I wake up the next morning from a deep sleep. I remember last night and all the hot sex, and get a little smile on my face. I reach over for Grant – He’s not there.I immediately get a flashback from when he left me on the balcony. A little bit of anger, a little bit of fear.Asshole!I prop myself up blearily on one elbow – There he is, across the cavernous bedroom, putting on a tie in front of a mirror.God, he’s gorgeous. The suit pants he’s wearing hug his ass perfectly. He’s also got on a beautiful midnight blue shirt and a vest. The sight of his massive arms and chest in all that tailored finery – yum.He sees me in the mirror and grins. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”“If I were Sleeping Beauty, you should’ve woken me up with a kiss,” I say sleepily.He laughs and walks over to the bed, tucking his tie into his vest. “Let’s do the post-wake-up version.”As he leans over me, I bat him away. “No – I look awful – ”“You look hot.”“I’ve probably got morning breath – ”“I don’t
Hodge drives up just as I exit the building.“Hi Hodge.”“Miss Saunders,” he replies in his upper-crust British accent.“Do you know where we’re going? I only know it’s an art gallery in Chelsea.”“Yes, Mr. Carlson texted me the address.”I get in the backseat of the Rolls and watch the New York City streets creep by as we wind our way through traffic.About 20 minutes later, we stop in front of an industrial loft-looking building. Hodge gets out and holds the door open for me.I call Grant’s number but it goes straight to voicemail.Immediately a text comes in. FBI guy doesn’t want me answering the phone. Security concerns with recording or whatever. Go right in, the front door’s open. I paid the owner to clear the building; we’re on the third floor.I walk in the front door and let it shut behind me.The gallery is amazing. It’s a huge four-story space, with an open atrium and levels that circle around it. The lights are off except for a few single white emergency lights on the four
Oh God NO!I turn and run through the maze of corridors, back the way I came.“That won’t do you any good, Ms. Saunders,” the voice says, full of mock sympathy. “I’ve already shut down the elevator.”In confirmation, when I hit the DOWN button, it doesn’t light up. I try UP – same thing.My mind is ticking through the options.Got to find a stairwell – got to get out of here – But the text was from Grant! It came from his phone number! How did – And then I realize: if this guy could find Grant’s phone number, he could temporarily clone it, reroute it, whatever he wanted to do.Long enough to send me a couple of text messages, anyway.The text messages make me think of my cell. I fumble it out of my purse to call 911 – But the screen says ‘No Service.’I want to scream.Actually, that’s a good idea.“HELLLLLP!” I shriek.“No one can hear you from the outside,” the voice informs me. “And if you were planning to call the authorities, let me save you the trouble: I’m blocking all frequ
Grant roars up five minutes later in a metallic red Bugatti. I would normally go gaga over it if I weren’t so scared. The twenty people walking by certainly do a double take, though.Grant jumps out of the car, runs over to me, grabs me by the shoulders, and looks into my eyes. “Are you alright?”I nod, then burst into tears again as he hugs me tight against his chest.“You shouldn’t have come,” I sob. “He might be here, waiting for you…”“He’s not here,” Grant says darkly. “He won’t take me out on the street, not with so many people around. He wants to have his fun.”I was getting it together until I hear ‘He wants to have his fun.’ Then I break down into sobs again.“Here… get in the car,” Grant says, opening the passenger side door for me. “We’re going back to the penthouse.”“We should call the police.”“No police.”“But he might be following us.”“Which is why we’re going back to the penthouse, and then we’re getting the fuck out of Dodge.”We drive down the streets of New York,
We walk down a wood-paneled hall in the penthouse. Grant stops halfway down the corridor and presses three spots on the wall.Just like the passageway in the hotel, a door swings open where there hadn’t been anything before. The separations in the wood paneling form the outline of the door, which swings inward.“You really like these secret passage things, don’t you?” I ask.“You have no idea.”We walk through, into a dimly lit corridor. There don’t seem to be any other doors – but by now I know better. Ten steps in, he stops and presses another three spots.A panel slides open, revealing a keypad. He types in a 10-digit number, and a final door opens up in front of him, magically appearing in the wall.“What the hell?” I say.“Some people have panic rooms. Me… I have secret rooms.”“Why?”“Take a look.”He gestures, and I walk into one of the strangest rooms I have ever seen in my life.It’s an art gallery, sort of. A dozen or so pictures hang on the white walls of the 30x30 room.Th
“I’ve been doing this for years. Remember when I said that my obsession with secret passageways and architecture began when I was five, and I visited that Victorian house? Well, I saw Entrapment when I was a teenager, and I was like, I want to do THAT, too. Sean Connery, man. I wanted to be a thief because of him. And because I figured I could get chicks like Catherine Zeta-Jones, I guess. So I started studying in my off-time. Rock climbing… lock picking… rappelling… tight-rope walking… parkour…”“Parkour?”“Jumping and scaling obstacles. Jumping from building to building. French guys created it in Paris just for fun, to do crazy shit in the urban jungle. It’s saved my life more than a couple of times.”Damn. No wonder his body is in such good shape.“My family had money – which you already know – so I could afford to hire the best teachers there were. And the best teachers were criminals. In college, I would actually pay former Interpol guys to hunt down the greatest thieves in the u
“Carol started sobbing. ‘No, no, I’m not going anywhere without you.’“‘You’re safe now – he’s not coming back until 1 or 2 in the morning – ’“‘I don’t care! I’m not going anywhere without you!’“It wasn’t my first choice to go with them, but I couldn’t very well leave them alone to fend for themselves, not in that state. So I made them promise not to tell anyone how I’d found them. Once they did that, I agreed to get them to the nearest neighbor’s house, and then I was taking off.“They couldn’t go out the way I came in. I climbed up the outside of the house, three stories up, to an entry panel in the attic. They were far too weak, even going down the rope. If they let go, they would break their legs, maybe even their backs. So we’d have to go out the front door.“I deactivated the alarm system from the wiring in the attic, then got them out to the second floor. We made it down the stairs to the front foyer when I saw headlights driving up the property’s long, isolated driveway.“He
I stand there looking at Grant in awe. Ten minutes ago, I thought he was a thief with some sort of entitled, fucked-up Robin Hood complex – ‘steal from the rich to give to me.’Now I know he saved two women’s lives at the risk of his own, and faced down a serial killer.I’m astounded.And kind of turned on.I don’t think he can read that in my face, though. He’s probably just seeing blank shock, which he totally misinterprets.“I’m sorry I got you into this,” he says, his face grave. “I should have never gotten you involved in all this. I made you a target, and – ”What? Whoa, whoa, WHOA – “Stop right there,” I say, my palm outstretched in the air. “What?”“Why did you hire me?” I ask, a pissed-off tone in my voice.He gives me a puzzled frown. “Because they said you were among the very best, and I needed someone from the outside. In case Epicurus has infiltrated my organization and bribed somebody.” He adds, sheepishly, “That, and your background… I thought you might be a little mo