Chapter Eighteen

B lackness shrouded Layne's mind. Cobwebs and spiders clouded every corner.

She had to get out of there.

With a gasp, she surged upward and broke the surface of consciousness.

Dragging her eyelids open, she stared straight ahead of her. Where was she?

It rushed back in vivid, Technicolor detail. Just before she passed out from the medicine administered before anesthesia, she'd recognized her surgeon.

A client of her client's. The New York interior designer had come to Layne for several art pieces and certain antiques for a prominent doctor's home in Martha's Vineyard.

As with most clients, she invited them to the Londons' Manhattan showroom to browse what they had in stock and discuss more possibilities. When she met Dr. Patel, she hadn't thought much about the man. He didn't have any remarkable features or personality traits that stood out to her.

He was genial and well-mannered. After the first trip through the showroom, he thanked her and shook her hand. Nothing special.

Then he asked if he could return to leaf through the albums containing photos of the antiques and art they had in storage. He was knowledgeable enough about artists to know what he liked and had no problem paying for the pieces.

The third time he returned, he asked her out to a gallery opening in the city. In her business, she was good at dodging men and even the occasional bold female. After she thanked him for the kind offer, Patel had simply nodded, smiled and took his leave.

She never saw him again.

A chill rushed over her. The very night of the same gallery opening, she had been at the bar…and somebody she never caught sight of…had bought her a drink.

She sucked in a deep breath. Cool air flooded into her nose through an oxygen mask.

Confusion blasted out the rest of those cobwebs draped over her mind. She didn't have much experience with hospitals, but this didn't look anything like what she'd seen before she got knocked out.

She was staring at a wall painted in a rich green hue that matched the pines of Wyoming.

In the center of that wall hung a painting she recognized.

One she'd flown to France to personally procure from the dealer who had it in his private collection. An oil painting that she sold to Patel.

This definitely was not the hospital.

"You're awake."

The tenor of Patel's voice made her blood freeze in her veins. Her heart flipped over and over again.

"Your heart rate is elevated. Breathe normally, Layne. It's going to be all right." His face loomed in front of her as he leaned over the bed and adjusted the sheet around her.

Oh god. She needed to get out of here. Away from this crazy man.

Her eyes rounded as she met his stare. What she saw in his eyes was slightly unhinged and sent more alarm pounding through her.

"Where am I?" Her demand came out as nothing more than a weak whisper.

The weight of a hand landed on her thigh. Her skin crawled at the touch.

"I brought you to my special surgical recovery room. Here, I can care for you. Personally."

"I want Carson!"

He clucked his tongue and reached to adjust the mask over her face. "Just breathe, Layne. Deep, even breaths. Your surgery went very well, better than expected."

Panic whipped through her brain. What happened to her while she was helpless? She sent out small feelers in her body, assessing every single body part. Her head—foggy. But they'd told her she had a concussion from the object that slammed into her head.

The object her stalker had planted in her barn.

"You planned all this!"

He dragged a stool on wheels over to her bedside and sat, gaze fixed on her face. "You and I are meant to be, Layne. All my efforts lined up better than I could have imagined. I got to fix you. Take care of you. Restore your beauty." His pale blue eyes roamed over her face.

"You caused this!" She lifted a hand to rip the mask off her face and realized she was bound with a strap across her wrist. She attempted to lift the other and found it was secured too.

She was tied down, at her stalker's mercy.

He tipped his head, studying her closely. "You don't really want to do that, Layne. You need to rest, doll ."

She gaped at him. How did he know Carson's pet name for her?

The creepy smile dropped from his lips, flattening it into a grim line. "I had my doubts that you and I would have our happily ever after when I saw you and that man sharing a bed. And your date at the restaurant and movie theater was steamy."

"What! How do you know—"

"Now, Layne. If you get any more upset, I'm going to have to give you something more to help you sleep."

"No! F-f-fuck off!"

"Do you like this room? I made it just for you. The green walls are the same color as some of the walls in Golden Horizon."

"Oh god! How do you know these things about me? How long have you been spying on me?" She balled her fists into useless knots.

He picked up a syringe filled with clear liquid—some drug he could use to knock her out…or worse.

"What do you want from me? If it's art, I'll give it to you. Anything."

"You must know that material objects don't interest me. From the minute I laid eyes on you, I knew that you were meant to be with me. I've done so much for you. Bought you vases of flowers."

"Paris." The word was a hoarse croak.

His smile was back, but it didn't reach his cold, blue eyes. Nothing like Carson's deep gray ones that shone with love for her.

On and on, Patel talked, rambling about times when she didn't see him but he saw her. Trips to Europe, and up and down the East Coast.

When he mentioned her Manhattan condo, her stomach dropped thirty stories.

"I'm going to be sick!"

"The anesthesia can do that. And you do have a concussion. Poor little doll."

"Stop calling me that!" She retched.

The mask was pulled aside, and a plastic container thrust under her lips so she could vomit.

Weak, miserable and scared out of her head, she stared at him through her tears. "Let me go!"

"All you had to do was go out on that first date with me."

"I never date clients."

"You didn't need to work with my interior designer."

"It's my policy."

"You were afraid of me."

She shook her head. Back then, she wasn't afraid of anybody. Now all that had changed.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, Layne. You know that, right? I'd never hurt you."

"But you did hurt me!" Her exclamation kickstarted the pain in her face. She swore she could feel every single thread of every stitch he'd placed in her flesh to close the wound that he caused.

"When my house in Martha's Vineyard was finished…" He spread his hands to encompass the room. "I bought another for you to fill with your treasures."

"I want to leave. Please let me leave!"

His stare pinned her in place, as if she weren't already tied to the bed and at his mercy. One plunge of that syringe into the IV feeding into her arm and she'd be knocked out again. Then god only knew what he'd do to her.

"I'm no longer your client, Layne."

"I still don't want to date you!"

The smile he gave her was chilling. Completely insane. "That's why I'm going to keep you here with me, Layne. You belong to me."

* * * * *

Carson dug his fingers into each side of his head. "Get me the surgeon's address. If he can practice out of this hospital, he can't be far."

Oaks's phone was already in his hand. He brought it to his ear and began firing off orders to someone on the other end.

Carson tuned him out. Five steps away, a security officer had ten screens up and flipped through security footage.

Carson stabbed a finger at the monitor. On the screen, a man of medium height was wheeling a hospital bed down a corridor. "This. Right here. Where is that?"

The security officer twisted her head toward Carson but didn't meet his gaze. He got it—he intimidated people. He also didn't give a damn.

"It's the basement. The hallway by the morgue."

Terror shot a bullet to the heart. "No. I refuse to believe he took her to the morgue. Find more footage!"

When the woman didn't respond fast enough, he barked, "Now, goddammit!"

An arm banded around his chest and shoulders. Oaks shoved him back a step away from the desk.

His brother wasn't strong enough to push Carson around, but he allowed the liberty—for now.

Oaks got in his face. "Calm down. You're not helping matters here."

He was losing his goddamn mind. "Where the hell did he take her? I'm going to fucking kill him when I find him!"

"And I'll help you, brother," he said in a low oath that only Carson could hear. "Let the security officer do her job. I'm searching for an address, and we're close to finding out where he took her. The hospital is locked down, being searched from top to bottom."

He knew in his bones that Layne wasn't nearby. Hadn't he always known when she needed him? Past, present or future, he was linked to the woman he loved in this way.

"She's not in the building." The statement came out flat but with total conviction.

She needed him.

"I have to get to her."

"I know you do. We'll find her. Just hang on another min—"

The security officer whirled her desk chair, eyes wide. Carson stepped around Oaks and leaned in to stare at the spot on the monitor she pointed at.

"He wheeled her to an exit from the basement and carried her out in his arms."

"Goddammit!" As he watched the recorded footage, he wanted to bash his fist through the image to shatter it. The action wouldn't ease the pounding need to crush each and every one of the surgeon's bones, but it would ease him for a minute or two. They'd already wasted precious time searching the hospital for Layne and watching that footage to tell him what he already knew: Patel took her away from him.

Oaks gripped Carson by the shoulder and spun him away again. "We know which direction they went."

Oaks's phone pinged. He looked down at the screen. "The hospital just got us Patel's address. Let's get out of here."

He shot into the hallway and started running for the main doors. Oaks's footsteps pounded right behind him. But once they were outside, in the air full of exhaust fumes and the cloying smell of flowers in planters outside the entrance, Oaks took the lead.

Carson's breaths came in ragged gasps, and not because he was winded from the short sprint.

He was too close to losing it.

He didn't have time to lose his shit. He had to rescue his future wife.

His goddamn soulmate .

His mind was a whirl of fear and desperation. The echoes of his footsteps resounded off the brick structure behind them. Dodging past car after car in the lot, he ground his teeth.

"Where the hell are you parked?" he called to his brother.

"There!" He jabbed a finger toward the black SUV just as he clicked the key fob to unlock it.

They threw themselves into the vehicle. Carson aimed a look at his brother. "I don't know if I should let you drive. Last time you almost didn't get us home."

"Not my fault. And you're wrecked. Shut up and let me drive."

He snatched Oaks's phone out of his hand. He stared at the address and ran his thumb over it to program it into the GPS.

"Greenwood Place."

Oaks gave a hard nod as he jammed his boot on the gas and took off at a race toward the highway. "I've heard of it. Big housing development between the mountains."

"I know of it, but I've never been there. Turn right."

Oh god. Layne. He'd missed so much on this case. He was a trained bodyguard, and he hadn't kept her safe at all. But who would ever think of a surgeon kidnapping their patient?

Colt's name flashed on the dash screen. The car connected the call, and his voice projected through the speaker system. "I've got the coordinates and I'm on my way."

Carson wasn't surprised that Oaks had shared the address with their brother the second it came in. "What's your ETA?"

"Nine minutes."

"We're eleven. When you get there, don't make any moves. I'm going in first." He pressed his fist to his lips hard enough to trap the bellow of rage in.

She had to be okay. He'd find her and then provide her access to all the therapists on the Black Heart Ranch. They specialized in PTSD, triggers and traumas. They could help her after this. Make her whole.

He'd given up on such a dream for himself. The best he could ask for was enough peace to get through each day. Peace she brought him.

Colt's voice broke into his dark thoughts. "Willow did a deep dive into the surgeon's background. He bought his house in Wyoming a year ago."

"How the fuck did he meet Layne?" Carson already knew the answer to that question.

His brother followed it up with fact. "He worked with an interior designer to buy art and antiques through Layne's business. I guess he became as obsessed with her as you are, Carson."

"Colt, I will drive your teeth down your throat with my fist."

Colt's low chuckle defused him the smallest bit, but it was enough for him to laser focus on the plan.

All of his hope lay in the hands of Layne's stalker. If the man wanted her bad enough to take her by the darkest means…he wouldn't take her life.

Carson clung to that with every throb of his heart.