Текст книги "Fifty Shades Freed"

Автор книги: Erika Leonard James

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Christian whips his head around at the tone of my voice.

“No. Flynn has.” He searches my face for a clue to my thoughts.

“I see,” I murmur, relieved.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Christian sighs. “Ana. What is it?”

I shrug, not wanting to admit to my irrational jealousy.

Christian continues, “I’m keeping tabs on her, checking that she stays on her side of the continent. She’s better, Ana. Flynn has referred her to a shrink in New

Haven, and all the reports are very positive. She’s always been interested in art, so . . .” He stops, his face still searching mine. And in that moment I suspect that he

is paying for her art classes. Do I want to know? Should I ask him? I mean it’s not as if he can’t afford it, but why does he feel the obligation? I sigh. Christian’s

baggage hardly compares to Bradley Kent from biology class and his half-assed attempts to kiss me. Christian reaches for my hand.

“Don’t sweat this, Anastasia,” he murmurs, and I return his reassuring squeeze. I know he’s doing what he thinks is right.

Midmorning I have a break in meetings. As I pick up the phone to call Kate, I notice an e-mail from Christian.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Flattery

Date: August 23, 2011 09:54

To: Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey

I have received three compliments on my new haircut. Compliments from my staff are new. It must be the ridiculous smile I’m wearing whenever I think about last night. You are indeed a wonderful, talented, beautiful woman.

And all mine.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I melt reading it.

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Trying to concentrate here.

Date: August 23, 2011 10:48

To: Christian Grey

Mr. Grey

I am trying to work and don’t want to be distracted by delicious memories.

Is now the time to confess that I used to cut Ray’s hair regularly? I had no idea it would be such useful training.

And yes, I am yours and you, my dear overbearing husband who refuses to exercise his constitutional right under the second amendment to bear arms, are mine. But don’t worry because I shall protect you. Always.

Anastasia Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Annie Oakley

Date: August 23, 2011 10:53

To: Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey

I am delighted to see you have spoken to the IT dept and changed your name. :D

I shall sleep safe in my bed knowing that my gun-toting wife sleeps beside me.

Christian Grey

CEO & Hoplophobe, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Hoplophobe? What the hell is that?

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Long words

Date: August 23, 2011 10:58

To: Christian Grey

Mr. Grey

Once more you dazzle me with your linguistic prowess.

In fact, your prowess in general, and I think you know what I’m referring to.

Anastasia Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Gasp!

Date: August 23, 2011 11:01

To: Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey

Are you flirting with me?

Christian Grey

Shocked CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Would you rather . . .

Date: August 23, 2011 11:04

To: Christian Grey

I flirted with someone else?

Anastasia Grey

Brave Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Grrrrr

Date: August 23, 2011 11:09

To: Anastasia Grey

NO!

Christian Grey

Possessive CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Wow . . .

Date: August 23, 2011 11:14

To: Christian Grey

Are you growling at me? ’Cause that’s kinda hot.

Anastasia Grey

Squirming (in a good way) Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Beware

Date: August 23, 2011 11:16

To: Anastasia Grey

Flirting and toying with me, Mrs. Grey?

I may pay you a visit this afternoon.

Christian Grey

Priapic CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Oh No!

Date: August 23, 2011 11:20

To: Christian Grey

I’ll behave. I wouldn’t want my boss’s boss’s boss getting on top of me at work. ;)

Now let me get on with my job. My boss’s boss’s boss may fire my ass.

Anastasia Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: &*%$&*&*

Date: August 23, 2011 11:23

To: Anastasia Grey

Believe me when I say there are a great many things he’d like to do to your ass right now. Firing you is not one of them.

Christian Grey

CEO & Ass man, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

His response makes me giggle.

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Go Away!

Date: August 23, 2011 11:26

To: Christian Grey

Don’t you have an empire to run?

Stop bothering me.

My next appointment is here.

I thought you were a breast man . . .

Think about my ass, and I’ll think about yours . . .

ILY x

ILY x

Anastasia Grey

Now Moist Commissioning Editor, SIP

I cannot help my despondent mood as Sawyer drives me to the office on Thursday. Christian’s threatened business trip to New York has happened, and though he’s

only been gone a few hours, I miss him already. I fire up my computer, and there’s an email waiting for me. My mood lifts immediately.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Miss you already

Date: August 25, 2011 04:32

To: Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey

You were adorable this morning.

Behave while I’m away.

I love you.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

This will be the first night we’ve slept apart since our wedding. I intend to have a few cocktails with Kate—that should help me sleep. Impulsively, I e-mail him

back, although I know that he’s still flying.

From: Anastasia Grey

Subject: Behave Yourself!

Date: August 25, 2011 09:03

To: Christian Grey

Let me know when you land—I’ll worry until you do.

And I shall behave. I mean how much trouble can I get into with Kate?

Anastasia Grey

Commissioning Editor, SIP

I hit send and sip my latte, courtesy of Hannah. Who knew I’d grow to love coffee? Despite the fact that I’m going out this evening with Kate, I feel like a chunk of

me is missing. At the moment, it’s thirty-five thousand feet somewhere above the Midwest en route to New York. I didn’t know I would feel this unsettled and

anxious just because Christian’s away. Surely over time I won’t feel this loss and uncertainty, will I? I let out a heavy sigh and continue with my work.

Around lunchtime, I start manically checking my e-mail and my BlackBerry for a text. Where is he? Has he landed safely? Hannah asks if I want lunch, but I’m

too apprehensive and wave her away. I know it’s irrational, but I need to be sure he’s arrived safely.

My office phone rings, startling me. “Ana St—Grey.”

“Hi.” Christian’s voice is warm with a trace of amusement. Relief floods through me.

“Hi.” I’m grinning from ear to ear. “How was your flight?”

“Long. What are you doing with Kate?”

Oh no. “We’re just going out for a quiet drink.”

Christian says nothing.

“Sawyer and the new woman—Prescott—are coming to watch over us,” I offer, trying to placate him.

“I thought Kate was coming to the apartment.”

“She is after a quick drink.” Please let me go out!

Christian sighs heavily. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he says quietly. Too quietly.

I mentally kick myself. “Christian, we’ll be fine. I have Ryan, Sawyer, and Prescott here. It’s only a quick drink.”

Christian remains resolutely silent, and I know he’s not happy. “I’ve only seen her a few times since you and I met. Please. She’s my best friend.”

“Ana, I don’t want to keep you from your friends. But I thought she was coming back to the apartment.”

“Okay,” I acquiesce. “We’ll stay in.”

“Only while this lunatic is out there. Please.”

“I’ve said okay,” I mutter in exasperation, rolling my eyes.

Christian snorts softly down the phone. “I always know when you’re rolling your eyes at me.”

I scowl at the receiver. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I’ll tell Kate.”

“Good,” he breathes, his relief evident. I feel guilty for worrying him.

“Where are you?”

“On the tarmac at JFK.”

“Oh, so you just landed.”

“Yes. You asked me to call the moment I landed.”

I smile. My subconscious glares at me. See? He does what he says he’s going to do.

“Well, Mr. Grey, I’m glad one of us is punctilious.”

He laughs. “Mrs. Grey, your gift for hyperbole knows no bounds. What am I going to do with you?”

“I am sure you’ll think of something imaginative. You usually do.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Yes.”

I sense his grin. “I’d better go. Ana, do as you’re told, please. The security team knows what they’re doing.”

“Yes, Christian, I will.” I sound exasperated again. Jeez, I get the message.

“I’ll see you tomorrow evening. I’ll call you later.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow evening. I’ll call you later.”

“To check up on me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Christian!” I scold him.

“Au revoir, Mrs. Grey.”

“Au revoir, Christian. I love you.”

He inhales sharply. “And I you, Ana.”

Neither of us hangs up.

“Hang up, Christian,” I whisper.

“You’re a bossy little thing, aren’t you?”

“Your bossy little thing.”

“Mine,” he breathes. “Do as you’re told. Hang up.”

“Yes, Sir.” I hang up and grin stupidly at the phone.

A few moments later, an e-mail appears in my inbox.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Twitching Palms

Date: August 25, 2011 13:42 EDT

To: Anastasia Grey

Mrs. Grey

You are as entertaining as ever on the phone.

I mean it. Do as you’re told.

I need to know you’re safe.

I love you.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Honestly, he’s the bossy one. But one phone call and all my anxiety has disappeared. He’s arrived safely and he’s fussing about me as usual. I hug myself

momentarily. God, I love that man. Hannah knocks on my door, distracting me, and brings me back to the now.

Kate looks gorgeous. In her tight white jeans and red camisole, she’s ready to rock the town. She’s chatting animatedly with Claire in reception when I make my

entrance.

“Ana!” she cries, scooping me up in a Kate hug. She holds me at arm’s length.

“Don’t you look the mogul’s wife? Who would have thought, little Ana Steele? You look so . . . sophisticated!” She grins. I roll my eyes at her. I’m wearing a

pale cream shift dress with a navy belt and navy pumps.

“It’s good to see you, Kate.” I hug her back.

“So, where are we going?”

“Christian wants us to go back to the apartment.”

“Aw, really? Can’t we sneak a quick cocktail at the Zig Zag Cafe? I’ve booked us a table.”

I open my mouth to protest.

“Please?” she whines and pouts prettily. She must be picking this up from Mia. She never pouts normally. I’d really like a cocktail at the Zig Zag. We had such

fun the last time we went there, and it’s close to Kate’s apartment.

I hold up my index finger. “One.”

She grins. “One” She links her arm in mine, and we stroll out to the car, which is parked at the curb with Sawyer at the wheel. We’re followed by Miss Samantha

Prescott who’s new to the security team—a tall African-American with a no-nonsense attitude. I’ve yet to warm to her, maybe because she’s too cool and

professional. The jury’s definitely out, but like the rest of the team, she’s been hand-picked by Taylor. She’s dressed like Sawyer in a dark somber pantsuit.

“Can you take us to the Zig Zag, please, Sawyer?”

Sawyer turns to look at me, and I know he wants to say something. He’s obviously been given his orders. He hesitates.

“The Zig Zag Café. We’ll only have one.”

I give Kate a sideways glance, and she’s glaring at Sawyer. Poor man.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mr. Grey requested you go back to the apartment,” Prescott pipes up.

“Mr. Grey isn’t here,” I snap. “The Zig Zag, please.”

“Ma’am,” Sawyer replies with a sideways glance at Prescott, who wisely holds her tongue.

Kate gapes at me as if she can’t believe her eyes and ears. I purse my lips and shrug. Okay, so I’m a little more assertive than I used to be. Kate nods as Sawyer

pulls out into the early evening traffic.

“You know the additional security is driving Grace and Mia crazy,” Kate says casually.

I gawk at her, baffled.

“You didn’t know?” She seems incredulous.

“Know what?”

“Security for all of the Greys has been tripled. Gazillioned, even.”

“Really?”

“He hasn’t told you?”

I flush. “No.” Damn it, Christian! “Do you know why?”

“Jack Hyde.”

“What about Jack? I thought he was just after Christian.” I gasp. Jeez. Why hasn’t he told me?

“Since Monday,” Kate says.

Last Monday? Hmm . . . we identified Jack on Sunday. But why all the Greys?

“How do you know all this?”

“Elliot.”

“Elliot.”

Of course.

“Christian hasn’t told you any of this, has he?”

I flush once more. “No.”

“Oh, Ana, how annoying.”

I sigh. As ever, Kate has hit the nail squarely on the head in her usual sledgehammer style. “Do you know why?” If Christian’s not going to tell me, then maybe

Kate will.

“Elliot said it’s something to do with information stored on Jack Hyde’s computer when he was at SIP.”

Holy crap. “You’re kidding.” A surge of anger pulses through me. How does Kate know about this when I don’t?

I glance up to see Sawyer eyeing me from the rearview mirror. The red light turns to green and he surges forward, focusing on the road ahead. I hold my finger

up to my lips and Kate nods. I bet Sawyer knows, too, and I don’t.

“How’s Elliot?” I ask to change the subject.

Kate grins stupidly, telling me all I need to know.

Sawyer pulls up at the end of the passageway that leads down to the Zig Zag Café, and Prescott opens my door. I scoot out and Kate slides out after me. We link

arms and meander down the passage, followed by Prescott, who’s wearing a thunderous expression on her face. Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’s just a drink. Sawyer

drives off to park the car.

“So how does Elliot know Gia?” I ask, taking a sip of my second strawberry mojito. The bar is intimate and cozy, and I don’t want to leave. Kate and I have not

stopped talking. I had forgotten how much I like hanging with her. It’s liberating to be out, relaxing, enjoying Kate’s company. I contemplate texting Christian then

dismiss the idea. He’ll just be mad and make me go home like an errant child.

“Don’t talk to me about that bitch!” Kate splutters.

Kate’s reaction makes me laugh.

“What’s so funny, Steele?” she snaps, but not seriously.

“I feel the same way.”

“You do?”

“Yes. She was all over Christian.”

“She had a fling with Elliot.” Kate pouts.

“No!”

She nods, her lips pressed together in the patented Katherine Kavanagh scowl.

“It was brief. Last year, I think. She’s a social climber. No wonder she has her sights set on Christian.”

“Christian is taken. I told her to leave him alone or I would fire her.”

Kate gapes at me once more, stunned. I nod proudly, and she lifts her glass to salute me, impressed and beaming.

“Mrs. Anastasia Grey! Way to go!” We clink.

“Does Elliot own a gun?”

“No. He’s very antigun.” Kate stirs her third drink.

“Christian, too. I think it was Grace and Carrick’s influence,” I mutter. I’m feeling a little tipsy.

“Carrick’s a good man.” Kate nods.

“He wanted a prenup,” I mutter sadly.

“Oh, Ana.” She reaches across and grasps my arm. “He was only looking out for his boy. As we both know, you have gold-digger tattooed on your forehead.”

She smiles at me, and I poke my tongue out at her then giggle.

“Mature, Mrs. Grey,” she says grinning. She sounds like Christian. “You’ll do the same for your son one day.”

“My son?” I gape at her. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that my kids will be rich. Holy crap. They’ll want for nothing. I mean . . . nothing. This needs further

thought—but not right now. I glance at Prescott and Sawyer seated nearby, watching us and the evening crowd from a side table while they each nurse a glass of

sparkling mineral water.

“Do you think we should eat?” I ask.

“No. We should drink,” Kate says.

“Why are you in such a drinking mood?”

“Because I don’t see enough of you anymore. I didn’t know you’d up and marry the first guy who turned your head.” She pouts again. “Honestly, you married

so quickly that I thought you were pregnant.”

I giggle. “Everyone thought I was pregnant,” I mutter. “Let’s not rehash that conversation again. Please! And I have to use the restroom.”

Prescott accompanies me. She says nothing. She doesn’t have to. Disapproval radiates off her like a lethal isotope.

“I haven’t been out on my own since I got married,” I mutter wordlessly at the closed toilet door. I make a face, knowing that she’s standing on the other side of

the door, waiting while I pee. What precisely is Hyde going to do in a bar anyway? Christian is just overreacting as usual.

“Kate, it’s late. We should go.”

It’s ten fifteen, and I have downed my fourth strawberry mojito. I am definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol, warm and fuzzy. Christian will be fine.

Eventually.

“Sure, Ana. It’s been so good to see you. You just seem so much more, I don’t know . . . confident. Marriage obviously agrees with you.”

My face warms. Coming from Miss Katherine Kavanagh, this is indeed a compliment.

“It does,” I whisper, and because I’ve probably had too much to drink, tears prick the back of my eyes. Could I be any happier? In spite of all his baggage, his

nature, his Fiftyness, I have met and married the man of my dreams. I quickly change the subject to stem my sentimental thoughts, because I know I will cry

otherwise.

“I have really enjoyed this evening.” I grasp Kate’s hand. “Thank you for dragging me out!” We hug. As she releases me, I nod at Sawyer and he hands Prescott

the keys to the car.

“I’m sure Miss Goody-Two-Shoes Prescott has told Christian I’m not at home. He’ll be mad,” I mutter to Kate. And maybe he’ll think of some delicious way to

punish me . . . hopefully.

“Why are you grinning like a loon, Ana? You like making Christian mad?”

“No. Not really. But it’s easily done. He’s very controlling sometimes.” Most of the time.

“No. Not really. But it’s easily done. He’s very controlling sometimes.” Most of the time.

“I’ve noticed,” Kate says wryly.

We pull up outside Kate’s apartment. She hugs me hard.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she whispers and kisses my cheek. Then she’s out of the car. I wave, feeling strangely homesick. I have missed girl talk. It’s fun and

relaxing, and reminds me that I’m still young. I must make more of an effort to see Kate, but the truth is, I love being in my bubble with Christian. Last night we

attended a charity dinner together. There were so many men in suits and well-groomed elegant women talking about real estate prices and the failing economy and

the plunging stock markets. I mean, it was dull, really dull. So it’s refreshing to let my hair down with someone my own age.

My stomach rumbles. Jeez, I still haven’t eaten. Shit—Christian! I scramble through my purse and fish out my BlackBerry. Holy crap—five missed calls! One

text . . .

*WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?*

And one e-mail.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Angry. You’ve not seen angry

Date: August 26, 2011 00:42 EST

To: Anastasia Grey

Anastasia

Sawyer tells me that you are drinking cocktails in a bar when you said you wouldn’t.

Do you have any idea how mad I am at the moment?

I’ll see you tomorrow.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

My heart sinks. Oh shit! I really am in trouble. My subconscious glares at me, then shrugs, wearing her you-made-your-bed-you-lie-in-it face. What did I expect?

I contemplate calling him, but it’s late and he’s probably asleep . . . or pacing. I decide a quick text may be enough.

*I’M STILL IN ONE PIECE. I HAD A NICE TIME. MISSING YOU—PLEASE DON’T BE MAD*

I gaze at my BlackBerry, willing him to respond, but it’s ominously silent. I sigh.

Prescott pulls up outside Escala and Sawyer gets out to hold the door open for me. As we stand waiting for the elevator, I take the opportunity to quiz him.

“What time did Christian call you?”

Sawyer flushes. “About nine thirty, ma’am.”

“Why didn’t you interrupt my conversation with Kate so I could speak with him?”

“Mr. Grey told me not to.”

I purse my lips. The elevator arrives, and we ride up in silence. I’m suddenly grateful that Christian has a whole night to recover from his snit-fit, and that he’s on

the other side of the country. It gives me some time. On the other hand . . . I miss him.

The doors to the elevator open, and for a split second I stare at the foyer table.

What is wrong with this picture?

The vase of flowers lies smashed into fragments all over the floor of the foyer, water and flowers and chunks of china are strewn everywhere, and the table is

overturned. My scalp prickles and Sawyer grabs my arm and pulls me back into the elevator.

“Stay there,” he hisses, drawing a gun. He steps into the foyer and disappears from my field of vision.

I cower in the back of the elevator.

“Luke!” I hear Ryan call from inside the great room. “Code blue!”

Code blue?

“You have the perp?” Sawyer calls back. “Jesus H. Christ!”

I flatten myself against the elevator wall. What the hell is going on? Adrenaline spikes through my body, and my heart leaps into my throat. I hear soft voices, and

a moment later Sawyer reappears in the foyer, standing in the puddle of water. He holsters his gun.

“You can come in, Mrs. Grey,” he says gently.

“What’s happened, Luke?” My voice is barely a whisper.

“We’ve had a visitor.” He takes my elbow, and I’m grateful for the support—my legs have turned to jelly. I walk with him through the open double doors.

Ryan is standing at the entrance of the great room. A cut above his eye is bleeding, and there’s another on his mouth. He looks roughed up, his clothes disheveled. But what’s more shocking is Jack Hyde slumped at his feet.

My heart is pounding and blood thrums loudly in my eardrums; the alcohol flowing through my system, amplifying the sound.

“Is he—” I gasp, unable to finish the sentence and gazing wide-eyed and terrified at Ryan. I can’t even look at the prone figure on the floor.

“No, ma’am. Just knocked out cold.”

Relief floods through me. Oh, thank God.

“And you?” I ask, gazing at Ryan. I realize I don’t know his first name. He’s panting as if he’s run a marathon. He wipes the corner of his mouth, removing the

trace of blood, and a faint bruise is forming on his cheek.

“He put up one hell of a fight, but I’m okay, Mrs. Grey.” He smiles reassuringly. If I knew him better, I’d say he looked a little smug.

“And Gail? Mrs. Jones?” Oh no . . . is she okay? Has she been harmed?

“I’m here, Ana.” Glancing behind me, she’s in a nightdress and robe, her hair loose, her face ashen and her eyes wide—like mine, I imagine.

“Ryan woke me. Insisted I come in here.” She points behind her into Taylor’s office. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

I nod briskly and realize she’s probably just come out of the panic room built adjoining Taylor’s office. Who knew we’d need it so soon? Christian had insisted

on its installation shortly after our engagement—and I had rolled my eyes. Now, seeing Gail standing in the doorway, I’m grateful for his foresight.

A creak from the door to the foyer distracts me. It’s hanging off its hinges. What the hell happened to that?

“Was he alone?” I ask Ryan.

“Yes, ma’am. You wouldn’t be standing here if he wasn’t, I can assure you.” Ryan sounds vaguely affronted.

“How did he get in?” I ask, ignoring his tone.

“Through the service elevator. He’s got quite a pair, ma’am.”

I stare down at Jack’s slumped figure. He’s wearing a uniform of sorts—coveralls, I think.

“When?”

“About ten minutes ago. I caught him on the security monitor. He was wearing gloves . . . kinda strange in August. I recognized him and decided to give him

access. That way I knew we’d have him. You weren’t here and Gail was safe, so I figured it was now or never.” Ryan looks very pleased with himself once more,

and Sawyer scowls at him in disapproval.

Gloves? The thought distracts me, and I glance once more at Jack. Yes, he’s wearing brown leather gloves. Creepy.

“What now?” I try to dismiss the ramifications from my mind.

“We need to secure him,” Ryan replies.

“Secure him?”

“In case he wakes.” Ryan glances at Sawyer.

“What do you need?” asks Mrs. Jones, stepping forward. She’s recovered her composure.

“Something to restrain him—cord or rope,” Ryan replies.

Cable ties. I flush as memories of the previous night invade my mind. Reflexively, I rub my wrists and glance quickly down at them. No, no bruising. Good.

“I have something. Cable ties. Will they do?”

All eyes turn to me.

“Yes, ma’am. Perfect,” Sawyer says, serious and straight-faced. I want the floor to swallow me up, but I turn and head for our bedroom. Sometimes you just have

to brazen things out. Perhaps it’s the combination of fear and alcohol making me audacious.

When I return, Mrs. Jones is surveying the mess in the foyer and Miss Prescott has joined the security team. I hand the ties to Sawyer, who slowly, and with

unnecessary care, ties Hyde’s hands behind his back. Mrs. Jones disappears into the kitchen and returns with a first aid kit. She takes Ryan’s arm, leads him into the

doorway of the great room, and starts tending to the cut above his eye. He flinches as she dabs it with an antiseptic wipe. Then I notice the Glock on the floor with a

silencer attached. Holy shit! Jack was armed? Bile rises in my throat and I fight it down.

“Don’t touch, Mrs. Grey,” says Prescott when I bend to pick it up. Sawyer emerges from Taylor’s office wearing latex gloves.

“I’ll take care of that, Mrs. Grey,” he says.

“It’s his?” I ask.

“Yes ma’am,” says Ryan, wincing once more from Mrs. Jones’s ministrations. Holy crap. Ryan fought an armed man in my home. I shudder at the thought.

Sawyer bends and gingerly picks up the Glock.

“Should you be doing that?” I ask.

“Mr. Grey would expect it ma’am.” Sawyer slides the gun into a zip-lock bag then squats to pat down Jack. He pauses and partially pulls a roll of duct tape from

the man’s pocket. Sawyer blanches and pushes the tape back into Hyde’s pocket.

Duct tape? My mind idly registers as I watch the proceedings with fascination and an odd detachment. Then bile rises to my throat again as I realize the implications. Rapidly, I dismiss them from my head. Don’t go there, Ana!

“Should we call the police?” I mutter, trying to hide my fear. I want Hyde out of my home, sooner rather than later.

Ryan and Sawyer glance at each other.

“I think we should call the police,” I say rather more forcefully, wondering what’s going on between Ryan and Sawyer.

“I’ve just tried Taylor, and he’s not answering his cell. Maybe he’s asleep.” Sawyer checks his watch. “It’s one forty-five in the morning on the East Coast.”

Oh no.

“Have you called Christian?” I whisper.

“No, ma’am.”

“Were you calling Taylor for instructions?”

Sawyer looks momentarily embarrassed. “Yes, ma’am.”

Part of me bristles. This man—I glance down at Hyde again—has invaded my home, and he needs to be removed by the police. But looking at the four of them,

into their anxious eyes, I decide I must be missing something so I decide to call Christian. My scalp prickles. I know he’s mad at me—really, really mad at me—and

I falter at the thought of what he’ll say. And how he’ll stress because he’s not here and can’t be here until tomorrow evening. I know I’ve worried him enough this

evening. Perhaps I shouldn’t call him. And then it occurs to me. Shit. What if I’d been here? I pale at the thought. Thank heavens I was out. Maybe I won’t be in so

much trouble after all.

“Is he okay?” I ask, pointing at Jack.

“He’ll have an aching skull when he wakes,” Ryan says, gazing down at Jack with contempt. “But we need paramedics here to make sure.”

I reach into my purse and pull out my BlackBerry, and before I can give too much thought to the extent of Christian’s anger, I dial his number. It goes straight to

voice mail. He must have switched it off because he’s so mad. I cannot think what to say. Turning away, I walk down the hallway a little, away from everyone.

“Hi. It’s me. Please don’t be mad. We’ve had an incident at the apartment. But it’s under control, so don’t worry. No one is hurt. Call me.” I hang up.

“Call the police.” I tell Sawyer. He nods, takes out his cell, and makes the call.

“Call the police.” I tell Sawyer. He nods, takes out his cell, and makes the call.

Officer Skinner is deep in conversation with Ryan at the dining room table. Officer Walker is with Sawyer in Taylor’s office. I don’t know where Prescott is,

perhaps in Taylor’s office. Detective Clark is barking questions at me as we sit on the couch in the great room. He’s tall, dark and would be good looking if it

wasn’t for his permanent scowl. I suspect he’s been woken and dragged from his warm bed because the home of one of Seattle’s most influential and wealthy

businessmen has been breached.

“He used to be your boss?” Clark asks tersely.

“Yes.”

I am tired—beyond tired—and I want to go to bed. I still haven’t heard from Christian. On the plus side, the paramedics have removed Hyde. Mrs. Jones hands

Detective Clark and me each a cup of tea.

“Thanks.” Clark turns to me. “And where is Mr. Grey?”

“New York. On business. He’ll be back tomorrow evening, I mean this evening.” It’s after midnight.

“Hyde is known to us,” Detective Clark murmurs. “I’ll need you to come down to the station to make a statement. But that can wait. It’s late and there are a

couple of reporters camped out on the sidewalk. Do you mind if I look around?”

“Of course not,” I offer, relieved his questioning is finished. I shudder at the thought of the photographers outside. Well, they won’t be a problem until tomorrow.

I remind myself to call Mom and Ray just in case they hear anything and worry.

“Mrs. Grey, may I suggest you go to bed?” Mrs. Jones says, her voice warm and full of concern.

Looking into her warm, kind eyes, I suddenly feel an overwhelming need to cry. She reaches over and rubs my shoulder.

“We’re safe now,” she murmurs. “This will all look better in the morning once you’ve had some sleep. And Mr. Grey will be back tomorrow evening.”

I glance nervously up at her, keeping my tears at bay. Christian is going to be so mad.

“Can I get you anything before you go to bed?” she asks.

I realize how hungry I am. “I’d love something to eat.”

She smiles broadly. “Sandwich and some milk?”

I nod with gratitude, and she heads into the kitchen. Ryan is still with Officer Skinner. In the foyer Detective Clark is examining the mess outside the elevator. He

looks thoughtful, despite his scowl. And suddenly I feel homesick—homesick for Christian. Holding my head in my hands, I wish fervently that he were here. He’d

know what to do. What an evening. I want to crawl into his lap, have him hold me and tell me that he loves me, even though I don’t do as I’m told—but that won’t