Page 41 of Illusive
“But youknowthis one,” Ireland’s voice wheedled. “And I’m sure you miss hearing it. I know your sister’s missing you right now.”
Fists clenched, he struggled to keep his tone even. “Is Ireland alive? Is she unharmed?”
“Yes.” The voice had changed back to the one he’d heard in his nightmares. “And no.”
His breath caught. “Will she survive?”
“That depends on you.”
“Tell me what you want me to do.”
A horrifyingly delighted laugh piped through the speakers. “Ah, you’re following the rules now. It took you a bit. You’re too clever and yet a little slow.”
Rage and worry filled his mouth with harsh words, but he bit them back with a clenched jaw.
“Are you still there?” she inquired in singsong.
“I’m awaiting your instructions.”
“Hmm… You’re not as much fun today. Maybe it’s too early for you. Not enough coffee, maybe?”
“I’m prepared to do whatever you want to get Ireland back.”
“Prepared todorather than prepared topay?”
“Both are true,” he said as calmly as possible.
“Well, great!” she exclaimed. “That’s wonderful news. As a reward for good behavior, you’ll have your sister back later today. And I’ve got a way to make sure you transfer the money like you said you would. I’ll tell you all about it in a few hours.”
His bare foot tapped restlessly on the carpet, the furious energy coursing through him needing some outlet. “Tell me now.” He cursed silently for the slip. “Please.”
“We have to build trust first. I’m going to trust that you’ve turned a new leaf and you’re going to trust that I’ll call you later.”
“Have a care for Ireland.Please. That’s all I ask.”
“You’re not in a position to ask for anything,” she chirped. The call dropped.
Gideon spun around and put his fist through the dining room wall.
Ireland!
Ronan woke with a startled yell, his skin slick with sweat and hot. His heart was pounding, his breathing quick and labored. Tossing the covers aside, he sat up. A disgruntled muffled yowl from Blizzard had him searching through the sheets to unearth the cat.
Bliz gave him a baleful glare and started cleaning the back of a hind leg.
Raking his hair back with an impatient hand, Ronan found the roots damp and the strands tangled. He shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, his thoughts rioting.
The sky outside the windows was the color of a pink pearl. The time on the bedside clock was nearing six.
He couldn’t recall what woke him. Whatever the nightmare, his skin stunk of fear.
Rising to his feet, Ronan realized he had to get out of Ireland’s space. Her presence was everywhere. Inescapable. Heartbreaking. He’d initially sprawled on her couch, thinking the bedroom and her bed would make it impossible to sleep. In the end, he missed her enough to want the illusion of her presence.
He showered quickly and dressed. He’d brought enough clothes for two days of casual wear plus the formal attire he’d worn to the masquerade. The clothes Marcelle had packed forhim would arrive at Genevieve and Valentin’s in the morning. Monday morning.
Would hischerbe home safe by then? It was maddening to even contemplate that question because he hoped for word of her recovery every second of every minute. To push that out to an entirely different day was harrowing.
Televised news was the only avenue through which he was learning anything. He had even called Alina—who’d previously told him that if he ever contacted her again, she’d call the cops—and asked if she knew anything more. She was, thankfully, not hostile and told him she was getting her updates through the media as well.
