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“Babies on the brain,” Amy repeated, disgusted and humiliated by the phrase. “Or maybe it’s just that time of the month, right?”

  “Hey,” Jonathan snapped, “not at the dinner table.”

  Margaret said, “I think we’ve tried to set Amy up with enough men, don’t you?”

  “Thank you, Mother.” Amy knew her mother had other reasons not to want her to date and then marry. It would mean Amy leaving the house, it would mean Margaret Dey would lose yet another family member, even if only figuratively, which seemed unbearable for her.

  Danny said, “Maybe we should marry you off, Mom.” He chuckled, but he was the only one. Jonathan just rolled his eyes.

  Margaret was quick to snap, “You shut your mouth, Daniel! How could you even joke about such a thing?”

  Amy said, “Matter of fact, Mom, I think he’s right. It’s been a long time since Daddy died, over a dozen years. You’ve still got a lot of time left, good years, no reason you shouldn’t share them with somebody.”

  Margaret shot her only daughter a venomous look that might have stopped a stranger’s heart and drop them dead where they sat.

  “Your father was the love of my life, don’t any of you forget that. No man could do what he did for me, not even close. Any other man would be settling, and I don’t settle. And I don’t want any of you to settle.”

  But Amy knew the truth. She didn’t want to settle, that was reasonable, but in truth what Margaret Dey most wanted to avoid was loss; losing another love, losing her children to marriage and moving away, being left alone to die a lonely old woman in a cage with golden bars.

  “You’re right, Mom,” Danny said. “Love will come, it always does. What I think we should do is set her up in some kind of charity or something, like a foundation.” He said to Amy, “That would give you purpose, and help with that guilt complex you’ve been fostering.” Amy wanted to contradict him, but she already knew him to be right. She didn’t realize that he knew it, but she wasn’t surprised. They’d always gotten along better than her and Jonathan or than him and Jonathan.

  “So we throw a few mil into an account somewhere,” Danny added, “set up an office somewhere, maybe somewhere outside the mansion — ”

  Margaret said, “No — ”

  “Just down the street in Century City, there are lots of security guards — ”

  “All those subterranean parking lots?” Margaret shook her head. “Absolutely not.” She turned to Jonathan. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

  Jonathan just shook his head, no time to deny before Danny went on, “Then an office here, it doesn’t really matter.”

  “Yes, it does,” Amy said. “I like the idea of a charitable foundation, I think that’s brilliant. But an office here? You’re just setting me up to play house, keeping me busy, distracted, and here behind the gates.”

  “We could get her a bodyguard,” Jonathan said.

  “I’m not going to be trailed by some big goon,” Amy said. “That’s just a longer leash.”

  “This is where it’s safe,” Margaret said. “This is where you belong. Once you get over this ridiculous wanderlust, you’ll come to realize that.”

  Amy said, “Wanderlust? I’ve already traveled the world … with you.”

  “And you’ve seen the best of it,” Margaret said, “believe me. There are corners of this world, of this country, of this damn city, that you don’t want to go anywhere near, young woman. And a lot of them are a lot closer than you think. No, what I was thinking was …a hobby.” Amy sat stumped and stunned, finding it harder and harder to digest what she was seeing unfold in front of her. It was the perfect crystallization of her life since her father’s death. Amy’s mother and brothers were deciding her present, her future, shuffling her around like a pet, like a piece of furniture that might look better or be more serviceable in one room or another, to be slid around until its perfect spot was found.

  Margaret asked Amy, “You always liked painting, didn’t you, dear?”

  Danny said, “Sculpting, actually,” earning a fond smile from his younger sister.

  “Sculpting then,” Margaret said, “whatever! We’ll put up a little studio, arrange models, the clay, whatever you need, darling.”

  “I’d rather see her get married,” Jonathan said. “The art thing, that’s a waste of time. Let her have some kids, she can mold clay with them on the playroom floor.”

  “You guys,” Danny said, “c’mon, you’re not being fair. In a lot of ways, Amy’s the best among us. Jonathan, let’s face it, you’re a hard-ass. I know you consider yourself in a position of great responsibility and all that, and you’re trying to rise to the occasion, and I’m sure you will when the time comes, but … you’re a dick, and I think you know it. If you don’t, take a good hard think. Me? I’m a flake. But at least I know what I am, and what I’m not.” He turned to Amy. “But Amy, you’re smarter than we are, you’re a soul that’s still good and unsoiled, relatively … ” He turned back to the others. “She’s not some head of cattle to be sold at market, or a pet chimp to be tossed a rubber tire so it won’t kill the neighborhood cats.”

  Amy stifled a chuckle, beaming at her older brother, remembering why they’d grown closer over the years; it was more to do with the closeness of age, the shared sorrow of their childhood or the shared joys. Danny always stuck up for Amy in a way that made her feel the way she felt just then.

  At home.

  Then Danny added, “I say we do the foundation thing.”

  “No,” Jonathan said, “that’s a whole big tax problem, I don’t wanna go anywhere near it.”

  “It’s not that big a deal,” Danny said, “we call Bernstein, he takes care of it.”

  Jonathan snapped back, “So who do we benefit? We help one group, another’s going to get pissed off, send us letters, phone calls. That hurts the stock in our other holdings, we lose partners … no, it’s out of the question.”

  Margaret said, “I think Jonathan’s right, no charities. But a ready-made marriage? It’s a bit … Abu Dhabi, isn’t it?”

  Amy said, “Excuse me?”

  Ignoring her, Jonathan answered his mother. “There’s a website, morethanmillionaires.com. I think we can find somebody who could help her, help us. It’s a win/win.”

  “Now that’s Abu Dhabi,” Danny said, “not to mention some real pimpin’!”

  “That’s enough,” Amy snapped, standing up and throwing her napkin onto the table. “I can’t take this anymore!” She stormed out of the room, leaving Margaret, Jonathan, and Danny to exchange a series of glances; Danny’s embarrassed, Jonathan’s disappointed, Margaret’s confused.

  Margaret finally said, “I think the lobster is quite good. She never did develop a taste for the finer things.”

  Chapter 7

  Amy

  Tia McBride walked back from the walnut double-doors of her Century City offices. Her strong, creamy legs carried her elegant posture forward, an air of sophistication swirling around her. Amy was almost ready to be frightened of her, knowing what kind of immense power such a woman would wield, both personal and professional.

  Her assistant, a small woman of some vague Asian background, whom she introduced as Shin Lu, closed the double doors behind them, and Amy was struck with the instant hope that the doors remained unlocked from the other side.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” Amy said in a more formal tone than usual.

  “Not at all,” Tia said, leading them to the big glass desk in front of a massive windowed wall, Los Angeles spread out behind it. “I’m just glad you caught me when I was in town. I head back to New York next week, then to Paris.”

  The office was furnished with glass and chrome, everything sleek and streamlined. Amy sat down in a black leather chair across the glass desk from Tia, her own chair much bigger, rotating on the base.

  Amy said, “That sounds so exciting.”

  “I love my work,” Tia said, one thin brow raising up into her pale forehead. “I want to
reassure you that at no time will you be in any actual danger,” Tia went on to Amy.

  Amy felt a rush of excitement. She knew this was only the first tentative step, one she could back away from if she had to; even though more and more, Amy felt that each step was carrying her forward and that, soon enough, there would be no turning back.

  A serious silence passed, Tia blinking while she considered, her eyes fixed on Amy. “One of the reasons I, or someone on my staff, has to interview the client is to learn certain things about what they want or need.”

  Tia let a long pause rest, Amy feeling the unnerving compulsion to speak. “I guess compared to the actual thing, the interview’s bound to be a little thorny.” They shared a nervous chuckle. “May I ask something first?”

  “Of course,” Tia said, “you may ask any question you wish, but I will only answer the questions that I wish.”

  More nervous tittering. “Okay, well, um, what … what kinds of things happen when … when this kind of thing happens?”

  “That is decided entirely by the client. Some men want to be ambushed in the gym by other men, a lot of women want to be held hostage in their homes, taunted and even tortured. We have certain facilities we can provide for special scenarios or third locations. It all depends, dear.”

  “Well, yes, I get that,” Amy said, clearly wrestling with what felt like a delicate question. “But, when a guy is ambushed at the gym, it’s … it’s basically sex, right?”

  “Sex is a wide spectrum, Amy. There’s phone sex and internet chat sex, plushie, bukake — ”

  “Bondage.”

  “That’s right,” Tia said, “there is a lot of that in what we do. As to whether or not there’s any intimate contact, like everything else, it’s decided by the client. But it’s considered above and beyond any charges, for obvious reasons.”

  “Right, of course,” Amy said thinking it out. “So, what happens now?”

  Tia smiled. “You want to proceed?”

  Amy answered too quickly. “Yes, I …” She stopped herself, but couldn’t remain quiet. “I do, yes,” she added in a more tempered tone.

  Tia McBride had ended the meeting with a vague promise to call Amy back, but Amy wasn’t entirely sure she’d hear from the mysterious woman, though she wasn’t sure why. It’s probably just a credit card scam, Amy told herself, I should check to see if they’ve charged it. Well, the bank’ll have me covered, and I’ll bring them down hard.

  Then maybe my family will take me a little more seriously.

  Amy sat by the huge pool, actually two pools on different levels, connected by a rock waterfall. But she couldn’t enjoy its beauty, the warm water caressing her feet as she kicked them idly.

  Any had to wonder, What would they think of the Longshadows thing? But she didn’t have to wonder about it long. They’d be out of their minds!

  But Amy had more to think about than them. What’s going to happen? What’s it going to be like? He’s going to tie me up, I guess, I checked off that box. I told Tia I wanted a third locale, needed it. But … where will it be? Will he look as good as the photo, gorgeous cheekbones, and strong chin, eyes peering out from behind his long, black hair? Will he be gentle?

  I kinda hope not.

  The phone rang, shattering Amy’s moment of pitched consideration. She picked up the smartphone, the screen reading Unavailable. Her palms suddenly sweating, Amy swiped the screen and raised the phone to her ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Amy Dey?”

  “That’s right. Is this Tia Mc — ?”

  “Clear your schedule of everything for the next seven days.”

  “Seven? I’m — ”

  “You’ll be gone for twenty-four hours over two days, but you won’t know when it’s coming. Be sure to be out of your mansion for at least thirty minutes, twice a day. You’ve made a plan with the roommate?”

  “Um, yes, I, she’s going to cover for me, I’ll be coming and going from her place — ”

  “Enjoy yourself.” The phone ended without even the dignity of a click.

  Amy sat in her bedroom, suddenly feeling alone and afraid.

  What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  Amy’s instructions were to be out and about, and she spent a day or two walking the long blocks around the West Hollywood area where Isla had a condo. She’d be there for a week and had already received two calls from her family to confirm her safety.

  They’ll never stop trying to live my life, Amy realized. God, I really need this!

  Amy decided to Uber down to Westwood Village, hoping the change of scenery might elevate her boredom and the tedium of the wait. She walked north, out of the village and onto the stately and expansive UCLA campus.

  That’s when Amy noticed the white van cruising down the street behind her. Windowless and slow-moving, trailing her by about twenty feet, Amy’s instincts told her what her reasoning brain already knew.

  That’s them!

  A fearful thrill shot through her body, chemicals leaking into her tissues, her blood, charging her systems, her mind the first part of her to kick into high gear.

  Fuck. What do I do? How do I handle this?

  Amy looked around, the winding Glenrock Avenue, a calm, residential lane leading north through the campus toward Sunset Boulevard, where so many dreams had been discovered and dashed. Amy wondered if she’d ever make it there herself, for reasons having nothing to do with fortune and fame.

  Her heart started to beat harder as she walked faster, the van keeping pace behind her even as other cars passed and drove on at a greater pace.

  Do I just keep walking and let them grab me? Is that what they’re gonna do? Will they have guns? I don’t like this, I don’t like this at all!

  But Amy kept walking, the van keeping pace, and her rational self crept up behind her. Get a hold of yourself, Amy! It’s happening, yeah, or maybe not. Either way, what’s the point of it? It’s a kidnapping, let him chase me. A white van, what a cliche! Fuck that! If he wants a kidnap victim, let him earn it! Let him try and catch me!

  Amy took a sharp right down Strathmore Drive, another winding street along the northern edge of the campus. Parallel to Sunset, she wasn’t getting any further north, but she was getting further away, or she hoped.

  Until a furtive look back revealed that the van was keeping pace, hanging back just a bit further but definitely following her. Amy’s lungs started to flex and pull, blood rushing in her veins, legs pumping, sweat collecting on the back of her neck.

  Keep running, Amy told herself, don't panic, don’t trip like some dumb broad in the movies. Outsmart the bastard, get away, make him earn it!

  But the van kept up, and the street just kept winding in front of her, offering no real sanctuary. Amy picked up her pace, brain unable to remain calm as her other systems cranked up. Where would I go if I really needed to? Can I get away at all? What’s the point of even trying?

  So she cut across the street, a yellow Hyundai honking at her and screeching its brakes as she dashed to another side street and kept heading north toward Sunset. Amy could sense the van following easily behind her, and her strength was already waning from her flight.

  She knew she’d need it later.

  Another car pulled up, quick and sudden, and a familiar man jumped out of the driver’s seat and rushed up to her. Amy nearly tripped over her own feet, but wound up in his arms before it was too late to do anything about it. In an instant, he had her.

  Amy had to squint to recognize him; well built, athletic, sun-kissed blond highlights in his dusty brown hair.

  “Roger?”

  “Yes, Amy, it’s me, Roger Halibrand.”

  “You? But … why? How?” There were too many questions to be asked, much less answered.

  Roger seemed just as perplexed as she was, even as the van idled, drifting up to them, ready to play its potent part in this strange scenario. “I saw you running down the street. Are you okay?”

  Amy glanced at the v
an, then at Roger, holding her just tight enough to keep her from running away. “You … you were just driving past?”

  “Yeah, I was heading to the folks’ house, do my laundry.”

  Amy scrambled to make sense of this terrible coincidence. The van drifted past and then drove off, their opportunity blown, and Amy’s escape secured.

  Not that it made her feel any better.

  “Um, no, Roger, I’m fine, I was just … just late to get home, that’s all.”

  “All right,” Roger said, calm and as handsome and welcoming as he’d been in his better moments, “Can I drive you? Maybe take you somewhere, have a cup of tea or something?”

  But Amy could see through his subterfuge. Just another sexual predator on the prowl, just another man who wants what he wants. Well, what about what I want? What about what I need?

  “No, Roger, I’m fine, I … I just need some time alone, that’s all. Whatever it is, it’ll wait ’til I get home, honestly.”

  Roger looked deep into her eyes, hands on her cheeks, as if he really cared. “Yeah? You sure?”

  Amy glanced nervously as the van as it turned the corner and disappeared. “Yeah, I’m … I’m fine, Roger. Thanks.”

  Amy tried to push away, but Roger said, “Hey, listen, you just disappeared during our date. What was that all about?”

  Amy didn't have to think about it long. “Gee, Roger, I’m not really sure … maybe you should ask your mother.”

  “My … what’s that supposed to mean? What did she say to you?”

  “Roger, I’m really not interested in talking about it, okay? I’m sorry but, just … just no, okay? No.” Amy pushed away and started running down the next street, a quiet side street once again heading east, parallel to Sunset.

  But without knowing, she was heading exactly where she was supposed to be.

  The man grabbed her, arms around hers to pin them to her side. The van appeared from out of nowhere, door slid open, and before Amy could even gather her wits, she was thrown inside, that door slamming shut behind her.