Her stomach twisted.
Diaz ran a finger under her chin. “Such a shame with one so beautiful. You understand, no?”
She pulled away from his fingers and he laughed.
“Why am I alive now?”
He kept laughing. “Beautiful but a fool, eh, old man?”
“Leave her alone,” Gabi heard Sherman tell Diaz.
“Chivalry . . . how sweet. Unfounded in this circumstance, but a nice gesture.” Diaz reached behind him and removed a gun from the waist of his pants.
Gabi tried not to breathe as Diaz ran it along her jaw. “Here are the rules, Gabriella. Do I have your attention?”
“Yes,” she muttered.
“You scream, and I shoot him. He yells, and I shoot you. Equality is important in this decade, no?”
What a sick man.
“You understand my rules so far?”
She nodded once.
“Good. When I put the phone to your ear, you say exactly what I want you to say, or I shoot him.” Diaz swung the gun toward Hunter’s father.
“You’re going to kill us anyway,” Sherman said.
Diaz tapped the gun onto Gabi’s chest, his finger hovering over the trigger.
“Yes, but slowly, or quickly?” Diaz moved the gun along Gabi’s arm and rested at the crook. “Or maybe I’ll show mercy and let you leave this life on a cloud.” He leaned close, she felt his lips on her ear. “You’d like that . . . wouldn’t you?”
She whimpered.
“Once they have a taste, they always want more.”
With that, Diaz shifted on the balls of his feet and stood. He grabbed Gabi’s good arm and hauled her to her feet. “Time for that phone call.”
The media made it outside the house before the cavalry.
The phone rang long before any hostage negotiator was en route.
Hunter picked up the land line on the first ring. “Hello?”
“I told you no police, Blackwell.”
Solomon rolled his fingers in the air. “Keep him talking,” he whispered.
The police in the room quieted down.
“You kidnapped my wife in broad daylight. I didn’t call the police.”
“Nevertheless, you’re going to make all of them leave. That manservant of yours, and your driver . . . they all leave. You have five minutes before I begin removing parts of your beautiful wife one by one.”
“How do I know if Gabi’s alive?”
“Say hello.”
There was a muffle, then Hunter heard the sweetest thing ever. “Hello.”
“Gabi?”
“Tell him you’re OK.” Diaz instructed every word out of Gabi’s mouth.
“I’m OK, Hunter.”
“God, Gabi. We’ll get you out of there.” He gripped the phone tight enough to break it.
Diaz laughed. “Now tell him you love him.”
He heard the cry in her voice. “I love you, Hunter.”
His heart cracked. “I love you, too.”
Only his words fell on Diaz’s ears. “Five minutes, Blackwell.”
The line went dead.
Hunter twisted around the room. “Everyone out!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
As the five minutes Diaz gave Hunter to clear the house ticked on, Gabi’s head slowly cleared from the fog. The fear she’d heard in Hunter’s voice scared her. Was there a problem tracking her? Did he know where she was? Did the security team know?
She’d been in the house for over an hour, had no idea how much time had passed before arriving. Plenty of time for the team to track her. Why had they not intervened?
A cell phone lying on the table rang and Diaz answered in Spanish.
Gabi moved her eyes to the other side of the room, doing her level best to pretend she didn’t understand one word.
The one-sided conversation proved easy to follow.
The police were exiting the Blackwell home, the media was pushed down the street.
Hunter was alone.
Diaz instructed the caller to stand by.
He picked up another phone and dialed.
“Very good, Mr. Blackwell. Now . . . when I give you the signal, I want you to take the money, climb over that back fence of yours, travel though your neighbor’s yard to the other street, and continue north. I will call you when you need to drop the money.”
Gabi hung on the next words.
“Oh, you’ll know the signal. It will make the evening news.”
She started to shake, told herself it was because of the fear in her veins. Her arm under her cast started to itch.
Diaz disconnected the call and turned his attention to the other line.
In Spanish, Diaz told the person on the phone to press the button and to return to the house where he could collect his money . . . and his heroin.
Gabi scratched the back of her neck.
With a wicked grin, Diaz winked at her. “Hold your ears.”
“What?”
The house shook.
Gabi found herself ducking, expecting the house to topple.
Diaz disconnected the call and mumbled, “Stupid bastard. Never put your trust in the wrong person, Gabriella.” He actually laughed. “Oh, that’s right, you’ve already done that a few times.”
Another man, this one thin and jumpy, moved into the room. “I’m ready to go.”
Diaz waved him off.
The thinner man ran into the living room, and Gabi heard Sherman protesting.
She started to stand only to have Diaz point his gun in her direction. “We have to give your husband something for his money.”
Gabi bit her lip and scratched the itch under her skin.
From the corner of her eye she saw that Sherman’s feet were cut free, his hands still bound, as he was shoved at gunpoint out of her sight.