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“We are not being held captive, Joan,” I said in a much softer tone.
Ciaran’s eyebrows scrunched up in confusion.
The penthouse unit had its own elevator behind a keycard door.
I put the call on speakerphone as I scanned my keycard. Once inside that bay, we’d be alone, and the tension in my shoulders would fade. No one could overhear us. I wanted to crowd up to Ciaran, but with the statue in his arms, I didn’t want to risk him losing his grip.
Before we could go to the penthouse, though, we needed to grab our overnight bags from the car. We desperately needed food, a shower, and a bed.
Preferably Ciaran and I would share the same bed, but it would be his decision.
“Well,” Joan said in a voice that was a blend of chipper and exasperated. “If you happen to find yourself kidnapped and held for ransom, that’s the voice you’d use. I am, of course, flattered to know I’m the first person you’d call.”
“Again, not kidnapped.”
“Then how come I don’t hear Ciaran’s voice?”
Ciaran chuckled as the elevator dinged open. “Hello, Joan.” We stepped inside the bright elevator. “The only thing that’s holding me captive is a sixty-five-pound fertility statue.”
My reflection in the elevator’s silvery mirror walls told me I was a scuffed-up mess. I scanned my keycard again and pressed G1 for the basement level.
“We’re having gargoyle twins,” I added.
“Twins?” Ciaran mouthed. There were still shadows beneath his eyes, but his blue eyes sparkled.
Joan chuckled but I could tell she had no clue what we were talking about. “I take it then that you have the statue?”
It was a quick ride to the basement. We entered the dark, cavernous space. It was cooler here and it smelled like motor oil and dusty concrete. I took stock of our surroundings. Thankfully it was empty.
Reception was getting spotty, but the connection held.
“We have it,” Ciaran confirmed. “I’ll need Matty to feed me after carrying it for so long. I can’t feel my hands.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” I asked with concern. My gaze flicked to his fingers grasping the statue. Except for the bruised knuckles, the skin was bone white.
“I didn’t want your manservant to whip me.”
Joan erupted into a roar of laughter. “My God I love you.”
“Listen, Joan,” I said, still smirking at Ciaran’s shit-eating grin, “we’ll lose connection here quickly. Long story short, we dealt with Andy. He won’t be bothering us anymore.”
“Shit,” she whisper-gasped, “did you kill him?”
“Regretfully, no. He’s banged up.”
Joan sighed disappointedly. “It’s no more than what he deserved.”
She really had a thirst for blood. It probably had something to do with witnessing her father getting bitten by sharks when she was a kid.
“We’ll crash here for a few hours before driving back,” I said. I felt Ciaran’s heavy eyes on me. “How about we meet you and Filipe at the Santa Monica Pier at five?”
“Sounds perfect.” Joan paused, then in the background Filipe’s baritone voice piped up, “Are our boys crashing at the penthouse? All alone? With no adult supervision?”
Ciaran and I shared a glance. “Goodnight, Joan and Filipe,” we said at the same time.
Ciaran smiled at me as I hung up and stored my phone in my back pocket. My stomach flipped with anticipation all of a sudden. It wasn’t like I was an inexperienced newbie. But this felt different. It felt important.
Maybe it was due to our confrontation with Andy. I felt amped up, too, like the oxygen in my blood was super-charged.
