I force my eyes open to get a look at him. It’s mostly my intuition that has me guessing who he is. But there’s something in the dented chin and jawline and the curl of his lips, which is handsomely devilish in his son. In Richard Coleman, it just comes off as malevolent.
He’s good looking in a predatory way. I can see how a young woman from Spain trying to make her way in America could fall prey to that expensive suit, thick head of hair, green eyes, and a greasy smile. She probably was thrilled someone so seemingly important was giving her the time of day. Maybe somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew he was bad business, but she had a defiant soul, the kind that threw caution to the wind for the sake of a thrilling adventure.
Until she was in too deep to get out.
“I can see you’ve figured out who I am, but just in case, I’ll make my introductions. Richard Coleman.”
I use what has worked for me thus far: silence.
He studies me, waiting me out, then seems amused when it’s obvious that I’m not going to talk.
We’re in an office. It has the feel of old-fashioned wealth, with dark wood paneling and leather-bound books filling the shelves. There’s a small bar with a decanter of something amber-hued off to one side, half-full. A large globe stands in one corner, which I’m sure is there just for effect. The shutters to the windows are adjusted in such a way that all I see are thin lines of a dark sky, so I have no idea where I am. For all I know, I could still be in Spain.
Richard leans back in his large leather chair and forks his hands over his stomach as he assesses me.
“And you are Leira Montoya, which I find to be the most interesting coincidence in all of this. I don’t particularly like coincidences; they have a habit of blowing up in your face.”
Even if I was inclined to talk, I’m not exactly sure what he expects me to say in the face of that. I don’t like coincidences either, even if I am still half-clueless about all of this.
“But here you are Leira, daughter of Pablo Montoya, a man with whom I have a very interesting history. And apparently, you’ve been spending the past week with my son.”
I make the mistake of blinking in surprise. How the hell does he know that?
That cruel mouth twists into a sneer. “You’re wondering how I know that? Maybe even wondering what my history with your father is?”
My head screams with curiosity until I realize that neither much matters in the present moment. All I can do is think about Layla, and at this point, Lucinda. She must be dead if he’s moved on to kidnapping me.
“Well, Leira, one thing I’ve learned over the years is that information is priceless. It’s far more valuable than money. Sometimes more valuable than life itself,” he says, giving me a cold look with those green eyes that look nothing like Enrique’s.
“For example, your father has information that once cost your sister her life.”
I almost scream out in anger. Yes, I could have easily figured out that this man is the enemy of my father, the one who kidnapped my sisters, and be certain of the fact that he was the one who killed her. Having him admit it so blithely, as though confessing nothing more than having a second helping of dessert, makes me want to rip his damn throat out so it’s the last thing he ever says.
“So the question is, Leira, what information do you have for me?”
I simply stare at him, my expression as dull as possible. If he thinks simply asking is going to work on me, he’s sorely mistaken. His own son was far more persuasive an interrogator and even he didn’t get an answer until I wanted to give him one.
A grin spreads Richard’s face, evolving into a laugh. The hands crossed over his stomach rise and fall with it. “Too easy?”
My face remains impassive.
“I see,” he says, still with a smile on his face. “I understand the value of quid pro quo. Why should you give me anything, when I’ve given you nothing?”
I remain still, wondering what he has that could possibly be of interest to me.
He opens the laptop sitting on his desk and logs in. After typing a few more keys and hiding the touchpad, he spins it around for me.
Lucinda!
She’s in an empty room, wearing nothing but her bra and underwear. A cloth gag is tied around her head and her hands and ankles are both bound. Her hair, which is more wavy than curly like mine is, is a mess, probably from struggling so hard like she is now.
Both my breath and my heartbeat accelerate at the fact that she’s still alive, and the fear of what he plans on doing with her if I don’t tell him anything.
My eyes dart back up to him and find his gleaming with satisfaction. Now, I want to rip those out as well.
“I’m going to assume I don’t have to spell it out for you, Leira. You already know I’m capable of murder. Your mother and sister were a warning to your father. Layla was just uncooperative. So, tell me what I want to know, the secret your father told you to keep, or the next of your kin dies.”
Now, I do lash out. With my fingers curled into claws, I jump out of my chair and leap across the desk. The brief look of complete and utter surprised horror on his face is almost as satisfying as the trail of blood my nails leave across his cheek before my hands make their way to his throat.
In retrospect, it would have been smarter to grab something heavy to hit him with instead. I manage one quick squeeze before he
