“Marcie.” I shout, pointing toward the street. It’s unnecessary. She’s already off, halfway into the street. In the middle of the intersection between Broadway and Amsterdam there’s a baby carriage. Marcie leaps in front of a cab that’s screeching to a stop. Before she can get to the carriage, another car speeds through the intersection and strikes the carriage, sending it careening to the west side of the intersection.
Another vehicle swerves to avoid striking it but hits another car instead. The sounds of horns, screeching brakes and crunching metal fill the air.
I start toward the carriage, but before I can even take a step, a hand pulls me backward. Stumbling and off-balance with my arms wheeling in circles in the air, I’m pushed forward into the back seat of a black town car.
Before I realize what’s happening, Cecilia Howe is shoving the rest of my body inside and closing the door.
The car takes off immediately, positioned conveniently to head north on Amsterdam and away from the scene of the collision. Confused, I turn back to see if Marcie has saved the baby. Behind us I see cars stopped haphazardly, and toward the southwest corner, Marcie is standing at the side of the carriage, one hand holding a phone to her ear and one hand in her hair scanning the horizon. Scanning it for me. Shit. I scramble toward the door, but when I try the handle it’s locked.
“Child safety locks.” Cecilia looks smugly at me. “The door can only be opened from the outside.”
“Fuck this,” I say and press down the window button, but I’m defeated in that too. It’s either broken or some kind of child safety control prevents me from rolling it down. Finally I bang on the raised privacy screen, but there’s no response. “What the hell, Cecilia?”
“It’s been a very bad few days for me,” she says. Holding out her hands, she displays her fingernails, some of which are broken and all have chipped polish. The skin of her hands looks particularly pale and thin.
“This is a bad idea. You think Ian was mad before. He’ll be like an enraged bull; everything will get destroyed.”
“You have so much. You should have just left us alone.” She folds her arms and looks out the window. We’re heading crosstown now toward the Upper East Side.
I pull out my phone, but there’s no signal. She must have some blocking technology in the car. I debate my options. Until the vehicle stops and someone opens the door, I’m stuck in the car. I have to assume that the driver is in on this. Settling back against the seat, I start to plot. Fine. When the car stops, I’ll jump out and run away. I’m healthy, fit, and fast.
Cecilia took me by surprise. That’s the only reason I’m sitting in the back of this car right now.
“Did you set up the carriage thing? Was there even a baby in it?” I ask suddenly.
“People are very easy to manipulate. A child in danger? That’s more important than anything, even you.”
Ian and I are so dumb, so shortsighted. We’ve never viewed Cecilia as anything more than a flighty society wife, but she obviously knew about Richard’s activities. And here she created a stupid but clever diversion that separated me from Marcie and got me into the car with no violence at all. I view her with respectful wariness. Maybe jumping out and running won’t be enough. I feel like I’m stronger than her. My job was one of physical exertion, cycling up and down the streets of Manhattan. Surely I could subdue her in the car.
“I wouldn’t try,” she says, with a slight nod downward. A small, round barrel is pointed directly at my belly. At this close range, she could hit me without even trying. I haven’t ever handled a gun before. Or driven a car. Or been kidnapped. Holy Christ. I kind of want to laugh. This is all so ludicrous.
“Do you think you can shoot me and all your troubles will magically disappear? Newsflash, I don’t have any money, and I highly doubt that Ian is going to give you any if you kill me.”
“Of course I’m not going to kill you. Killing is very thuggish. I’m going to hurt you, Miss Corielli. And I’ll continue to hurt you until Mr. Kerr provides me the means to start anew somewhere else.” She smiles as if quite pleased with herself. “I only need Ian to believe that I will if he doesn’t do what I ask. Oh, and when we come to a stop, Travis will also have a gun. We’ll both shoot you in the leg or arm, something not terribly vital. Who knows. It’ll be like a carnival game or something. Take your chances.”
“I thought you needed me alive to lure Ian to do your bidding.” I try to be upbeat, but Cecilia has been planning this for a few days and I’m winging it. I never thought I’d need a getaway plan for a crazy lady kidnapping at gunpoint.
“You only have to be alive for as long as it takes him to wire me the money I’m going to be asking for.”
“You’ll need to send proof of life.” I’ve watched movies, and kidnappers always send those.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head. I have that all planned out,” Cecilia answers and then laughs, a note of hysteria detectable in her high-pitched cackle. I take a little comfort in that. She’s not completely in control. Of course, that could mean she shoots me sooner rather than later.
“This is the twenty-first century. Don’t you think this will follow you? You can’t just start a new life.”
“Part of the condition of your safety and wellbeing will be to keep quiet. I have people in the city who will enforce these rules when I’m gone. Besides, your Ian, for all his ruthless ways, has far too many morals. He’s held the means to ruin Richard for years but held back. Because of me, you know.” She sounds so proud of herself. “I’d seen some irregularities in our bills. I take care of all of that. Richard is too dumb. So I planted a few seeds.” She smiles cruelly. “Ian loved his mother. Adored her really, and I made sure to mention how much I adored her as well. And how I was doing all this charitable work to save women’s lives. Ian was too wrapped up in his grief over his mother—grief and guilt—to want to hurt me.”
“You manipulated him for years.”
“I did.” She’s so proud, and I want nothing more than to smack that smile off her f**king face.
Instead, I praise the crazy lady so she doesn’t shoot me in the car. “You should have taken that to the craps table. You’re smart, Cecilia. Smarter than Richard. Why didn’t you cut your losses and take off?”