Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Tears well in her eyes.
I take her hand. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I know you didn’t.” She sniffles. “It’s my own fault. I didn’t want to fall in love with you. It just happened.”
“It’s not your fault. I don’t want you blaming yourself for this. You didn’t do anything wrong—other than fake a pregnancy and lie to get into my hotel room. But I mean about us. Falling for someone isn’t a crime. We did have an agreement, though, and my feelings aren’t the same as yours.”
She hiccups, gulping, and nods.
I hate the look of sadness on her face. I hate hurting her. But my sympathy has waned a little by the fact that she came here trying to trap me.
Did she think I wouldn’t ask for proof?
And then I look at her again. She’s utterly devastated.
This isn’t who she is. She was simply feeling desperate.
I hope I’ve gotten through to her this time.
“Let’s get you to the airport. I will personally fly you back to Glasgow, first class. I’ll call my driver and have him take us to the airport now.”
“You don’t have to do that. I don’t deserve it after what I’ve done.”
“I don’t mind doing this for you.” I pull up a booking app on my phone. “All I want is for you to be happy. Find a good man who can give you what you want. Because it’s not me.”
She nods then, and by the look of resignation on her face, I believe I’ve finally gotten through to her this time.
I text Phillipe, and within ten minutes, Keira is all packed up and ready to go.
We walk down to the elevators, descend, and then meet Phillipe outside the hotel.
“LaGuardia,” I tell him. “She’s booked on a flight tonight. I booked a coach ticket for you as well so you can personally see her to the gate and make sure she gets on the plane.”
I’m not taking any chances this time.
Philippe nods and begins driving through the midmorning traffic.
My cell phone rings, and I check the ID. My eyes widen. It’s my grandmother.
She almost never calls me. She uses email instead.
“Mémé?” I say, my nerves up and on edge. “Everything okay?”
“I’m fine, Ronan.” Her voice is frantic. “But I had a premonition.”
I resist rolling my eyes. Not that she can see me anyway. But I like to take Mémé seriously. She puts a lot of stock in her religion.
“Yes?”
“It’s your lady. Mary. She’s in trouble, Ronan. You have to go to her. You have to go to her now.”
Chapter Forty
Mary
Why aren’t they leaving?
They have all our wallets, our phones, all the money the cashier could give them. The third person, who came in later, watches out the door.
He has moved the sign on the door from open to closed.
The people who walk by the building can see that there are people inside sitting.
No one’s going to believe it’s closed.
Still, people walk on by.
Passersby, passing by. No one cares. No one bothers to ascertain what’s going on. No one bothers to see the situation for what it truly is.
Now I get why the gunmen haven’t left yet. They’re waiting. They’re waiting so they can make a getaway. They’re watching, waiting for crowds to settle down.
But the streets of Manhattan are never vacant. They will be waiting a long time.
Why did they choose a coffeehouse anyway?
A few buildings down is a jewelry shop. Rolexes and diamonds in the window. Of course, shops like that have extra security.
No one thinks security is necessary in a coffee shop, and coffee shops always have lots of cash on hand and a lot of businesspeople wearing expensive watches and jewelry.
The perfect crime.
I have to go to the bathroom so badly. I know it’s just nerves, but the last thing I want to do is soil myself.
On the other hand, what will it matter if I do, if I’m dead?
These people aren’t killers, though. If they were, they’d have been shooting by now.
Or maybe not. I don’t see silencers on any of the guns. If they shoot, people will come. Sure, the crowds on the street will run the other way, but the NYPD will get wind of what’s happening.
I almost want one of their guns to go off—as long as a bullet doesn’t fly into anyone here.
“I have to go to the potty, Mama,” the little girl, the older of the two children, says.
The little boy is probably still in diapers. But the little girl is three or four, probably recently potty trained, and when she has to go, she has to go.
“Not now, honey,” the mother shushes her.
“I have to go now!” she yells.
“You keep that brat quiet,” the man who took our money says.
“Shush, honey. Please. You have to be quiet. Do what Mommy says.”
I don’t dare turn my head to look out the window again. Three men with guns are in here. If I turn my head for a minute, one of them could be trained on me.