I make my thumb and pointer finger into a gun and hold it to my head. Use me as bait to draw my father out. I wish I could explain to him my father’s not likely to hand over piles of cash or jewels in exchange for my freedom, but it’s not like Geraint is even asking that. All he needs is to come face-to-face with daddy. My father’s proud of what he thinks he owns, which includes
me, so he’ll resent another man taking it away from him. Even if he doesn’t love me.
Geraint regards me for a long time, thinking. Then he reaches over to his bedside table and passes me his cell. “Key in your daddy’s number for me.”
I do, and pass it back. Geraint blocks his number, and then hits dial, switching to speakerphone so I can hear. There are a few rings, and then someone picks up. It’s daddy, and he sounds cross.
“What?”
“Cavalieri Kidnapping Services,” says Geraint pleasantly. “Am I speaking to Adelmo Lange?”
“Who the fuck is this?”
Geraint chuckles, obviously enjoying how pissed off my father sounds already. “I believe you’re missing a daughter. Poor little thing, so far from home. You must be so worried about her.”
There’s a seething silence and I can hear daddy wondering what Geraint wants. Money? Merely to taunt him? He won’t want to reveal anything until he’s figured the caller out, in case he shows any weakness. Love for me, if he loved me, would be a weakness.
“Cavalieri. You work for Arthur.”
“I sure do. Arthur appreciated your little gifts. I was thinking I could send you some too.” He picks up my hand and makes to bite off my fingers, and then he winks at me.
“Arthur shouldn’t have sent spies into my home. You tell him from me that—”
“Tell him yourself.” Geraint cuts across daddy, as if the idea of anyone telling him what to say to this Arthur gravely offends him. “Look, you’re a businessman. Arthur’s a businessman. We needn’t let a few corpses get in the way of what we really want.”
There’s a long silence as daddy thinks, probably about money and the business deals he could make. He hasn’t even asked if I’m okay. Geraint slips an arm around my hips, pulling me closer to him and rubbing circles on my back, as if he can feel my hurt.
“And what do we really want?” daddy asks.
“We want to make money, of course. I’ll send you a meeting place and time. Be there, or I’ll find some other way to entertain myself.”
Even though I know Geraint would never hurt me in this way, I feel a shiver go down my spine at the threat in his voice.
“Why should I do what you say? If this is a business meeting—”
Geraint’s tone transforms into seething and nasty. “You’ll do what Arthur wants or you’ll get your daughter back in fucking pieces. One of his men is dead and he doesn’t fucking trust you. We meet, alone. I hand your daughter over as a sign of good will, and then you and I can talk business. You’ll be hearing from me soon.”
He stabs the screen to hang up and then throws his cell down. “Fucking asshole.”
A moment later, he gets up, but I stay where I am, thinking. Hand me over to daddy. After what he did to Cora and Trefor, I don’t want to go anywhere near him, but if this is ever going to end, I’ll have to.
But what then? I watch Geraint sift through a stack of papers and magazines in the corner. Geraint is some sort of assassin or hitman for this shady Arthur. A good Catholic girl like me doesn’t belong in that world. I don’t know the first thing about shedding blood.
Geraint comes back to me with a TV Guide, wraps me in a sheet, and takes a proof-of-life photo, with the date on the front page visible. In it, I look bewildered and rumpled, as if my captor has been putting me through it. Which is about right. Just not in the sort of way that daddy will think.
I give Geraint my father’s email address and he sends the picture from an account he’s just created. Then he gets back into bed with me and pulls me into his arms.
“We’ve got a long way to go tomorrow, babygirl. Time to get some sleep.”
Anxious but exhausted, I close my eyes. Safe in Geraint’s embrace, I fall asleep.
We set out just before seven the next morning with cups of coffee, a comforting routine I know will soon be coming to an end. Just past Bakersfield, we stop for lunch and Geraint studies a map while he eats.
“Is there a deserted place within a few miles from Avallonis that’s overlooked by a hill?” he asks me.
I think for a moment, before taking his phone from him and scrolling around the map. Then I hand it back and point to the place. It’s an old, deserted vineyard that hasn’t been worked in years. I used to walk through there, enjoying the solitude. From up on the drive, lined with trees, you can see the dead and broken-down vines.
“Perfect, baby. That’s where we’ll start.”