Page 40 of Silver Lining (The Diamond Trilogy 3)
A smirk. “Another Army front man? I have twenty, sweetheart. In every goddamn government department and agency. When one falls down, another stands in his place.”
I shiver at the menace in his voice. “You don’t need to worry about Elijah North. You worry about me. I’m the one who knows your secrets.”
“If you know a single thing about me, you know that I could shoot you right where you stand. And I could get away with it. That’s my power.”
I pull my phone out of my clutch, pressing the pause button on the record app. “That just got uploaded to the cloud, by the way. So I hope you’re ready to answer questions about that.”
His eyes narrow. “You little bitch.”
My heart is ready to leap out of my body and sprint for the lobby. But instead of leaving, instead of abandoning me to this empty room and his threats, he plants his feet. The senator blocks the door.
The hallway isn’t empty anymore. There are shadows out there, suited shadows, and in a rush of shame I realize how foolish I’ve been. Of course he would come here with people.
Of course he wouldn’t say all those things to me and let me live.
I’m trapped.
18
Elijah
She’s not at her apartment, and I’m a human train wreck.
I pound on the door one more time. “Holly, answer me.”
There’s nothing but silence on the other side. No hint of a person avoiding me. No lights on, no TV on, nothing. No sign that she’s alive. What if they never let her go? What if she’s been tied to a chair like me for weeks? What if she died during one of the torture sessions?
I force the lock. It’s pathetic, and if she ever comes back here again I will personally come change the damn thing, but my suspicions are confirmed. Holly’s gone.
Fear cuts into my already bruised belly.
The confession I made was to free her, which means she should be here. In a city like this, there are a million reasons to leave your apartment. Doesn’t matter. Something’s off. Something’s wrong. She’s an author, for god’s sake. She works from home; she should be here.
I search through the unopened mail and takeout receipts until I find one with another address scribbled on it. Sushi, enough for two women to eat. It could be a loose lead, but I’m betting this will take me to her sister.
The trip to London’s apartment is as excruciating as the twenty-mile trek back into the city. The stolen shoes don’t fit my feet, and my skin bleeds from the rough terrain. I found a replacement shirt with long sleeves but no new pants. It explains the strangled gasp London makes when she opens her door. “What happened to you?”
“You shouldn’t be so quick to undo the lock. You never know who’ll be out here.”
London beckons me inside. It’s not necessarily a good idea to invite a guy like me into her apartment, but she’s determined, scanning the hallway in both directions before she shuts the door behind us. “Holly has been worried sick about you. Literally.”
Guilt burns a path through frozen skin. “Where is she?”
“She went to look for you.”
“What do you mean?” My blood runs cold at the thought of her in some Army office, asking questions that will get her in trouble. Or worse, in an airport hangar somewhere.
“There was some event. I told her not to go. I told her it was dangerous. But does anyone listen to me? No. I’m not even going to talk to Adam ever again.”
“Wait. Adam was here?”
“Yeah, I know you two have some kind of beef, but he seemed really shook up about the colonel being dead. He said that changed everything.”
“It does change everything. The colonel was Adam’s father.”
“What?”
“Where is this event?”
“It’s some fundraiser at a hotel with some big shot senator.”
Some senator. Jesus. I head for the door. “I’m going to kill that bastard for letting her step foot in that hotel. I’m going to do it right now.”
“I don’t think so.” London puts her body between me and the door, which is probably the most dangerous thing she’s ever done. It’s like standing between a caged lion and the exit. It’s asking to get her head crushed. “It’s some black-tie fundraiser.”
“And?”
“And you’ll never get through the door looking like a busted-up mountain man. Is that blood on your pants? Is it possible you were mauled by a bear on your way here? You look terrible.”
“I don’t care.”
“Yeah, no. Get in the shower. I’ll get you some clothes.”
I normally don’t take orders from people like London Frank, but I can’t argue with her assessment. The shower is heaven and hell all at once. The hot water is heaven. The water on the scrapes and cuts is hell. Washing my hair is heaven. Putting my hands above shoulder level is hell. Life is a tapestry of bullshit.
