The Romantic Dominant (11 page)

“Here,” she offered, handing him the bag.

“Is your phone in there?” he frowned.

“Yes,” she hastily replied.

“Take it out.”

Hurriedly she pulled out her phone, then watched, transfixed, as he threw the bag in the dumpster, the sensation of freedom washing over her like the rain was washing over him. Stepping from the car, she lifted her face to the sky, feeling the heavy drops hit her face.

“Are you okay?” he shouted, trying to be heard over the sound of the wet stuff hitting the metal.

“Yes, I just can’t believe it,” she shouted back.

“Come on,” he said, taking her elbow. “You’re getting drenched and we have to move.”

Hurrying her to the passenger side, he opened the door and she climbed in, but before he joined her he broke apart the phone, pulled out the SIM card and the battery, then running to the curb, dropped it all down a drain.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, as he climbed in and sat behind the wheel catching his breath.

“Cell phones, I don’t trust them. I called you on it, who knows what this man’s capable of, just an extra precaution,” he said, backing out of the alley. “He’ll find the bag, but the phone won’t be in it. You’re safe now,” and reaching across he took her hand, squeezing it gently.

“I-I can’t quite believe it,” she repeated.

“Believe it,” he said, feeling a surprisingly large lump in his throat. “We’ll be home soon, and you can tell me as much or as little as you want, but it’s over. I promise you.”

He glanced across and saw her lean back into her seat and close her eyes. A tremble crossed her hand, radiating into his, and he released her fingers, but only long enough to turn up the heat.

The tablet sitting on the passenger seat was telling Connor exactly where the Brazilian Bitch had gone. How foolish she had been to think she could escape him, but once he had her back in his house she would pay, oh yes, she would pay.

Zipping through the rain soaked streets he followed the moving red dot until it stabilized, then he’d laughed out loud.

“I’ve got you, you stupid cow!” he bellowed, hitting the steering wheel with his fist.

The rain was splashing across his windshield hindering visibility, but looking through his rain streaked windshield at the bright red neon sign above the Chinese restaurant, he knew he’d found her.

He paused. Connor was a careful and methodical man. She obviously wouldn’t be alone, though how she could possibly have communicated with anyone was a puzzle, but her rescuer would be a problem. The weather was bad and it was late in the afternoon, so he reasoned the restaurant would be relatively empty.

I could wait. They have to come out sometime. Maybe I should poke my head in. Wonder if there’s a back door? There has to be.

Rolling away from the curb he drove slowly into the alley, saw the dumpster, and turned right behind the building. In spite of the teeming rain the back door was open, a heavy screen door the only protection from the elements. It didn’t surprise him, the influx of cold air was probably a relief for the kitchen workers.

There were three parking spaces, two of which were occupied, and he pulled into the third. Stepping into the weather, he hurried to the screen door and yanked it open, stepping into a small hallway. He could hear a few voices and the clattering of pots and pans. Moving forward he passed the restrooms, two swinging doors that led to the kitchen, and a few steps ahead was a beaded curtain through he could see the dining area. His heart began to beat a little faster, and a soft churning was moving through his stomach. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her, the scheming witch.

“Can I help you, Sir?”

Connor jumped. Connor never jumped, and he realized he was edgier than he’d thought. Turning around he saw a mature Chinese man dressed in a white chef’s apron.

You need to calm down old son,
he told himself, and taking a deep breath, he smiled pleasantly.

“Are you the manager?” he asked.

“Yes, and the chef,” the man replied.

“My name is Connor, and my wife is a schizophrenic,” he said quietly. “I’m afraid she’s not taken her medication and I must get her home. I think she may be inside. She’ll be quite upset when I take her out, and she has a friend with her who is also unstable. I’m concerned that person might cause trouble.”

The man stared up at him, frowning.

“But, Sir, we are closed. We open at 5 p.m. There is no one here.”

Connor felt a cold hand squeezing his neck.

“Are you sure?” he asked, the icy chill moving through him.

“Please, you may check,” the man replied, pointing to the beaded curtain.

Connor moved into the dining area and saw nothing but chairs upside down on tabletops.

“I don’t understand,” he stammered, panic flowing through his body.

“Perhaps it is another Chinese restaurant they went to,” the man offered.

“Perhaps,” Connor mumbled, and turning around, hurried back to the alley.

The rain hadn’t let up, and racing around his Porsche he climbed hastily inside. Powering up his tablet he stared at the red dot; it didn’t make any sense. He backed his car of the parking space to peer around the alley; a tall brick wall, some empty cars, and the dumpster.

Fuck! The dumpster!

Rolling his car forward he pulled as close to it as he could, then climbing back out into the rain he peered inside. The blond wig had fallen from the bag and was laying like a dead, bizarre testament to the woman who’d once worn it. Leaning over he was able to grab hold of the bag and pull it out, and throwing it on to the passenger seat he clambered back into his car. Angrily rummaging through the contents, he discovered the clothes she’d been wearing when she left the house, but no phone.

Somewhere deep in his belly, an icy, black fury was born, a fury he’d felt only a few times in his life, a fury that began engulf him, a fury that would only find appeasement by the vengeance he would visit upon the head of the Brazilian Bitch, and her coconspirator, whoever that might be.

“Z
ander, this place is so beautiful. Look at that view,” Gabriela breathed as she entered the penthouse. Unable to risk smuggling shoes for her escape kit, she was wearing only socks on her feet, which, along with the rest of her, had become soaked during the few minutes she’d stood in the alley.

“Thank you,” he replied, quickly removing his dripping coat and hanging it in the hall closet.

“There’s too much cloud cover for you to really see properly,” he remarked moving over to her, “but let me show you to your room. I’ll rustle up something you can change into. You’re drenched.”

“Thank you, Zander,” he murmured. “I am feeling a bit cold.”

She fell in step next to him as they moved down the wide hallway, and he opened the door to the guestroom. It was painted soft turquoise and white, the ornate, brass, queen-sized bed, boasted a turquoise bedspread, and turquoise and white curtains fell in soft drapes to the floor.

“It’s exquisite,” she sighed.

“The bathroom is through there. I bring back those little sample bathroom products from hotels when I travel and there’s a basket full of them, so I’m sure you’ll find whatever you need.

“I have not had a bath in months,” she said wistfully.

Zander grit his teeth.

If I ever find this man I will personally choke the life out of him…

“How can I ever thank you?”

“You thanked me by calling me,” he replied quietly. “I am the one who is grateful.”

“I don’t know what to say,” she mumbled.

“Why don’t you tell me what you’d like to eat? I’m going to order us some food.”

“Food? What would I like? I don’t know. My diet has been so restricted.”

“If you could have anything you wanted to eat right now, what would it be?”

She stared at the floor, thought for a moment, then lifting her eyes announced,

“Pizza! Pizza with pepperoni.”

“Done!” he grinned. “See how easy that was? Anything else? Dessert perhaps?”

“Dessert? I, uh, yes, yes, dessert.”

Zander could see she was struggling to hold her emotions in check, clearly overwhelmed by her sudden change of circumstance, by the sense of safety, by him, by his home, and a myriad of other things he couldn’t begin to imagine.

“You have that nice, warm bubble bath. Take as long as you want,” he suggested, wishing he could just strip off her wet clothes and hug the chill out of her bones, and the fear out of her soul. “There’s a robe hanging on the back of the door. When you’re ready you can come out and join me. The food will be waiting.”

She nodded her head, clearly unable to speak, and Zander moved slowly away.

“Zander,” she breathed, as he was about close her door.

“Yes?”

“There is something I would like, more than anything else,” she stammered.

“Name it,” he smiled.

“P-please could you hold me?”

Zander thought his heart would spill from his chest and land in a melted puddle on the floor. Opening his arms he strode quickly towards her, and as she fell against his chest he thought he heard a stifled sob.

“You can cry if you want,” he breathed.

“I won’t survive it,” she whispered. “I think if I cry I shall break.”

Zander swallowed the heavy lump in his throat, holding her as warmly and gently as he could. She felt thin and frail, and he could feel her tremble as a shiver through her body rippled against him.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he breathed. “Your life is your own, your choices are your own, and I’ll be here for whatever you need.”

He waited, still and quiet, until she chose to break away.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “I’m going to take that bath now.”

“You do that,” he murmured, and stepping from the room he softly closed the door behind him.

He stood for a moment, wishing he could magically erase the last dreadful months of her life, then moving to the kitchen he called in the pizza and retrieved a bottle of smooth, expensive red wine.

Setting the table in the kitchen nook gave him the opportunity to think. He needed a plan, a way to extricate the monster from her life, to put the evil bastard out of action so he couldn’t hurt anyone else.

There have to be other victims,
he pondered as he puttered around the kitchen.
Men like him don’t wake up one day and decide to be a nasty guy and hold someone against their will, and why did he choose Gabriela? She’s such a strong, vibrant woman. I need more information, and I have to make sure he’s stopped.

The plan was important, but he realized her immediate needs had to take priority. She needed some clothes.

He had enjoyed shopping for the women who had breezed through his life, and he’d befriended the owner of a nearby, high-end boutique, Tabitha Seigel. Picking up his phone he dialed her number and gave her a list of things he thought Gabriela might need.

“Sounds like the beginning of a new wardrobe,” she remarked when he’d finished.

“That’s exactly what it is,” Zander replied.

“You’re such a generous guy, Zander. I hope the lucky lady deserves all this.”

“Tabitha, she deserves a whole lot more, trust me. Those things were just off the top of my head, so if you think of anything else feel free to include it, and can you please get everything over here as quickly as possible.”

“Of course,” she promised.

The next call was to Sophie and his assistant was very happy to hear from him. The odd message she’d delivered had sparked her curiosity, and she hadn’t heard from him since.

“I was getting worried,” she declared. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, but I’m dealing with something very important and I need you to cancel everything for the rest of the week. Unless it’s something urgent send everything over to Tom.”

“Zander, should I be worried?”

“No. I’ve got everything under control. You know me Sophie, I’m a take charge kind of guy, and something’s come up I have to take charge of.”

“All right,” she replied, “if you say so.”

“I do. Thanks. I have to run now.”

“Okay, Zander. Bye for now.”

As he ended the call, the house line rang; it was the doorman, the pizza had arrived.

“Thank you, Clive. Please send him up. Also, I have some packages arriving. Could you please send the delivery to my door, and have them leave everything on the hall table. I don’t wish to be disturbed by the phone or the doorbell.”

“Yes, Mr. Davis. I’ll make sure of it.”

For the first time since he’d moved into the penthouse he was grateful for the security. Moments later he took the large, flat box from the young delivery man, giving him a generous tip, and carried it into the kitchen. Opening the lid he inhaled deeply and smiled. The last time he’d shared a pizza had been with Nick Cordova the year before, while watching a football game.

Pulling some plates from the cabinet he placed them on the table, retrieved some chili peppers in his pantry, and found some napkins in a drawer. Not wanting the pizza to get cold he opened the oven door, but he wasn’t sure if he could put the pizza box in the oven, or if he should take the pizza out and place it on a large platter.

He was scratching his head, staring at the oven then back at the box when he felt eyes upon him. Turning around he saw Gabriela wrapped in the robe standing by the table; she looked like a different person.

The black circles around her eyes were still evident, but the tension in her face had disappeared and her whole demeanor was calmer. Her raven hair had been washed and combed back off her forehead, and he thought she looked beautiful.

“I think we should just slice it, and if it needs heating up pop it in the microwave for a minute,” she suggested. “Do you have a microwave?”

“Are you kidding? It’s my best friend. I’m embarrassed. I’ve never used this oven. Caterer’s have used it, but…” he finished, shrugging his shoulders.

“It’s okay, Zander. I know my way around a kitchen. I hope you’ll let me cook for you while I’m here. I’d really love to do that.”

“That would be great. The only time I eat anything homemade is if I go to a friend’s house for dinner, and quite honestly that food is usually catered.”