Линвуд Баркли - Find You First

“Yeah, I remember.”

“She’s got a few hours ahead of her. Kind of early to be picking up a coffee for her.”

Miles shook his head, not understanding. “What’s that, Charise?”

Charise said, “Why’d she have two cups of coffee? I mean, sure, you’re on a long trip and want to be well supplied, but it’s not like she can pull over to the side of the road and step into the bushes, if you get my meaning.”

East Seventieth Street, Manhattan

There was a knock on the door of Nicky’s room.

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, in her pajamas, mindlessly playing Angry Birds on an iPad, not able to do much else with it but play games as the Wi-Fi was disabled in this part of the house. It was like the room was cocooned with lead or something. There was a window, but it was a small one, two feet square, and all it did was look out to the alley. About five feet away, a wall of brick.

Her phone had been taken from her, so she’d been unable to text with anyone since she’d been put in here nearly a week ago. No phone calls, either, and she couldn’t send or receive emails. It was weird, not having any communication with anyone from the outside world.

She couldn’t even use having to go to the bathroom as an excuse to be let out once in a while. This guest suite had its own bathroom — and what a bathroom it was, too. Everything marble. A huge whirlpool tub and a walk-in shower. One of those things next to the toilet that shot water up your ass. And they were bringing meals to her three times a day. One thing you had to say about this place: the food was fantastic. Jeremy Pritkin had some pretty talented people working in the basement kitchen. The head chef had supposedly been lured away from a Four Seasons somewhere. And the room itself was better than decent. A huge king bed, thick-pile rug that felt wonderful on bare toes, a flat-screen that got about two hundred channels. If you had to be under house arrest, this was the house to be in.

When the knock came, she didn’t bother to get up and go to the door. She couldn’t open it from the inside. So she shouted, “Come in!”

She heard a deadbolt turn, and then the door swung wide open. It was Roberta Bennington, Jeremy’s assistant. Pretty hot looking, Nicky thought, for someone pushing fifty. Black hair, lots of curves, and nearly six feet tall with her four-inch heels. She’d apparently been with Jeremy for fifteen years, and was the first person Chloe met when she was drawn into this place by her Brooklyn friend’s acquaintance.

Roberta had made hanging out at Jeremy’s place sound like the opportunity of a lifetime. Nicky, Roberta said, would be part of “the Pritkin Experience.” She would make real money mingling with movie stars, movers and shakers, important people from all walks of life, and the most important person of all, of course: Jeremy. Nicky would be part of a team of young girls who’d help make a visit to the brownstone one that no one would ever forget. Think of the advantages! The things she would learn! These people could advance their careers, get them into the best schools, find them placements at some of the richest firms in the country.

Hadn’t quite worked out that way so far for Nicky.

Oh, Nicky had made some good money, no question about it. And it had come at the right time, when she had hardly any at all. It wasn’t like her mom and her new boyfriend were transferring anything to her account. But as for all the things she would learn, probably the most important one around here was, especially where Jeremy Pritkin was concerned, the only good massage was one with a happy ending.

“How are we doing today?” Roberta asked.

Not far beyond her, a short way down the hall at the second-floor landing, stood one of Jeremy’s security detail. Heavyset, well dressed, the guy looked like a refrigerator in a suit and tie. Nicky knew he was there in case she decided to make a run for it when the door opened. She knew because she had tried it once. The guy grabbed her, carried her back to her room, and tossed her inside like she was a misbehaving puppy.

Roberta was carrying a small tray.

“Look what we have here,” she said. “Just about the best lunch ever. We hosted a little dinner last night for the Peruvian ambassador, and there was some beef Wellington left over. And a piece of chocolate almond cake that is to die for.”

Roberta set the tray down on the desk in the corner. Then she pulled out a chair, inviting Nicky to leave the bed and take a seat.

“I’m not hungry right now,” she said.

“I see,” Roberta said, unable to hide the hurt in her voice. “Antoine went to a lot of trouble to make this for you.”

“I’ll eat it in a bit,” she said.

Roberta painted on a smile and took a seat in a plush, leather chair that faced the bed. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

“How are we doing today?”

“I want to leave,” Nicky said flatly. “I want to go to school.”

“Well, of course you do,” Roberta said, almost cheerfully.

“How long is my punishment going to be? I mean, I’ve heard of someone being sent to their room, but this is getting kind of ridiculous.”

“I totally understand that. I promise you, I’m going to speak to Mr. Pritkin about it. I guess a lot of it will depend on whether he feels you’ve learned your lesson.”

“I have, I really have.”

“That’s good. That’s good to hear.”

“Is he still mad at me?”

“Oh, Nicky, I wouldn’t say he’s mad at you. Unhappy, yes. Disappointed, for sure. But not mad.”

“I haven’t seen him since it happened.”

“He’s very busy. Did you see him last night on CNN?”

“I was watching something else, I guess,” Nicky said.

“He was talking to Chris Cuomo about the federal infrastructure plans. Jeremy knows a lot about that kind of thing. Not enough is being done.”

“If you say so. Listen, if I could talk to him for a minute, tell him again I didn’t hear anything, then maybe you could let me go?”

“I’ll certainly deliver that message. But surely you understand, hiding in his office, spying on him, so soon after you were thinking about talking to... others... about our life here inside this building—”

“I wasn’t spying.”

“It certainly looked that way, Nicky. And appearances mean everything. Mr. Pritkin is a great and powerful man, and he doesn’t take kindly to efforts to undermine him.”

“Honest, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Her shoulders sank. “Are you still texting the school and my friends, pretending to be me?”

“They all send their best wishes. Everyone wants to let you rest. That’s what they suggest for mono. They all know it can take several weeks to recover from that. So they’re not alarmed by your absence. I’ve spoken directly with the school administrators. Everything’s under control. Meanwhile, we’re trying to make things as pleasant for you as we can.”

“This is kidnapping,” Nicky said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re a sick girl. We’re looking after you.”

Nicky felt tears coming, but she fought them. She would not cry in front of this woman.

Roberta stood, headed for the door. “I’ll send someone back for the tray later,” she said. “You really must try it. It’d be a shame to waste it. Would you mind if I told Antoine that you loved it? Because he’s going to ask.”

“Sure,” Nicky said. “The last thing I would want to do is hurt anyone’s feelings.”

Roberta smiled broadly. “That’s the spirit.” She went to the door and rapped on it twice, quickly. Seconds later, it was opened by the security guy. Roberta was halfway into the hall when Nicky called out to her.