Page 77 of The Ice Queen in the Corner Office

“I’m doing this,” I said. “You can either let me go or I’ll make you let me go, your choice.”

He dropped his arm but put his hands on either side of my face so that I was forced to look at him. His expression softened, and I saw the fear in his eyes. “You don’t even know Willow.”

“I know she’s a woman you all care about. A woman being held against her will, who is likely terrified. That’s all I need to know.” I sighed. “I’ll be fine, Alex. Really.”

“We’ll be right here,” he said, steel going up behind his eyes. “Keep your phone on so we can hear what’s happening.”

“Hey, good idea, man,” Fin said. “That’s why you’re the brains of this operation.”

I called Alex and kept the line open as I slid my phone in my back pocket and got out of the car. My hands shook as I shut the door gently behind me and turned toward the house.

There were so many ways this could go wrong, the worst being that I messed up and Willow paid the price. Even so, the idea of doing nothing, of walking away was untenable. I knew nothing about Willow, but every time I thought of her, I pictured May’s face. I imagined May hurt and scared and alone. No one deserved that.

I straightened my shoulders and reminded myself that I was strong. I was tough. And I wasn’t going to let anyone mess with me.

I would be the ice queen and I would make my plan work. I marched up to the door of the house and knocked briskly.

A man, barely a man, in faded jeans and a t-shirt, answered the door. I saw the change on his face, his young, cocky face, as he looked me over and considered that I might be fun, that I might have something he wanted to take from me. I stared him down, and he hesitated.

“Young man,” I said, putting on my best haughty tone. “Are your parents at home?”

He reared back as though I’d struck him, and I bit my lip not to laugh. Men. Their precious egos were so fragile.

“What do you want?”

“I’d like to speak to an adult. Is there one here?”

Another man, this one full-grown, but dressed like the child in front of me, stepped up behind the kid. “What’s going on?”

“Hello, sir,” I said, pretending not to see the hard glare in his gaze or the tension in his jaw. He would not be as easy to play as the kid. “My car has broken down just up the road, and I’d like to use your phone.”

“Use your own phone,” he said, his voice a growl. He pushed the kid out of the way and attempted to close the door on me. I shoved hard against the door.

“I’m afraid my phone battery has died,” I said. “I just need to make one call and use your bathroom, and I will be out of your hair.”

Nothing about that man was soft and his glare was terrifying, but I stood my ground. I didn’t let him see that he had any effect on me at all.

Finally, he pulled a cell phone from his back pocket and handed it over. I called Alex’s number and waited while it rang in my ear.

Somewhere beyond the light of the house, the sound of pebbles rolling over pavement, like someone had kicked them, caught the attention of the big guy in the doorway. I kept my expression as placid as possible, but inside, I was freaking out. Had those idiots actually left the car?

“What the hell is going on here?” the big guy asked.

He shoved past me onto the porch, staring into the darkness. I spoke into the phone, pretending to speak to someone. The man on the porch didn’t step into the darkness, didn’t risk moving his big body away from the warmth and glow of the house.

I finished my fake call and handed the phone over to him. He stepped closer, pressing his big body to mine, his breath stale and smelling of liquor. “You done here?”

I smiled sweetly. “I need to use your bathroom and then, yes, I’ll be on my way.”

I wanted to jump off that porch and flee into the night, wanted to forget I’d ever been near that man. Except that Willow was likely inside, had probably had to face liquor breath and all the ways he wanted to hurt her.

He grinned at me, but it wasn’t a nice grin. It was the grin of a spider inviting the fly into his web for a cup of tea. The grin of a congenial serial killer right before he stabs his victim in the heart. “Come on in,” he said.

He backed off and stepped into the golden glow of the house.

My hands shook, but I swallowed hard and forced a smile as I stepped inside.

The kid was on a couch to the right of the front door, a game controller in his hands. It was hard to hear anything as I followed liquor breath inside, because my pulse pounded so loud in my ears.

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