“What did he say?” Claire asked.
“I think he said in an hour,” Kimani replied. Where the hell were they being taken?
“I hope we get something to eat. Honestly, I thought the limo would be stocked with champagne or something. Instead, there’s only bottled water.”
At nearly four in the morning, they pulled into a refueling station somewhere north of Ukiah in Mendocino County. Kimani had never been this far north of San Francisco before. So much for dining at The French Laundry.
After ducking out of view from the driver, Kimani found an old-fashioned pay phone. But it didn’t work. The place was deserted with no trucks in sight, so she couldn’t borrow a cell from anyone.
“Chica! Vamanos!” the driver called to her.
For a second, Kimani contemplated taking her chances with the empty truck stop, but her story wasn’t complete.
“Coming,” she called.
Claire napped while they continued their drive, but Kimani was too distracted to sleep. She told herself she was probably worrying about nothing. Not all the Scarlet Auction bidders were like Marissa’s. Still, she wanted to remain vigilant and at least keep track of where they were. She kicked herself for not keeping her cell with her, but who would have thought it would get taken? Notice was probably on page nineteen of the contract in eight-point font.
Not long after leaving the truck stop, they pulled off US 101 and onto State Route 36. They passed towns Kimani had never heard of. All she knew was that they were likely in Trinity County, one of the least-populated counties in the state.
We’re in the boonies.
Kimani hadn’t noticed a single traffic light. It was doubtful the county even had a Starbucks. Getting off State Route 36, the limo drove along a heavily forested, winding road.
What if our guy is worse than Marissa’s?
She tried to shake the morbid thoughts from her head, but every nerve in her body was screaming that she had gotten herself into a heap of trouble.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Holy shit,” Claire gasped when the limo pulled up in front of a two-story cabin sitting at the edge of a small, pristine lake. “Now this is what I’m talking about.”
Instead of awe, Kimani felt only dread. They were miles away from civilization, without their cellphones, with a driver who didn’t speak English.
“I don’t understand why, if we were coming this far, we didn’t get to pack bags?” Kimani wondered, clutching her handbag close to her. She wanted to be able to switch on one of her recording pens when needed.
“Probably because we have a closetful of fancy clothes just waiting for us!” Claire replied, clasping her hands together.
Kimani raised her eyebrows. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Seriously, we have no idea where we are, who we’re dealing with...”
That truck stop back in Mendocino County was looking like it would have been the wiser choice.
“You don’t get it,” Claire responded. “We’re his for a week. We’re here because he wants us all to himself with no distractions. We can’t get away, and we’re tota
lly at his mercy. It’s sooooo sexy!”
“Seriously, you don’t find this creepy at all?”
Claire shook her head and followed the limo driver up the stone walkway to the cabin. Kimani took a bracing breath and trailed behind. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe the guy was just planning a romantic weekend at his cabin. His remote cabin.
“Oh! This is probably where we meet the kind old housekeeper or personal assistant that helps Master out with everything and helps us get dressed,” Claire said to Kimani. “She likes that he has a woman in his life.”
Kimani stared in disbelief. Did Claire really think reality was going to unfold like some erotic romance story? Still too unsettled to appreciate the beautiful natural surroundings, Kimani focused on the cabin. At any other time, it would have taken her breath away with its seven gables, multiple balconies, and windows that took up ninety percent of the cabin’s facade. The place probably raked in a huge heating bill in winter. Kimani felt some relief to see that with all the balconies, there were many points of egress.
A stern-looking man opened the double doors of oak and decorative glass with satin-nickel caming. With his height and bulk, the guy did not look like someone to mess with.
“Las chicas,” the driver said.
Mr. Stern-Face nodded. “This way, ladies.”