Page 142

Part Four
Elyse
35
WALK & TALK
I would keep you.
Make you mine forever.
The words pound through my head. The anguish, the bewilderment lacing his tone continues to haunt me two days later. I haven’t heard from Q since the early hours of Friday, when I awoke in the penthouse alone. Fionnella tells me he’s tied up with other matters and that until I hear from him, my time is my own. To be honest, I’m grateful for the reprieve. The combination of marathon sex and ragged emotions has left me in a state of shock.
Thursday night was the most intense night of my life. Every single moment was overwhelming. And deeply personal. So much so, I barely noticed the cameras. And when I remembered they existed, I didn’t care. In hindsight I realize what’s happened.
Sex with Q has stopped being a transaction and turned into something else. Something more. I’m falling for him. Probably already have.
The enormity of that revelation has turned me into a half-zombie. I haven’t left the loft. I miss him, want that damned black box to light up. At the same time, I’m scared that he will get in touch. Because on Friday, after I managed to find the energy to walk and leave the apartment, I came home to find three hundred thousand dollars on my dresser. I’m now two hundred thousand shy of my goal. Two more ‘normal’ sessions. Or one intense fuck away from never seeing Q again.
The anguish that knowledge brings terrifies the shit out of me.
To take my mind off my terror, I do something equally terrifying.
I begin to make plans on how to contact Clay once I have the money.
I can’t just show up back at Getty Falls and expect him to forgive and forget. I also need to find a way to make him accept that the million dollars is better than attempting to wrestle Petra’s whereabouts from me.
Handling Clay Getty will be a delicate task. He didn’t rise to his position of power by letting people like me get away with wronging him. And by destroying his ancestral home, his prized possession, I’ve placed myself in the prime position of number one enemy.
I pace the loft for a couple of hours before I summon the courage to flip on the Wi-Fi to connect to the Internet.
A quick search of the Fresno newspapers tells me very little about what’s happening in Getty Falls. I don’t refine my search because I once heard Lolita mention something about a geo-locator on websites that track searches. I have no clue how many people search Getty Falls, but I don’t want to take the risk of shining a spotlight on myself.
What I do is hit Twitter and search for the Getty Falls Sheriff’s Office page. On the main page is a short bio and picture of the sheriff with his shit-eating smile. I scroll down and read through the feed.
Acting Sheriff Daniels responds to a burglar alarm…suspect apprehended.
Two days prior to that…Acting Sheriff Daniels and Officer Pratt respond to reports of a domestic altercation.
I go back as far as I can to when the sheriff was last on duty. I hold my breath when I find what I’m looking for.
Sheriff Clayton Getty on a temporary leave of absence to deal with private matters. Deputy Rick Daniels will act as Sheriff.
Officers attend the funeral of Ridge Mathews. My breath catches and I click on the attached link. …Sheriff Getty confirmed his death was a tragic accident.
God, Clay covered it up. My heart continues to race as I scroll back up and stare at Clayton Getty’s picture in the bio.
Yes, my biological father isn’t just a third-generation brothel landlord, he’s also a corrupt sheriff in charge of law enforcement at Getty Falls. And he took a leave of absence the day after I burned his whorehouse down and skipped town.
I’m staring at his picture when a retweet pops into the feed.
Person of interest sought in Getty Falls fire. Elyse Gilbert, 5’4” has been missing since the fire. If seen, contact the Sheriff’s Dept. There’s a link beneath the message along with my picture. The phone clatters to the ground as ice drenches me from head to toe. My heart bangs against my ribs, and I struggle to breathe.
I scramble for the phone again. I turn off the Wi-Fi and jump up from the sofa. But the truth is inescapable. If I needed confirmation that Clayton was coming after me, I have it.
But would he have put my name and picture up on social media if he knew where I was? Does the fishing expedition mean he’s lost my trail? I force the fear aside and try to think things through properly. Since quitting my job at Blackwood Tower, I’ve been off the radar for a week. Even if he knows I’m in New York, my not using public transportation right now may be working to keep him from finding me.
All the same, I need to bring this to a head sooner rather than later. Every day he wastes time trying to find me and doesn’t means his attention might shift to locating Petra.