kly doing up his fly. He follows me
out and then holds the door open for me to climb back in. Strolling quickly
around to the driver’s side, he climbs in beside me, retrieves the BlackBerry,
and makes a call.
“Where’s Sawyer?” he snaps. “And the Dodge? How come Sawyer’s not
with you?”
He listens intently to Ryan, I assume.
“Her?” he gasps. “Stick with her.” Christian hangs up and gazes at me.
Her! The driver of the car? Who could that be—Elena? Leila?
“The driver of the Dodge is female?”
“So it would appear,” he says quietly. His mouth presses into a thin angry
line. “Let’s get you home,” he mutters. He starts up the R8 with a roar and
reverses smoothly out of the space.
“Where’s the, er . . . unsub? What does that mean by the way?
Sounds very BDSM.”
Christian smiles briefly as he eases the car out of the lot and back onto
Stewart Street.
“It stands for Unknown Subject. Ryan is ex-FBI.”
“Ex-FBI?”
“Don’t ask.” Christian shakes his head. It’s obvious he’s deep in
contemplation.
“Well, where is this female unsub?”
“On the I-5, heading south.” He glances at me, his eyes grim. Jeez—from
passionate to calm to anxious in the space of a few moments. I reach over
and caress his thigh, running my fingers leisurely up the inside seam of his
jeans, hoping to improve his mood. He takes his hand off the steering wheel
and stops the slow ascent of my hand.
“No,” he says. “We’ve made it this far. You don’t want me to ha一ve an accident
three blocks from home.” He raises my hand to his lips and plants a cool kiss
on my index finger to take the sting out of his rebuke. Cool, calm,
authoritative . . . My Fifty. And for the first time in a while he makes me feel
like a wayward child. I withdraw my hand and sit quietly for a moment.
“Female?”
“Apparently so.” He sighs, turns into the underground garage at 99 | P a g e
Fifty Shades Freed
Escala, and punches the access code into the security keypad. The gate
swings open and he drives on, smoothly parking the R8 in its designated
space.
“I
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