Chapter 20 The Trap
If audacity were a currency, Julian Thorne would be the wealthiest man in the state.
When I step sideways so I can leave, the man blocks my path.
He doesn’t just block my path; he reaches out and wraps his fingers around my wrist. His grip is firm, possessive, and carries the faint scent of the expensive hand cream he’s used since college. It makes my skin crawl. The sensation is like stepping in a patch of unwashed grease. I try to jerk back, but he holds on, leaning in with a look of pained sincerity that makes me want to scrub my eyes with steel wool.
"Emily, listen to me," Julian says. His voice drops into that soft, velvet register he used whenever he wanted to convince me that the sky was purple. And boy, did he always manage to convince me. I cringe at how naive I was back then. "What you saw with Chloe in the hospital... it wasn’t what you thought. It was a misunderstanding. She was emotional. I was trying to comfort her. Things got out of hand. It didn’t mean anything."
I look down at his hand on my skin. I feel a wave of physical repulsion so strong it tastes like copper in the back of my throat. I don’t see the man I almost married. I see a parasite in a bespoke suit. I see the hospital room all over again, and I remember how broken my heart was that day.
"A misunderstanding?" I repeat. I meet his eyes, my own voice flat and cold. "I have eyes, Julian. I saw the way you held her. I saw the way you kissed her. There isn’t a world where that requires an explanation. It ended the second you touched her. Now, get your hands off me."
I don’t wait for him to comply. I wrench my arm back with a sudden, sharp force. His fingers slide off my skin, leaving a red mark that feels like a burn. I take a step toward Lily, who is standing a few feet away with her chocolate muffin, her big eyes darting between us. I need to get her out of here. This place is starting to feel suffocating.
"Don’t ever touch me again," I say, my voice trembling with a rage I can’t quite suppress. "If you do, I won’t just call the police. I’ll make sure my husband handles you personally."
Julian’s face shifts. The mask of sincerity slips, revealing the wounded ego beneath. "You mean your bodyguard husband? You’re threatening me with a man who carries groceries for a living?"
Before I can retort, the front door of the café bursts open. A rowdy, surging crowd of people pours inside. It’s a group of frantic tourists or perhaps some local fan club, all of them shouting and pushing to get to the counter. The tiny space is suddenly filled with the smell of damp coats and the roar of a dozen voices.
It feels strange for a high-end place like this to be crowded. Something doesn’t feel right about this crowd.
Before I can fully process that thought, someone slams into my shoulder from behind. I lose my balance, my heels sliding on the floor. I go down hard, my palms hitting the grit and crumbs of the floorboards. A sharp, hot pain stabs through my right forearm.
"Emily!" Julian shouts.
He reaches down, trying to help me up, but I pull away. I scramble to my feet, my breath coming in short, ragged bursts. I look at my arm. A long, jagged scrape runs from my wrist to my elbow, the skin raw and weeping a thin line of red. It’s a stinging, annoying injury, but I don’t care about the blood.
"I’m fine," I snap, pushing past Julian as he fumbles in his pocket.
"I have some bandages in my car," Julian says. "Stay here. Let me at least clean that up for you. You’re bleeding, Emily."
"I don’t want anything from you," I say, my eyes scanning the room. "Just leave me alone."
I turn around, ready to grab Lily and run for the SUVs. But the space next to the macaron display is empty. The half-eaten chocolate muffin is still on the table, a crumbly ruin on a white plate.
"Lily?" I call out.
The café is a sea of moving bodies. The crowd is still pressing toward the counter, blocking my view of the corners. I move through the people, shoving past a man in a bright yellow windbreaker. I check under the tables. I check the restroom hallway.
"Lily! This isn’t funny!"
My voice sounds thin, rising into a frantic, high pitch that I don’t recognize. The air in the café feels like it’s being sucked out of the room. I feel a cold, hollow sensation in the pit of my stomach. Beatrice’s face on the balcony flashes through my mind; that venomous, triumphant smile. No. No.
"Lily!"
Julian appears at my side again, holding a small adhesive bandage and a packet of antiseptic. "Emily, sit down for a second. You’re shaking. Let me—"
I turn on him, my hands clenching into fists. The rage is so white-hot it makes my vision blur. "This is your fault! If you hadn’t cornered me, if you hadn’t been so obsessed with your own pathetic ego, I wouldn’t have been distracted! She was right here! She was right next to me!"
"Who?" Julian asks, looking confused. "The bodyguard’s kid?"
"She’s not just a bodyguard’s kid!" I scream at him. "And she’s gone!"
I don’t wait for him to process the words. I bolt for the front door, the bell chiming a frantic, discordant note as I burst onto the sidewalk. The afternoon sun is blinding. The street is busy with cars and pedestrians. I see the three black SUVs idling at the curb, the bodyguards standing like statues.
"Leo!" I shout, running toward the head of the security detail.
Leo turns, his expression shifting from professional boredom to sharp alertness the second he sees my face and the blood on my arm. He’s a tall man with a face like a cliffside, all hard angles and deep lines.
"Miss Emily? What happened?"
"Lily," I gasp, my lungs burning. "She’s gone. She was in the café. There was a crowd, I fell, and... she’s just gone."
Leo doesn’t waste a second. He taps his earpiece. "Team one, lockdown the perimeter. Young miss is missing. Search the alleyways. Team two, get into the café and secure the exits. Nobody leaves."
He looks at me, his eyes hard. "Where was she last seen?"
"By the display case," I say, pointing toward the window.
Leo nods to one of his men and then looks at the café manager, who has appeared in the doorway looking terrified. "Show us the surveillance room. Now."
I follow them back inside. I’m shivering so hard I have to wrap my arms around myself, but the movement makes the scrape on my arm scream in protest. We push through the kitchen and into a cramped, windowless office that smells of stale coffee and hot electronics. A bank of monitors sits on a cluttered desk, showing grainy, wide angle views of the café floor.
"Rewind it," Leo commands the manager. "Two minutes. Maybe three."
The footage skips backward. I see myself standing with Julian. I see him grab my wrist. I see the crowd surge in, a blur of colorful jackets and movement. On the screen, I see myself stumble and disappear below the frame.
Then I see her.
Lily is standing by the table, looking down at me on the floor. She takes a step forward, her hand reaching out as if she wants to help. But a man in a dark hoodie, wearing a baseball cap pulled low and a blue surgical mask, moves through the crowd with a terrifying, calculated speed.
He scoops Lily up, his hand covering her mouth before she can even let out a sound. He tucks her under his arm as if she’s nothing more than a heavy bag of flour and vanishes through the side service exit while everyone else is looking at the commotion in the center of the room.
The air leaves my lungs. I feel my knees go weak, my body sinking toward the floor. I grab the edge of the desk to keep from collapsing, my fingers digging into the wood. I’m crying now, the tears hot and heavy, blurring the image of the man stealing the only thing Alistair cares about.
"They took advantage of the commotion," Leo says, his voice tight.
"Or they caused the commotion," I whisper. I don’t have all the information yet, but all of this, down to the crowd, feels planned.
"I need to get you home, Miss Emily. We’ll handle the search. It isn’t safe for you to be out here if they’re targeting the family."
"No!" I shout, my voice cracking. "I’m not going anywhere! I lost her! It was my responsibility! I’m the one who took her out! I have to find her!"
"You’re in no condition—"
"I don’t care!" I scream. I grab his jacket, my eyes wide and pleading. "Please, Leo. You don’t understand. If she’s hurt, if he loses her... it’s over. For all of us."
Leo looks at me for a long moment. I see the conflict in his eyes; the duty to protect me versus the urgency of the missing child. He knows Alistair. He knows the carnage that is coming once the sun sets on an empty nursery.
He pulls out his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. His face is pale, the hard lines of his jaw trembling slightly.
"I have to call him," Leo says.
I watch him, my heart thudding against my sternum like a trapped bird. The room is silent except for the low growl of the computer fans. I think of Alistair’s gray eyes. I think of the way he looked when he told me he trusted my judgment.
The call connects.
Leo clears his throat, his posture straightening into a stiff, military line. He looks at the floorboards, his voice a dead, hollow whisper.
"Sir... the young miss is missing."