Chapter 37:

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Nell gave Darcy a fry dipped in ketchup. “You don’t let me eat these outside, so Mr. Ashford made them himself. They’re good, right?”

“Mm.” Darcy ate it. It was good, actually—crispy, salted right, better than the ones she made at home, though she’d sooner eat the burnt batch than admit it.

Nell finished eating and wiped her mouth. The happiness drained from her face slowly, replaced by something older.

“Mr. Ashford, we’re leaving tomorrow.”

Grant’s hand stopped mid-reach for a napkin. He looked at Darcy.

𝖰uа𝗅і𝘁у 𝘁r𝗮nѕ𝗹at𝗂on𝘴 о𝘯 g𝗮𝘭𝗻о𝗏е𝗹𝘴.𝗰о𝗺

“So soon? Aren’t there three more days of the summit?”

“My work is finished.”

He absorbed this. His jaw tightened, released, tightened again. “What time is your flight? I’ll take you to the airport.”

“We’ve already booked a car.”

“Right.” He stood. Walked them to the door. Held it open. His face was doing the thing Darcy had learned to recognize—the effort of holding a pleasant expression over something that was falling apart underneath.

“Have a good trip.”

Nell looked up at him. For a moment Darcy thought she was going to say something—something big, something that would crack the evening open—but she just lifted her hand in a small wave.

“Bye, Mr. Ashford.”

They walked down the corridor toward the elevator. Darcy pressed the button. They waited. The doors opened. They stepped inside, and Darcy pressed L for lobby, and the doors closed, and that should have been the end of it.

Grant watched the elevator doors close and stood in the empty corridor for ten seconds. Then he grabbed his coat and took the stairs.

They crossed the lobby and pushed through the hotel’s front entrance into the evening air. The car wasn’t here yet. Darcy reached for her phone to check the booking.

She never finished the motion.

Two men came around the corner at a full sprint—not jogging, not running, but the panicked, lunging sprint of people being chased. Behind them, thirty meters back, police officers and hotel security, shouting.

Darcy’s body moved before her mind caught up. She pulled Nell behind her and stepped back toward the hotel entrance.

Too late.

The first man grabbed Darcy’s arm and swung her around. Something cold pressed against her throat. A blade. She felt it before she understood what it was—a thin line of ice against her skin, sharp enough that the pressure alone drew a thread of blood.

“Don’t move.” His breath was hot and ragged on her ear. “Don’t move or I’ll kill you.”

The second man grabbed Nell.

Darcy’s vision went white. She heard Nell scream—a short, high sound that cut off abruptly, swallowed—and she couldn’t see her, couldn’t turn her head, could only feel the blade pressing harder into the side of her neck and the man’s arm clamped around her chest.

The police stopped. Hands up. Voices trained to be calm.

“Let them go. Don’t make this worse for yourselves.”

“Let us through or the woman dies! Then the girl!”

Darcy could feel her own heartbeat in her throat, pushing against the blade with each pulse. She couldn’t see Nell. She couldn’t—

“Let them go. I’ll be your hostage.”

Grant’s voice. Behind the men, coming from the hotel entrance. Darcy couldn’t turn but she recognized it—the boardroom register, loud and commanding, aimed at the backs of two men who were holding his family at knifepoint.

“I’m the president of Ashford Group. I’m worth more to you than they are. Take me instead.”

The man holding Darcy laughed. “An adult male? Not a chance. Stay back.”

Grant didn’t stay back.

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