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“How could you let her escape?” I run my hand through my hair, trying to contain my frustration.
“I don’t know how she’s gotten away. There’ll be an internal investigation. If she contacts you, I suggest you urge her to come back. She needs help. Can I ask you some questions?”
“Sure,” I agree, distracted.
“Is there any history of mental illness in your family?” I frown, then remember that he’s talking about Leila’s family.
“I don’t know. My family is very private about such matters.”
He looks concerned. “Do you know anything about this ex-boyfriend?”
“No,” I state, a little too quickly. “Have you contacted her husband?”
The doctor’s eyes widen. “She’s married?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not what she told us.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll call him. I won’t waste any more of your time.”
“But I have more questions for you—”
“I’d rather spend my time looking for her. She’s obviously in a bad way.” I rise.
“But, this husband—”
“I’ll get in touch with him.” This is getting me nowhere.
“But we should do that—” Dr. Azikiwe stands.
“I can’t help you. I need to find her.” I head to the door.
“Mr. Reed—”
“Good-bye,” I mutter, hurrying out of the waiting room and not bothering with the elevator. I take the fire escape stairs two at a time. I loathe hospitals. A memory from my childhood surfaces: I’m small and scared and mute, and the smell of disinfectant and blood clouds my nostrils.
I shudder.
As I step out of the hospital I stand for a moment and let the torrential rain wash that memory away. It’s been a stressful afternoon, but at least the rain is a refreshing relief from the heat in Savannah. Taylor swings around to pick me up in the SUV.
“Home,” I direct him, as I get back in the car. Once I’ve buckled my seatbelt I call Welch from my cell.
“Mr. Grey,” he growls.
“Welch, I have a problem. I need you to locate Leila Reed, née Williams.”
GAIL IS PALE AND quiet as she studies me with concern. “You’re not going to finish, sir?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“Was the food okay?”
“Yes, of course.” I give her a small smile. “After today’s events, I’m not hungry. How are you bearing up?”
“I’m good, Mr. Grey. It was a total shock. I just want to keep busy.”
“I hear you. Thanks for making dinner. If you remember anything, let me know.”
“Of course. But like I said, she only wanted to speak to you.”
Why? What is she expecting me to do?
“Thanks for not involving the police.”
“The police are not what that girl needs. She needs help.”
“She does. I wish I knew where she was.”
“You’ll find her,” she says with quiet confidence, surprising me.
“Do you need anything?” I ask.
“No, Mr. Grey. I’m fine.” She takes the plate with my half-eaten meal to the sink.
The news from Welch about Leila is frustrating. The trail has gone cold. She’s not at the hospital, and they’re still mystified as to how she escaped. A small part of me admires that; she was always resourceful. But what could have made her so unhappy? I rest my head in my hands. What a day—from the sublime to the ridiculous. Soaring with Ana, and now this mess to deal with. Taylor is at a loss as to how Leila got into the apartment, and Gail has no idea, either. Apparently, Leila marched into the kitchen demanding to know where I was. And when Gail said I wasn’t there, she cried out “He’s gone,” then slashed her wrist with a box cutter. Fortunately, the cut wasn’t deep.
I glance at Gail cleaning up in the kitchen. My blood runs cold. Leila could have hurt her. Perhaps Leila’s objective was to hurt me. But why? I scrunch my eyes, trying to remember if anything in our last correspondence might give me a clue as to why she’s gone off the rails. I draw a blank, exasperated, and with a sigh I head into my study.
As I sit down my phone buzzes with a text.
Ana?
It’s Elliot.
Hey Hotshot. Wanna shoot some pool?
Shooting pool with Elliot means him coming here and drinking all my beer. Frankly, I’m not in the mood.
Working. Next week?
Sure. Before I hit the beach.
I’ll thrash you.
Laters.
I toss my phone onto the desk and pore over Leila’s file, looking for anything that might give me a clue as to where she is. I find her parents’ address and phone number, but nothing for her husband. Where is he? Why isn’t she with him?
I don’t want to call her parents and alarm them. I call Welch and give him their number; he can find out if she’s been in touch with them.
When I switch on my iMac there’s an e-mail from Ana.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Safe Arrival?
Date: June 2 2011 22:32 EST
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
Please let me know that you have arrived safely. I am starting to worry. Thinking of you.
Your Ana x
Before I know it, my finger is on the little kiss she’s sent me.
Ana.
Sappy, Grey. Sappy. Get a grip.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Sorry
Date: June 2 2011 19:36
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
I have arrived safely, and please accept my apologies for not letting you know. I don’t want to cause you any worry. It’s heartwarming to know that you care for me. I am thinking of you, too, and as ever looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.