Free Escape by Francine Pascal Page B

completely lost track of time. She’d probablyremember what time it was when she woke up in his bed tomorrow morning. . . .
    Okay, now you’re overdoing it. Just give her time. She’s still got twenty minutes. She’ll probably be back before then.
    Unless something was wrong.
    Maybe she had already cut the date short? Maybe she had cut it short after an hour and 457 had already gotten his hands on her again? Maybe he had more men with him this time? Maybe she’d finally lost a fight?
    Maybe he needed to call her.
    Just a quick call. This was exactly what the cell phones were for. Just to check in. For safety purposes. It wasn’t like he’d be calling to check up on Ed and Gaia or interrupt their date. He was just being. . . responsible.
    Sam dropped his book to the floor and ripped the cell phone from his pocket. He had already programmed Gaia’s number into his phone and his number into hers. He held his thumb over the send button, and then he hesitated.
    But any internal arguments he was having became moot, anyway. His thumb had made up its mind before he had. It had already pressed down on the send button, and he had done nothing to stop it.
    Just a quick hello. Just a two-second check-in to be sure she was all right. . .
    Painfully Shrill
    CHEZ ES SAADA WAS ALIVE AND kicking with New York’s urban elite—couples at the tables, huge parties at the bar, candlelit stone arches, and elegant iron lanterns and even bits of stained glass adorning the walls. The underground atmosphere couldn’t have been more perfect. Festive and romantic. Filled with life, yet still private. And Gaia was taking it all in. Enjoying herself, in fact. Immersing herself in the moment. Sipping wine, enjoying her food, even letting Ed feed her grapes every now and again when she was sure no one was watching. It was the quintessential, picture-perfect, ideal New York night on the town.
    Until the phone rang.
    The ear-piercing electronic shriek of a cell phone seemed to rattle the entire restaurant. But since Gaia had always defined herself as a non-cell-phone person, the entire restaurant was forced to suffer through three painfully shrill rings before Ed finally noticed that they seemed to be coming from Gaia’s bag.
    â€œIs that yours?” Ed asked.
    â€œI guess it is,” Gaia muttered, shoving her hands down into the little handbag she’d borrowed from Tatiana and fumbling with every single unidentifiable button as it continued to scream at her. The entire restaurant seemed to roll its eyes inunison. Gaia was ready to pound the thing against the table like a hammer just to shut it up. “Just let me. . . Jesus, how do you turn this goddamn thing—”
    â€œWhy don’t you answer it?” Ed asked, wondering if she knew how.
    She glimpsed the flashing green readout. Flashing in bold black letters over and over was one small word:
    SAM. . . SAM. . . SAM . . .
    He’d programmed his name in with his number. Oh, crap. Was that really necessary? I’ve got a photographic memory, for God’s sake. I don’t need any help remembering numbers. Gaia cursed the day that some hopeless paranoid bastard had invented caller ID. Now Sam’s name was flashing over and over for anyone with decent eyesight to see. She hadn’t thought for a second about the phone. She hadn’t thought to turn the ringer off before dinner or just to turn the whole phone off. Sam, on the other hand, seemed to have thought of everything.
    â€œHere,” Ed said, reaching for the phone. “Let me help—”
    â€œNo,” Gaia snapped, pulling the phone out of Ed’s reach He looked positively bewildered, if not suspicious. Gaia felt her entire chest cave in with guilt. “I can do it,” she insisted, trying in vain to gloss over the horribly awkward moment with anger. She took one long hard look at the phone and finally