjects.
“I’m on it. I’ll call from the car.” Sawyer is obviously running. “She’s not in her car. It’s still here.”
“Hell!” I shout.
“Still heading south on Second,” Taylor says. “Wait. She’s turned left onto Yesler.”
We pass my bank. There’s no point stopping. “That’s three blocks?” I ask him.
“Yes, sir.”
For the billionth time I thank God Taylor’s with me. He knows this city like the back of his hand—which is odd, given he’s from some rural town in the middle of nowhere in Texas.
Three minutes later, we’re heading east on Yesler.
“She’s still on Yesler,” Taylor growls, eyes glued to his phone. “She’s turned south. Onto Twenty-Third. That’s eight blocks from here.”
“I’m right behind you,” Sawyer pipes up through the hands-free.
“Stay close. I’m going to try and dodge through this traffic.” I glance at Taylor. “I wish you were driving.”
“You’re doing fine, sir.”
Where the fuck is she going? And who with?
We’re silent for several minutes. I focus on the road, while Taylor occasionally calls out directions. We head south, then east again, now through mainly residential streets.
“She’s turned south down Thirtieth.”
We follow for a few blocks, then turn east.
“It’s stopped. South Day Street. Two more blocks.”
Dread sits heavy and caustic in my stomach as I race through the back streets.
Three minutes later, I swing onto South Day Street.
“Slow down,” Taylor orders, surprising me, but I do as he says. “She’s here somewhere.” He leans forward, and we scan each side of the road. There is a row of derelict buildings on my side.
“Fuck!” There’s a potholed parking lot where a woman is standing with her hands in the air beside a black Dodge. The Dodge! I wrench the wheel and swing into the parking lot, and there she is—
On the ground. Unmoving. Eyes closed.
Ana. My Ana… No! Everything moves in slow motion as all the air is sucked from my lungs. My worst fear realized. Here. Now.
Taylor is out of the car before I’ve screeched to a halt. I follow him, leaving the engine running.