“You know I can’t allow that.”
“So why bother?” I felt hysteria rising in me. I’d spent the day pacing his suite, looking for a way out or a phone. But there was nothing. When I’d looked out the peephole, there were two huge guys guarding the door.
“Evie . . .”
“Don’t call me that!”
He raked his hand through his hair. It was obvious that he didn’t know what to do with me. He could solve all his problems by adding me to the pile of body parts, I reminded myself.
Don’t be too much of a problem for him.
I swallowed nervously and accepted the next bag he offered without a word.
I stared at the laptop box. He’d bought me a top of the line, brand-new MacBook. The super lightweight kind. There was an external disk drive and some software in there. He’d even bought a case and extra power cords.
I stole a quick look at him before opening the box. He had thunderclouds in his eyes, I decided. But at the same time, he looked kind of sweet and hopeful.
Mafia, I reminded myself. He’s a killer. Not a puppy dog.
But he’d made a huge mistake. All I had to do was email my mother where I was and the police would come down on this place like a swarm of hornets.
“It doesn’t connect to the internet.”
I looked up at him.
“What?”
“There is no internet here. I had them turn off the Wi-Fi. We have the outer walls treated to keep out invasive signals.”
I stared at him, his words sinking in. He hadn’t given me a way out. He’d given me nothing at all. I was helpless. I was totally alone.
I slammed the laptop shut, trying to fight back tears of frustration.
“What good is it then?”
I sounded ungrateful but I couldn’t help it. I was ungrateful. I wanted to go home!
“To write one of your books on. I got some . . .” He bent down and riffled through one of the bags. I couldn’t help but notice how boyish he looked when that lock of hair fell over his brow. “Software. It’s just for writers. I didn’t know which was best so I got them all. Plus, Word and all that.”
My eyes were wide. I was a little overwhelmed by what he had done, despite my predicament. I was being held against my will, but the guy was clearly desperate to keep me happy. The question was why. And how long he planned to keep me here.
Judging from the amount of clothes . . . it was a while.
“And you can work on this.” He searched through another bag. This one was full of books from the college book shop. “Here.”
He handed me a stack of manila folders. I gasped when I opened the top one. I flipped through the others.
I was impressed. And scared. The reality was starting to sink in. He really was not going to let me leave, was he?
“Homework assignments for all of my classes? How did you . . . ?”
He shrugged those massive shoulders of his. He was so well-built, I was surprised his place wasn’t full of protein shakes and weights. I hadn’t seen anything that led me to believe he was all that vain, other than the cut and quality of his clothes. He was insanely fit. He wasn’t bulky, though. He just looked like an athlete.
Or a Greek God, I grumbled to myself. A Roman God, I amended, admiring the swarthy golden tone of his skin. Or a bloodthirsty Gladiator.
“You can’t turn them in. But I put in the papers for a leave of absence. They may allow you to turn them in later.”
“You did what?”
“I got you a leave of absence.”
“How?”
He shrugged.
“I forged your signature.”
Of course he did. After beheading someone, or at least knowing someone who beheaded someone, what was a little forgery? Especially when it wasn’t a matter of life or death.
Except maybe, in this case, it was.
My heart was thudding. This was too much. If the university thought I was taking a leave of absence willingly . . . not only would I not finish my degree in time for my grad school apps, but the police would assume I was not missing, no matter what my mom or roommate said.
Sara would give up.
No one would look for me.
No one but my mom.
And if she found me . . . she would be in danger too. Antonio seemed unwilling to murder me in cold blood, but would he feel the same about two women? Or three, if Sara got mixed up in this somehow?
After all, she actually knew where I was. Sort of. She knew I was with him, at any rate. I hadn’t used his name, but there must be public records of who owned the lounge. She could figure it out if she was worried.