If he wasn’t part of the group holding me hostage, I would feel worse about using his apparent crush against him. As it stands, though, I don’t have many tools at my disposal, and prisoners can’t be choosers. Isn’t that how the saying goes?
“Have you read it?” I hold up the book and arch a suggestive eyebrow.
Without ever looking up, he shakes his head.
“I heard it’s spicy,” I murmur. I’ve never spoken so sweetly or bitten my lip so much.
Now, he looks up. “I saw the movie.”
He stares, then lets his gaze roam as if he’s seeing me for the first time, and I smile. If I pull this off, I should get an Oscar. “Well, maybe when I finish the book, if I’m still here, we can compare notes.” There’s so much blood in his cheeks I doubt there’s any left in his brain.
“Sure.” His dark hair is gelled, and he’s built okay—like a guy who might lift weights but not with regularity—but obviously he doesn’t have a lot of experience with women, or I wouldn’t be able to lure him so blatantly and get away with it. He shoves his hands into his pockets and uses his head to motion toward the door. “I should go.”
“Okay. I have some reading to do anyway.” I hold up the book, wave it toward him. “Can’t wait to chat.”
After he leaves, I pretend to read because if I was the guys holding me hostage, I would probably have a camera hidden somewhere in the room to make sure my hostage isn’t using the toothbrush to make a shiv—okay, I might have watched a few too many prison movies. Anyway, just in case, I can’t take the chance of Antoni discovering I’m a big fat liar by seeing me not reading.
By dinnertime, I’ve managed to “fall asleep” with the open book across my chest. When he walks in the door, I lift my head and put it back down on the pillow with a groan.
“Are you okay?” His voice is soft and deep, edged with concern.
I move like I’m grievously injured. “Yeah … just a headache.” In a move of improv genius, I rub my temples because I need to sell this. “Do you think you could maybe … oh, I hate to ask.”
“I could get you some aspirin.” He sets the tray down and walks to the door. “I’ll be right back.”
And that’s the moment I know I’ve got him for real. Of course, I’m not going to take the aspirin. For all I know they could be some sort of street drug that’ll make me taste all the colors of the rainbow. But the fact that he went to get them means he cares. And if nothing else, maybe he’ll keep my captors from hurting me.
But every minute he’s gone, my confidence fades. Especially when the Weather Channel has run through three cycles of repeated information, and he still hasn’t returned. By the time he opens the door, my head is throbbing for real.
“Sorry it took so long.” He hands me the pills, and I set them on the table. Something about him has changed. It’s subtle. Deeper frown. Darker eyes. Slight slump to his shoulders. But only someone who’s been paying attention would notice.
He sighs and glances at me, then away.
“You okay?” I ask him.
He doesn’t move or speak or blink. If I can get him to open up, we can establish a rapport.
“Antoni, you can talk to me.”
Nothing.
“I mean, honestly, it’s lonely in here. The only bright spots in my day are when you come in. Talking to you … maybe I can help.”
“I don’t know. I shouldn’t …”
I clamp my lips together to resist the sigh trying to sneak out. “Come on. We’re friends, right?”
He nods and sits beside me on the bed. Close. With one hand braced on the bed behind me so that his arm touches my shoulder.
“The don and his new Russian buddy have this … asshole computer jock working on some top-secret program.” He shakes his head and leans closer. I can smell his sweat and see every fleck in his dark green eyes.
“You ask me,” he continues, “all this tech stuff is stupid. What’s wrong with good old-fashioned paper and pen? You know?”
I nod enthusiastically at him like he’s preaching the gospel. He could say the sky is green and I’d be front and center applauding his bravery for calling it like it is.
“There are parts of the building we can’t even get into because he screwed with our security system. I mean, seriously, he’s not nearly as good as they think and he can’t handle it so he’s taking it out on me.”
Must be Peyton. That’s his typical M.O.
And now, I have a real way in.
“I could help you.” The little bastard rolls his eyes. “Honest to God—I’m kind of a computer jock myself and if you give me your cell, I can make you look like a hero.” He chews his lip, and I go for broke because two minutes ago, my only plan was to flirt with this kid until I could convince him to let me go. I was even prepared to make out with him if I had to.
But now, I’ve struck gold. A new plan is forming as we speak.
“If I give you my phone, you’re not going to try to call anyone?” He has his hand in his pocket. “Promise me.”
I hold up my oath-taking hand and smile. “I swear. I will absolutely not call anyone or email or in any way try to make contact.” I grin. “You’re my contact now.”
The emphasis I put on the word “absolutely” twists his doubts into the wind. Or maybe it was the smile. Or the flirty line at the end. Maybe the fact I raised my hand. I don’t care because he gives me the phone.
It takes me all of twelve seconds to hack the local wireless network and see exactly how far Peyton is in over his head and how easy this is going to be. Without all of us typing away and backing him up while he sits in his cushy office, he can’t keep up.
Turns out the wunderkind’s prodigy status might’ve been a little overhyped.
I bite back a laugh, disguise it behind a curious, “Hmm,” then work my magic.
Thirty seconds later, I’m in the Totti Industries International bank account. The number of zeroes would normally be enough to make my eyeballs pop, but right now, all I want is to go home. I focus even harder.
And just like that, I have twenty-seven million dollars of Italian mafia money burning a whole in my theoretical pocket.
I transfer the funds to an off-shore account it takes two minutes to set up. While my fingers are tapping away, I make the appropriate sounds of confusion and concentration, heming and hawing my way to the biggest payday of my entire life. The money transfers, and I spend a few seconds deleting my history and all evidence of what I’ve done, then I hand the phone back.
After a quick breath for courage, I smile at him. “All finished.”
“You fixed it?”
I’m at a crossroads: to tell the truth or tell a lie?
I take too long to make the decision.
Antoni, suddenly suspicious, stands and yanks a gun from his waistband. “What did you do?” he hisses.
I shrug. Courage isn’t as easy with a gun pointed in the vicinity of my … everything.
“Uh, well, a couple things.”
He jabs the gun against my forehead, and I ignore the panic surging in my stomach. “I wouldn’t do that. Because I just took twenty-seven million dollars of your boss’ money and hid it. If you shoot me, he’s never going to get it back.”