Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Not because he had revered the man. But because he had hated him. Because he sought to keep that hatred alive. In his heart. In his soul. Even in his mouth. He took another sip. Despite the sugar, this one tasted bitter.
Good.
The Collector clicked on the news article about Evan and Noelle. Their pictures were at the top of the page, the same ones that had been used in each article posted during the time they were missing. Their senior pictures. Evan in a suit and tie with a megawatt smile. Ah, the boardrooms he’d thought he’d command one day.
Not that he couldn’t still, if he chose to. But the Collector would bet his plans had shifted. Or they would.
Captivity changed a person, after all.
Priorities rotated.
And there was Noelle. His little rabbit. He felt a distant sort of flutter in his chest at the vision of her shy smile. If he didn’t know himself better, he might describe it as a form of love. But he had long since become incapable of that emotion.
By choice.
No, not love, then, but pride.
Yes, he was so proud of her.
She’d been so strong. She’d done just as he’d hoped she would.
And he felt a connection. The strongest connection he’d felt in a long, long time.
How could he not?
He ran a finger over the screen, tracing her dark hair. She’d curled it that day. It fell over her shoulders in long waves. He wondered what she’d thought about as she’d run that curling iron through her hair. Certainly not that in just a few short months she’d find herself bait in a cage, the innocent pawn in the twisted grip of a hundred psychopaths.
Life was unpredictable, though. It could be anyway, if you didn’t plan ahead for every possibility. And even then . . .
He opened a drawer, reached toward the back, and carefully removed a framed photograph. Celesse. His throat grew tight. He ran a finger over her delicate cheekbone, the same as he’d just done to Noelle’s image. How beautiful she’d been. He could still recall the fragrance of her hair. But it was growing fainter by the year. Someday soon, would he forget it altogether? The Collector seldom felt fear, but that thought distressed him greatly. He gazed at her shy smile. She’d rarely spoken to anyone but him. He’d been her voice then, and he’d be her voice now.
His finger traced her necklace and then moved to the jewel sitting in the hollow below her throat. A red diamond. He owned the matching ring. He didn’t wear it much anymore. It was too recognizable. “Schatje,” he whispered in his native Dutch before sliding the photograph back in the drawer. Little treasure.
He took a sip of tea. It had grown lukewarm as he’d sat and gazed at the photograph. He moved his mind back to Noelle as he again looked at the screen and began to scroll down through the article, but not because he wanted to read about the nightmare they’d survived. The press knew nothing, even if they thought they did. The police didn’t either. Nor did the FBI. They’d try. They’d find a few leads perhaps, but by the time they followed them, the game would have been moved, new codes sent out, deeper hallways built within the dark basement of the internet. These people had unlimited cash to spend, and there was always a dirty cop ready to be bribed somewhere.
He imagined some of the players even worked in the three-letter agencies. A king’s court required such men, after all, to operate outside the law.
No, he didn’t care what the article said or what the investigative update might be. He wanted to look at the photograph of Noelle being led into the police station at dusk, the high streetlamps in the parking lot and the flash of a multitude of cameras lighting her pale and haunted face.
He’d thought her plain at first, but that was before he’d seen the fire that made her glow from the inside. The one that made her beautiful.
He’d touched her naked body with his hands, but he’d also entered her mind. And that was far, far more gratifying.
Fulfilling in a way even he hadn’t thought it would be.
He stared at her for a few more minutes, his blood pumping swiftly through his veins, making him feel alive. Watching their escape, fueled by him, had been one of the greatest thrills of his life.
He’d never forget them. And while—by choice—Noelle might forget him for a while, she wouldn’t forget him forever. No, he was quite certain she would not.
The knowledge was intoxicating.
A message appeared on the phone, and he used the code to log in to the site he’d been directed to.
A new game was beginning. He’d play, of course. And maybe once again, he’d play to win. Because why the fuck not?