Vincent waited in the dark shadows, far from the reach of the streetlight, watching the entrance of the precinct where Patrick had been taken. He felt a cold thrill at the thought of Ann arriving here, and couldn’t wait to catch a glimpse of her face.
It was a risk, the type of risk that fed a kind of sexual excitement into his blood. She’d come here, he knew. She’d rush to try to save Patrick, even though she despised him. She’d do it for the old woman, and because of her own galling self-righteousness. But soon he would delight in her denigration, the slow but meticulous tearing apart of everything she believed in and held dear to her heart.
Ann’s upbringing should have twisted her. Would have turned most women rabid. But Ann had become staunch. Perhaps her survival could be attributed to some misshapen gene at odds with the others. Or maybe to the debt she thought she owed to the hand that had pulled her out of the quicksand. Regardless, Ann Lesage had matured into a canny but moralistic force of nature, and he hated her for that alone. She would soon find out that honesty and a rigid work ethic meant nothing in the world today, and it would give her no protection from her past.
Patrick Morhardt and his petty weakness had ruined everything for her. He hoped that something vicious would squirm its way into her heart so she would finally learn to hate.
Vincent smiled into the night, savoring all the moves he had made. Discovering the source of Patrick’s financing had presented even greater complications than just having the loan called due. He’d put pressure on the loan officer at Atlantic who had in turn given him Richard Salsberg. He’d convinced the attorney that it was in his best interest to demand another fifty thousand dollars from Hart Toy. Let’s see her fight back now, Vincent thought.
Her vice president of finance was about to be indicted on the basis of the evidence slipped into his briefcase. The cocaine only added a diversionary complication. No matter the outcome, Ann would lose her precious baby doll … and a great deal more.
Then she would be his, and he would make sure she understood that she could never escape her past.
Vincent stepped further into the shadows as a cab pulled in front of the precinct. Ann Lesage stepped out, as sure of herself as always and—as he had hoped—very angry. The color of her cheeks gave her away. That, and the fury in her eyes.
Then Jonathan Morhardt emerged after her.
Vincent frowned. He’d never entirely gotten a handle on that man. The younger Morhardt brother tended to be unreadable. His sudden collusion with Ann Lesage was not something Vincent had foreseen. He’d initially dismissed it. Now it caused him some concern. But in the end, the odd hitch was always to be expected. And he was confident that, in time, he would turn it to his advantage. For now, he would allow himself the luxury of savoring this desired change in Ann, seeing her unnerved, shaken to the core and about to unravel.