Chapter 51 Secret Meeting
"Tristan!"
He ran in from the bedroom. "What?"
"She’s being moved," I said. "To St. Jude’s. Tonight."
Tristan swore. "St. Jude’s? That’s a country club."
"We have to stop it," I said.
"We can't stop a judge’s order."
"We can if we prove she’s faking it," I said. "We need to go to the precinct. Now."
"Mina, it’s dangerous."
"She’s dangerous!" I grabbed my coat. "If she gets to St. Jude’s, she wins. She’ll manipulate the doctors. She’ll get out. And she’ll come for us."
Tristan looked at me. He saw the fire in my eyes.
"Okay," he said. "Let’s go."
We were running out of time.
I sat in the passenger seat of Tristan’s car, my hands clenched in my lap. Tristan drove like a man possessed, weaving through the late-night traffic as we headed toward the precinct.
Ida was being moved.
Tonight.
If she got to St. Jude’s, she would be untouchable. She would have doctors she could bribe, orderlies she could charm, and walls she could eventually walk through.
"Vane is meeting us there," Tristan said, his eyes glued to the road. "He’s filing an emergency injunction."
"On what grounds?"
"On the grounds that the psychiatrist who signed her evaluation just bought a villa in Tuscany. Cash."
I looked at him. "You found that out in twenty minutes?"
"I have resources," he said grimly. "And I’m motivated."
We pulled up to the precinct. It was a fortress of brick and fluorescent light.
We ran inside.
Vane was waiting in the lobby. He looked disheveled, his tie askew.
"You’re too late," he said.
Tristan stopped. "What?"
"They moved her early. The transfer order was time-stamped for 8:00 PM. She’s gone."
"Where?" I demanded.
"St. Jude’s," Vane said. "She’s already en route. They used a private ambulance."
Tristan swore. He punched the wall.
"We have to go after her," he said. "We have to stop the ambulance."
"Tristan, no," Vane said, grabbing his arm. "That’s interfering with a police transfer. You’ll be arrested. And then Ida wins."
Tristan looked at Vane, then at me. He was vibrating with rage.
"So we just let her go?" he asked. "We let her check into a spa while we wait for her to plan her next attack?"
"We fight it in court," Vane said. "Tomorrow morning. I’ll present the evidence of the bribe. We’ll get the transfer revoked."
"Tomorrow morning is too late!" Tristan shouted. "She’ll be entrenched by then!"
"Vane is right," I said quietly.
Tristan spun on me. "What?"
"We can't stop the ambulance," I said. "But we can make sure she doesn't get comfortable."
I pulled out my phone.
"What are you doing?" Tristan asked.
"I’m calling the press," I said. "If Ida wants to be a celebrity, let’s give her an audience. Let’s tell the world that a murderer is being hidden in a luxury asylum."
I dialed the number for the New York Times reporter I had met at the gala.
"Hello? Yes. I have a tip. About Ida Stevens. She’s being moved to St. Jude’s. Tonight. And you might want to ask the judge about his new boat."
I hung up.
I looked at Tristan.
"Now," I said. "We go home. And we wait."
We went back to my apartment.
The night felt heavy.
We sat on the couch, staring at the TV. The news broke an hour later.
BREAKING: IDA STEVENS TRANSFERRED TO LUXURY FACILITY AMID CORRUPTION ALLEGATIONS.
There were shots of the ambulance arriving at St. Jude’s. protestors were already gathering at the gates.
"It’s a circus," Tristan muttered.
"It’s pressure," I said. "She can't hide in the dark if we keep shining a light on her."
Tristan turned off the TV.
He looked at me.
"I’m tired," he whispered. "I’m so tired of fighting her."
"I know."
He leaned his head back against the cushion.
"Can we just..." He gestured to the apartment. "Can we pretend? Just for tonight? That none of this is happening?"
I looked at him. I saw the exhaustion etched into his face. I saw the fear that he was never going to be free.
I moved closer to him.
"We can pretend," I said.
I kissed him.
Tristan’s hands found my waist. He pulled me into his lap. His kiss deepened, becoming hungry, desperate.
"Make me forget," he whispered against my lips. "Please, Mina. Make me forget everything but you."
I looked into his eyes. They were dark pools of need.
And I felt a shift inside me.
I didn't want to be the victim anymore. I didn't want to be the survivor.
I wanted to be the architect.
I wanted to control the chaos.
"Okay," I said. "I’ll make you forget."
I stood up.
I took his hand.
"Come with me."
I led him to the bedroom.
I pushed him down onto the bed.
I stood over him. I looked down at him.
He looked up at me, waiting. Trusting.
I reached for his tie.
I undid it. Slowly.
I pulled it from his collar.
Then, I leaned down.
"Do you trust me?" I asked.
"Yes," he whispered. "With my life."
"Good."
I tied his hands to the headboard.
His eyes widened. A spark of surprise, and then... heat.
"Mina?"
"You wanted to forget," I said, straddling his lap. "So let’s forget."