Kidnapped!. Jo Leigh

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СКАЧАТЬ said was true. The problem was, which part? “I’ll pay for you to go back to rehab. And if you stick it out, I’ll help you get a job and a place to stay after.”

      Charlie got up so fast his beer shot out of the bottle, soaking Michael’s shirt. “I’m not gonna live long enough to go to goddamn rehab. Don’t you listen? They’re gonna kill me!”

      Michael swore under his breath as he got up. “Just shut up, Charlie. Sit down and shut up. I gotta go change my shirt.”

      Charlie seemed surprised, as if he hadn’t noticed what he’d done, but at least he sat.

      Michael went into his bedroom and got another shirt from the dresser. As he changed, he debated giving Charlie the money. It wasn’t as if he was rolling in it, but he could spare some. He shouldn’t. He’d told his brother in no uncertain terms that he was finished. Yet how could he live with himself if Martini really did kill him?

      He tossed the wet shirt in the bathroom hamper, then went back to the living room. Only Charlie wasn’t there.

      Michael went to the door and looked down the hallway. Charlie was already on the stairs; Michael heard the heavy clump of his brother’s boots.

      He shut the door, locked the deadbolts and debated getting another beer. It was after ten, though, and he wanted to get up at five to make it to the gym.

      In his tiny living room he wiped the trail of beer off the floor, then turned out the lights. He’d more than likely get a call from Charlie tomorrow. And if he was lucky, he’d hear from Jerry Brody, too.

      “IF YOU DON’T WANT to do this, we’ll stop right here.”

      Tate tried to squeeze her hands into submission, but the shaking wouldn’t stop. “No, I want to. I just…”

      “I understand. But remember, you’ll have your safe word. You can use it anytime, and the moment you say it, everything stops and you’re returned safely to your home. No exceptions.”

      “So they won’t cover my mouth.”

      “Absolutely not.”

      Tate believed Dr. Bay and didn’t believe her at the same time. Jerry Brody sat across from her at the conference table, while Dr. Bay sat next to her. He didn’t look like a performance artist or a therapist. He reminded her, in fact, of the doorman at Sara’s apartment building. Round in the middle, shallow in the chest, his balding head his most striking feature.

      They’d been in the meeting for half an hour, and Brody had explained that he wasn’t in the business of hurting people. He would accommodate Tate’s wishes to the best of his ability and he would oversee her adventure himself.

      The first time he’d called it an adventure, she’d given him a look that should have seared off his eyebrows. After that, he’d approached her more carefully. Still, she wasn’t sure he understood the depth of her phobia.

      “I’d like to add that to the contract, Mr. Brody,” Dr. Bay said. “No covering of her mouth at any time.”

      Brody nodded. “That’s fine. You realize she won’t know when we’re going to take her? It’s a natural reaction to scream or call out. I don’t want any of my people being arrested.”

      “Please don’t talk about me as if I’m not here,” Tate said. “As for being arrested, it won’t happen if you do your planning adequately. Which reminds me—we’ll have to make sure that Michael knows the plan. If you surprise him, he’ll do a lot more than arrest you.”

      “Michael?”

      “Her driver and bodyguard.” Dr. Bay put her hand on Tate’s. “Don’t worry. If we decide to go ahead, we’ll bring him into the loop.”

      “He’s not going to like it.”

      “I don’t doubt it.”

      “Maybe there’s a way we can send him on vacation or something,” Tate said. She could feel her cheeks fill with the heat of embarrassment, which was something of a surprise. It occurred to her that she didn’t want Michael in the loop or to even know this fake kidnapping was being discussed. She knew he’d have serious objections, but worse than that, he’d think she was a fool.

      But he wasn’t afraid of his own shadow.

      “I’m sure,” Dr. Bay said, “that once he realizes you’ll be completely safe, he won’t have any objections. Perhaps he can take a meeting with you, Mr. Brody, and you two can go over his concerns.”

      Brody might be a self-proclaimed artistic genius, but he wasn’t much of an actor. He clearly wanted his show to be run his way, with no interference.

      “Let’s continue,” Tate said. “I’ll decide about Michael later.”

      Dr. Bay smiled. “That’s a good idea.” She turned to Brody. “Let’s discuss constraints.”

      “I typically use rope and handcuffs. Since she—” He stopped, turned his head a half inch so he was looking at Tate. “Since you’ll only be with us for a few hours, the constraints won’t be too extreme. And I’ll be there every step of the way to make sure nothing goes wrong.”

      “It won’t do me any good to have you go so easy I don’t get any part of the experience. I believe the purpose is to make sure I survive, right?”

      “I don’t think that will be a problem,” Dr. Bay said. “You’ll feel as if it’s real.”

      Tate blushed again. She got the message loud and clear: her phobia was so severe Brody wouldn’t have to do much in the way of convincing her. “Fine. Let’s move on.”

      “YOU’RE INSANE.”

      “Thank you,” Tate said as she handed Sara her plate. Pilar had made a sinful lasagna, which happened to be Tate’s favorite dish, but the casserole was large enough to feed an army.

      “I’m serious. Personally I think your precious Dr. Bay has a screw loose. This has to be one of the dumbest things I can think of.”

      Tate took her own plate, which had a small square of lasagna and a spinach salad, and her glass of wine and followed Sara as she made her way up to the solarium on the roof. It was their favorite place to eat, to talk. In her little area of New York the buildings weren’t skyscrapers; the view was of Central Park, and her rooftop garden was the highest thing around.

      Sara got herself comfy, and Tate thought her friend had never looked better. Sara had been her downstairs neighbor since second grade, when they’d both lived in a brownstone on East Forty-fourth Street. They’d stayed close all these years. She had always thought of herself as chubby, even though Tate had told her that size ten wasn’t in the least fat and that she was beautiful. It was the company she kept that made her feel big. Sara worked as an editor for Vanity Fair magazine, and most of the women she knew were bulimic and looked as if they’d been starved.

      This year, though, something had changed. Sara had finally decided that she’d just focus on being healthy—tonight’s lasagna notwithstanding—and she’d been working out with a private trainer for months.

      “You look fabulous.”

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