Twisted Together
Page 45

Then the corridor erupted with rapid chiming.
A cell-phone.
Everyone froze. Franco lowered his head, his body rolling in on itself. “Fuck.” His eyes latched onto mine.
My instincts soared out of control. Whoever was calling had something to do with Q.
I went crazy. Twisting, turning, trying to get free. I had to answer that phone. “Please. Let us answer it!”
Sergio planted a hand on my sternum, slamming me against the wall. The cuts on my shoulder blade from Q screamed. “Behave. Otherwise we’ll be carrying you out of here in a straitjacket.”
Chiming escalated to techno bells and squeals. The phone’s ring sliced my brain; I thought I’d pass out if it wasn’t answered.
Franco snapped, “You have to let me get that. You’re messing with things you don’t understand.”
I froze, never taking my eyes from him. My heart hammered in hope. Franco would get us free.
Sergio laughed. “And what don’t I understand? Feel free to inform me because I’m dying to know.”
The phone ceased its awful chime.
My heart died with it. Q—something had happened, and we hadn’t picked up the phone. Had we ruined his chance of survival? Had these bastards taken away our one shot at finding him alive?
“Franco,” I whimpered. “What are we going to do?”
Sergio crossed his arms, watching us carefully.
Franco spoke only to me. “I didn’t answer, so the next stage of the operation is in effect. They’ll assume I’m dead and go straight to Blair as team leader.”
My face drained of all feeling. Would this unknown Blair come through for us? Would he be as ruthless and focused as Franco? God, I hoped so.
Franco softened. “Don’t worry. They’ll find him.”
“Find who?” Sergio jumped in.
Franco lost his peace, looking like a monster confined to a cage. A monster who would gladly kill to get free. “The man you’re stopping us from saving, you f**king ass**le. If he dies while you’re acting out some egotistical power trip, you’re going to be very f**king sorry.”
Sergio’s face glowed with righteous happiness. “Threat number two. You’re now classified as high risk prisoners, and I have full right to detain you until I feel you aren’t a risk to my fellow officers.”
Grabbing my elbow, he forced me forward. “Let’s go. A cell has your name on it.”
I had nothing left to lose. Nothing left to hide because if they locked me up, I knew in my bones I would never see Q again. I would die alone. I would cease to exist the moment I felt Q’s life snip from my own. “Please! It wasn’t a threat. It’s the truth.” I swallowed tears. “They took him. Quincy Mercer. Five men came and took him. You have to believe us!”
Sergio didn’t say another word as he stomped us through the hospital, past gawking patients and wide-eyed nurses.
With a punch to the large swinging doors of the exit, Sergio dragged me from bright hospital to dark evening.
A patrol car waited at the curb.
I struggled. “No! You don’t have any reason to arrest us. No reason at all!”
Sergio nodded for one of his men to open the car door. “No reason? Care to explain why pedestrians reported a topless woman pressed against the glass.” His eyes flew between Franco and me.
Franco raised his eyebrow in my direction. “Damn f**king Mercer. He always has to go one step too far.” He caught my eye, a half-smile on his lips. “Always cleaning up his mess.”
My tummy clenched, remembering Q inside me. The burn of him cutting my shoulder. I’d give anything to be curled up in bed with him talking, watching a movie.
I’d sell my soul to find him unharmed.
Bowing my head, I mumbled, “That was me. I take full responsibility. Can you write me a ticket and let me go?”
Sergio chuckled. “Public indecency is more than a ticket, miss. But it’s above that now. I believe there’s a conspiracy here. I believe some man—possibly not this man with you—but another, forced you to have intercourse. I also believe the sexual activity was interrupted by someone in a jealous rage and is now injured—by him.” Sergio pointed at Franco. “And until I understand the full story, no-one is leaving, capisci?”
“It wasn’t me. I didn’t hurt the man—but they f**king hurt me.” Franco pointed wryly to his bandaged hand and sling. “As you can see by evidence A.”
Sergio’s eyes narrowed. “Just how many men had a turn with you, miss? A threesome? A bloody orgy in my city? How many infractions do you want to add to this tally?”
Franco shook his head, breathing hard. “It’s not like that. If you stopped and listened for one goddamn second you’d be saved a lot of paperwork and possibly a man’s life!”
Sergio lost his smooth good-cop routine, launching himself at Franco. Shoving him against the side of the car, he grunted, “We found blood on the carpet. And a bullet casing by the window. If we find out the bullet matches the guns we took from you, you’re in serious f**king trouble. So don’t start waving your dick around here because it won’t f**king work.”
Spinning away, he dragged a hand through his hair. “Get them in the car. Let’s go.”
My heart infested with panic as someone pressed my shoulders, shoving me into the vehicle. The vinyl seats squeaked as I fell sideways. I couldn’t push myself up with my wrists handcuffed behind my back.
Tears bubbled in my spine but I refused to let them drip.
Franco’s body partially landed on mine. He grunted in pain but managed to sit upright and with a bit of effort drag me into a sitting position. “You okay?”
My mind swam. How could this have got completely out of control?
Tick…
Tock…
Every passing minute took Q further and further away. I didn’t want to look at a clock. I didn’t want to see just how much time was being wasted by idiots of the Italian police force.
Q. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.
A sob clawed up my throat.
Franco patted my knee. “Don’t worry, Tess. It will be okay.”
Sergio climbed into the front seat, looking at us through the barred partition. “That’s what you think.”
The interview room was frozen-over hell.
All metal and mirror and steel. My hands and feet were blue with a mixture of fear and ice. I’d been uncuffed and thrown into the room about fifteen minutes ago.
Franco had been taken somewhere else.
I paced around the small space like a caged animal. My brain wouldn’t stop whizzing. My heart wouldn’t stop clanging. Claustrophobia clawed at my throat as the walls frosted over with icicles, crowding closer and closer and closer. Burying me alive in an icy tomb where Q would never find me.
I’m alone.
Curling my hands, I shoved the self-pity away. I refused to bow to such useless emotions. I would get out of this. I would find Q. I would find him alive, and I would marry him the second I fell into his arms.
The heavy door clanked open.
Sergio Ponzio entered looking like a stuck-up peacock with way too much power. I hated the uncaring glint in his eyes. The unforgiving jaded look that said he’d heard every story, listened to every lie. He was finished having people make a fool of him.
Which was fine. I understood that. But when he was so blind he couldn’t see the truth—putting another’s life in jeopardy, then I couldn’t understand that. I couldn’t control the lava of frustration and hatred flowing in my veins. I didn’t know how long I’d be able to stop myself from ripping his heart out—because he obviously didn’t have one.
“Please. Sit,” he said, pointing at the metal chairs.
I moved stiffly, sitting with my hands balled tightly in my lap. I had enough infractions to battle through, without adding battery and assault to a police chief.
“Water?” His bushy eyebrow rose.
I shook my head, looking into the top right corner of the room.
Enemy. Saboteur. Betrayer.
The clock.
Tick…
Tock…
It was four a.m. Q had been taken almost five hours ago. Six life-altering, terror-filled hours.
The sob that built like a thunderstorm inside threatened to break free. It took all my strength to force it back down.
“Name?”
I glared from beneath my brow. I wanted to spit and tell him to shove his damn questions. But I had to cooperate. I had to be as polite and demure as possible if I had any chance of talking my way out of this.
Don’t get angry. Stay calm.
“Tess Snow.”
“Nationality.”
“Australian.”
He looked up, a smile tugging his lips. “Long way from home. It’s not the first time I’ve had to get tough with a drunken countryman of yours, or slap a citation for disorderly conduct.”
I ignored that. I didn’t want to interact at all—let alone reminisce about his other trophies. He viewed me as a troublemaker. I meant to come across as the opposite.
I’m rich. I’m powerful. I’m Q’s.
Besides, I no longer felt Australian. In fact, after spending so much time with Q, I’d even begun to think in French, trading English as my favoured language, blending the two.
I’m no longer Tess Snow.
My eyes flared. “I gave you the wrong name.”
Sergio scowled. “You’re lying again? You do realize every lie makes your case worse.” He shook his head, tutting under his breath, “You seem to like breaking the rules.” His eyes fell to my jumper-covered br**sts. “I admit, I would’ve liked to see the show you put on and not just write the reports.”
You f**king pervert.
My spine stiffened. “I’m not lying. I am Tess Snow. But I’m also about to become Tess Mercer. My fiancé has already given me ownership of his fortune and I wield the power of the Mercer name.”
His dark eyes tightened; face twitched. “Mercer?”
I sensed a crack. Please let it be a crack. “Yes of Moineau Holdings. Franco told you that. If you know of the company and the CEO, you’d be wise to release me and my employee.”
Sergio chuckled, scraping his chair back as he popped the buttons of his uniform jacket. “You sure about that, Miss Snow? You’re not lying again, are you?”
I ground my teeth. “How do you explain me staying in one of the most expensive hotels in Rome?” I rolled my eyes. “Did you even look at the check-in registry? Quincy Mercer—my fiancé—will be on the registration.”
Sergio placed his wrists on the table, linking his fingers together in a threatening display. “See, that’s where your little story falls apart. A man named Joseph Roy checked in with no extra guest into the suite earlier this evening.”
The breath in my lungs clogged, but then cleared in a rush. Of course Q wouldn’t travel under his real name. Not now. Not with men hunting him.
I winced as a spike to the heart caught me by surprise. It didn’t matter what precautions he’d taken—he’d still be stolen.
Stay alive. Please stay alive.
I placed my elbows on the table, pressing my forehead against my palms. The world had become too much. I never thought I would want to be in captivity again but at least being the one stolen lent a certain luxury to my fate. I either survived or died. I wasn’t responsible for someone else. I didn’t feel the weight of an entire galaxy pressing down upon me with every passing second of failure.
Tick…
Tock…
Sergio kicked back his chair, standing over me. “Do you wish to change any of the details you’ve given? Last chance to stop lying before I go run your records.”
I looked up. I didn’t have any effort to speak. I shook my head.
Without a word, he disappeared.
Tick…
Tock…
The clock taunted me with every passing second. One minute passed, then ten, then twenty.
My body vibrated with the need to run. I couldn’t sit there for too much longer without going certifiably insane. I felt so useless.
Finally the door opened. Sergio returned with a stack of paper and a blank face.
Grabbing the chair, he shuffled closer to the table, placing everything in front of him. He dragged out the suspense, spreading the papers, fanning them into some sort of order, driving me mad.
“Do you know what I found when I called up your file?” he asked, almost softly. He’d lost some of the arrogant tone. He still wasn’t friendly, but he seemed…what? Open to listening. Less likely to laugh and throw me in a cell and swallow the key?
I sat straighter, feeding off his change of mood. Hope trilled through me, fast and sweet. “I don’t know.” Glancing at the upside down copies, I couldn’t read them—all in Italian.
I’d never contemplated if I had a file. Briefly, when I returned home to Australia after Q sent me back, I wondered why the police hadn’t come knocking. I’d been reported as missing after all—but no one came to question, no one asked a thing.
Sergio held up a piece of paper. “It says here you were listed as missing by the Australian Federal Police. Then a few weeks later, your parents, Stephen and Mary Snow, closed your file under pretence of death overseas and asked for a death certificate.”
My chair legs squeaked against the floor as I jumped in dismay. A rush of grief mixed with disbelief. My own parents told the police to stop looking for me? They’d been so eager to close that messy chapter and become the grieving parents. All to garner the sympathy vote at their next bowling club rally.
I always knew they didn’t love me. It wasn’t news, but it still hurt like a bitch.