Chapter 8: Shadows and Silence
2515words
The autumn air carried a chill as I exited the Winters Pharmaceuticals building after meeting with my father about the final merger details. Despite our personal disagreement, Thorne and I were still proceeding with the business arrangement—too much was at stake financially for both our families to allow personal complications to interfere.
As I walked toward my parked car, a prickling sensation at the back of my neck made me pause. Someone was watching me. I turned slowly, scanning the busy street, but saw nothing obviously suspicious—just the usual downtown bustle of pedestrians and vehicles.
Still, the feeling persisted.
I quickened my pace slightly, my heels clicking against the pavement with increased urgency. The parking garage was only half a block away, its concrete structure offering the promise of security cameras and attendants.
A flash of movement in my peripheral vision made me turn sharply. A figure in a dark coat ducked behind a newspaper stand. Male, average height, face obscured—nothing distinctive enough to identify, yet the deliberate way they'd avoided my gaze confirmed my suspicions.
I was being followed.
My heart rate accelerated, but I forced myself to maintain a steady pace. Panicking would accomplish nothing. I reached for my phone, intending to call my security detail—another of Thorne's provisions I hadn't yet dismissed—when it buzzed in my hand.
Dominic's name flashed on the screen.
I hesitated, then declined the call. Whatever he wanted could wait. My immediate priority was reaching safety.
The parking garage entrance loomed ahead, its fluorescent lighting a welcome sight. I nodded to the attendant as I passed, feeling marginally safer within the structure's confines. My car waited on the third level, away from the street but not so isolated as to be completely vulnerable.
As I stepped into the elevator, I glanced back toward the entrance. No one had followed me in—at least, no one visible. The doors slid closed, and I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
My phone buzzed again—Dominic, once more. This time, curiosity overrode caution.
"What do you want?" I answered tersely.
"Elara," his voice sounded strained, unusual for someone typically so composed. "We need to talk. It's about Vivienne."
The elevator doors opened onto the third level, which appeared deserted except for scattered vehicles. I stepped out cautiously, scanning the dimly lit space.
"I have nothing to say to either of you," I replied, moving toward my car while maintaining awareness of my surroundings.
"She's disappeared," Dominic continued, an edge of genuine concern in his voice. "Three days ago. No one's heard from her. Her credit cards haven't been used, her phone is off..."
I paused, unease settling in my stomach. "And this concerns me how?"
"The last thing she said was that she was going to fix things with you," he explained. "That she had a plan to make everything right."
A chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the garage's temperature. "Are you suggesting I had something to do with her disappearance?"
"No," he replied quickly. "I'm warning you. Whatever she's planning, it isn't good. She was... unstable when she left. Talking about making people pay, about justice."
The irony wasn't lost on me—my own justifications for revenge echoed back through Vivienne's apparent intentions. Before I could respond, a sound behind me made me turn sharply.
Nothing. Just empty parking spaces and concrete pillars.
Yet the prickling sensation had returned, stronger now.
"I have to go," I told Dominic abruptly.
"Elara, wait—"
I ended the call, slipping the phone into my pocket as I quickened my pace toward my car. The key fob was already in my hand, thumb poised over the unlock button.
A footstep echoed behind me—too close.
I spun around, but too late. A cloth pressed against my face, the sickly-sweet scent of chemicals flooding my nostrils before I could react. I struggled, my handbag falling to the concrete as I clawed at my attacker's arms.
Strong hands held the cloth firmly in place despite my efforts. My vision began to blur, darkness encroaching from the edges inward. My last conscious thought was of Thorne—of the hurt in his eyes when I'd left him, of words left unsaid between us.
Then, nothing.
---
Thorne Blackwood stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, the Manhattan skyline spread before him like a glittering chessboard. Three days since Elara had walked out of his bedroom and his life. Three days of unanswered calls and increasingly terse text messages.
"The Winters merger documents are ready for your signature, sir," his assistant announced from the doorway. "And Mr. Harrison is here with the security report you requested."
Thorne turned, gesturing for the security chief to enter. "Leave the documents. I'll review them later."
Once alone with Harrison, Thorne's composed facade slipped slightly. "Well?"
The former military man stood at parade rest, his expression professionally neutral. "Miss Winters has maintained her regular schedule—home, office, meetings with her father regarding the merger. No unusual contacts or deviations from routine."
"And she's still refusing security detail," Thorne stated rather than asked, frustration evident in his tone.
"Yes, sir. She dismissed the team yesterday morning. Said she didn't need, and I quote, 'babysitters reporting her movements back to you.'"
Thorne's jaw tightened. Stubborn, brilliant woman. Even in her anger, she'd accurately assessed his intentions in maintaining the security team.
"Has she had any contact with Dominic or Vivienne?" he asked, moving to his desk.
"None that we've observed with your nephew," Harrison replied. "As for Miss Vivienne Winters, she appears to have left town three days ago. Her current whereabouts are unknown."
This information gave Thorne pause. "Unknown? That's unacceptable. Find her."
"We're working on it, sir. Her phone is off, credit cards inactive. She withdrew a significant amount of cash before disappearing."
Unease settled in Thorne's stomach. Vivienne's disappearance coincided exactly with Elara's departure from his home. The timing seemed unlikely to be coincidental.
"Double the surveillance on Elara," he ordered. "Discreetly. If she notices, she'll only push further away."
Harrison nodded. "There's one more thing, sir. Miss Winters received a package yesterday. Courier delivery, no return address. Our team wasn't close enough to intercept or examine it."
Thorne's unease deepened. "Find out what was in that package."
"Yes, sir." Harrison hesitated, then added, "If I may speak freely?"
Thorne nodded curtly.
"In my experience, when someone goes to ground with cash and no electronic footprint, they're planning something. Miss Vivienne's public humiliation provides ample motive for retaliation."
"I'm aware," Thorne replied coldly. "That's why finding her is your top priority."
After Harrison departed, Thorne returned to the window, his reflection staring back at him from the glass—composed, controlled, revealing nothing of the turmoil beneath. The argument with Elara replayed in his mind for the hundredth time, each word a fresh cut.
She was hiding something—something beyond the betrayal and humiliation she'd suffered at Dominic and Vivienne's hands. Something that fueled her obsession with revenge beyond all reasonable measure.
"What aren't you telling me, Elara?" he murmured to the empty room.
His phone rang, Dominic's name flashing on the screen. Thorne nearly declined the call out of habit—his relationship with his nephew had deteriorated to purely professional interactions since the engagement announcement—but something made him answer.
"What is it?" he asked without preamble.
"It's about Elara," Dominic replied, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "And Vivienne. I think there's a problem."
Thorne's grip tightened on the phone. "Explain."
"Vivienne's been missing for three days. The last thing she said was that she was going to 'fix things' with Elara, that she had a plan."
"And you're only mentioning this now?" Thorne's voice dropped dangerously.
"I thought she was just blowing off steam!" Dominic protested. "But I called Elara today to warn her, and she sounded... strange. Distracted. Like something was wrong. Then she hung up abruptly."
Thorne was already moving toward the door, signaling his assistant. "When exactly did you speak with her?"
"About an hour ago. She was at the parking garage near Winters Pharmaceuticals."
"Get Harrison back in here now," Thorne ordered his assistant as he grabbed his coat. "And have my car brought around immediately."
"Uncle Thorne, what's going on?" Dominic asked, confusion evident in his voice.
"If anything happens to her," Thorne replied coldly, "I will hold you personally responsible."
He ended the call, striding toward the elevator with purpose. The argument with Elara seemed trivial now in the face of potential danger. Whatever secrets she was keeping, whatever disagreements lay between them, none of it mattered if she wasn't safe.
---
The parking garage was a crime scene by the time Thorne arrived, police tape cordoning off a section of the third level. His heart constricted painfully at the sight of Elara's abandoned handbag being photographed where it had fallen.
"Mr. Blackwood," Detective Reeves greeted him with professional courtesy. "I understand Miss Winters is your fiancée."
"What happened?" Thorne demanded, his gaze fixed on the evidence markers scattered across the concrete.
"Security cameras show Miss Winters entering the elevator at 2:17 PM. She exits on this level at 2:19, appears to be on the phone, and walks toward her vehicle." The detective consulted his notes. "At 2:21, a figure in dark clothing approaches from behind. There's a struggle, brief but intense. Miss Winters is subdued with what appears to be a chemical agent and carried to a waiting vehicle—dark sedan, plates obscured."
"Kidnapped," Thorne stated flatly, the word tasting like ash.
"It appears so," the detective confirmed. "No ransom demand yet, but it's early."
Thorne's mind raced through possibilities, each more disturbing than the last. "I want access to all security footage. My team will work alongside yours."
"Mr. Blackwood, this is a police investigation—"
"My resources exceed yours," Thorne interrupted coldly. "And every minute wasted on jurisdictional arguments decreases the chances of finding her alive."
The detective studied him for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. "Your security chief is already coordinating with our technical team. But I need to ask—do you have any idea who might want to harm Miss Winters?"
Vivienne's face flashed in Thorne's mind, along with her parting threat: "You'll regret this. Both of you will. This isn't over."
"I have several theories," he replied grimly. "Starting with my nephew's former lover."
---
Hours passed in a blur of security footage, witness statements, and increasingly desperate searches. By nightfall, Thorne had established a command center in his penthouse, where Harrison coordinated with both police and private investigators.
"Still no ransom demand," Harrison reported, his expression grim. "Which suggests this isn't about money."
"It's about revenge," Thorne stated, studying the timeline they'd constructed on a digital board. "Vivienne blames Elara for her public humiliation, for losing her home, her social standing."
"We've located the vehicle used in the abduction," Harrison continued. "Abandoned in Queens, wiped clean. Stolen three days ago."
The timing confirmed Thorne's suspicions. "The same day Vivienne disappeared."
"Yes, sir. But there's something else." Harrison hesitated. "The package delivered to Miss Winters yesterday? We've identified the courier service and obtained a copy of the delivery confirmation."
He handed Thorne a tablet displaying a grainy image—Elara signing for a small package, her expression unreadable.
"What was in it?" Thorne demanded.
"Unknown. But the courier remembers it was lightweight, approximately six by nine inches, padded envelope."
Thorne's phone rang—Elara's father. "Richard," he answered, moving away from the investigative team for privacy.
"Any news?" Richard Winters asked, his voice strained with worry.
"Nothing concrete yet," Thorne admitted. "But we're pursuing every lead."
"This is my fault," the older man said heavily. "I should have seen what Vivienne was becoming. Should have protected Elara better."
"Self-recrimination won't help find her," Thorne replied, more harshly than intended. He softened his tone. "We need to focus on the present. Did Elara mention anything unusual recently? Any concerns about Vivienne specifically?"
"No," Richard sighed. "Though she's been... different since your engagement party. Distracted. Worried about something she wouldn't discuss."
The engagement party. The night everything had changed between them. The night Thorne had finally held her in his arms after years of watching from a distance, only to lose her days later over an argument about revenge and trust.
"I'll find her, Richard," Thorne promised, conviction hardening his voice. "Whatever it takes."
After ending the call, Thorne returned to the investigation board, studying every detail with renewed intensity. Something was missing—some connection he wasn't seeing.
"Sir," Harrison approached cautiously. "It's nearly midnight. The team needs rest if we're going to be effective tomorrow."
"I don't pay you to rest during a crisis," Thorne snapped, immediately regretting his tone. "But you're right. Set up a rotation. Half the team rests while the others continue."
Harrison nodded, turning to implement the order when Thorne's phone buzzed with a text message from an unknown number.
His blood ran cold as he read the single line:
"She dies at dawn unless you come alone. Coordinates attached."
Attached was a location pin for an abandoned industrial site on the outskirts of the city.
Thorne stared at the message, calculation and fear warring within him. The obvious trap was meant to isolate him, to draw him away from his security and resources. The logical move would be to inform the police, to approach with overwhelming force.
But logic had little place when Elara's life hung in the balance.
"Harrison," he called, his decision made. "I need my personal vehicle prepared. And my secondary phone."
"Sir?" Harrison's expression shifted to concern. "Has there been a development?"
"Nothing that concerns the team," Thorne lied smoothly. "Continue the investigation. I have a personal matter to attend to."
Harrison's eyes narrowed slightly—the man was too experienced to be easily fooled. "With all due respect, sir, now isn't the time for solo operations."
Thorne fixed him with a cold stare. "That will be all, Harrison."
As his security chief reluctantly withdrew, Thorne moved to his private safe, retrieving items he hoped wouldn't be necessary. The weight of the gun felt foreign in his hand—he'd always preferred to fight his battles with intellect and influence rather than physical force.
But for Elara, he would become whatever was necessary.
The message had given him until dawn—approximately five hours. Enough time to prepare, to plan, to anticipate the trap that awaited him. Not enough time to orchestrate a full tactical response without risking her life.
As he prepared to leave, Thorne paused at his desk, opening the top drawer to remove a small velvet box. Inside nestled a ring he'd commissioned years ago, when Elara had still been engaged to his nephew—a foolish indulgence he'd never expected to give her.
He slipped the box into his pocket, a talisman against the darkness ahead.
"Hold on, Elara," he whispered to the empty room. "I'm coming."
