And So I Ran - Complete

Chapter 8

"How large?!" It was 4:00 am Sunday morning local time, but Taylor had woken me to a cell phone image of a series of pictures of Anastasia taken by that fucker José. Apparently, he was pimping her images at his exhibition.

"They're each around five foot tall," the disembodied voice of Taylor's eyes and ears on the ground confirmed nervously. "They're ten-thousand dollars each."

Knowing Ana was going to her father's, Sawyer and Prescott had tailed her there from Seattle last night, waiting until she was safely inside before checking into a hotel for a couple of nights. Appreciating Ana might recognize them if they went to the gallery, they'd followed Ray's car as far as Portland this morning, organizing for new security to be waiting at the exhibition. The new guy had recognized Ana's image from the security packet and had rung Taylor to tell him about the photos.

"Buy them," I ordered immediately.

"That's seventy-thousand dollars," the man spluttered. Clearly, he had no idea who he was working for.

"Offer them a round hundred," I continued, "on strict condition of anonymity and I want them taken off display immediately. I also want a guarantee no further prints will be made. Buy them under your name if you have to. Text Taylor their account details. I'll have the money there within half an hour. No matter what, I don't want the photographer or the subject to know who's purchased them. If anyone asks, say it's for a private collection."

With a final look at the cell phone image of the photos, I handed the phone back to Taylor, absolutely seething. The photos were beautiful and well worth every penny I'd spent on them. What I didn't like was that José had been close enough to capture such candid images of Ana. She looked so relaxed and happy. The way I wanted her to look when she was with me.

Issuing final instructions into the phone, Taylor was eyeing me warily.

"I'm going to have a shower," I said decisively. "When you get the account details, transfer the money from my untraceable account."

"You don't wish to return to bed?" Taylor enquired, no doubt working out his own movements for the day.

"No. I'm up now. You might want to take a few moments to get dressed," I replied. For the first time, Taylor wasn't dressed in a sober dark suit. Instead, he was wearing stripped long legged pajama pants and a grey V-necked TShirt.

"I'll do that, sir," he replied with an embarrassed nod, artfully not mentioning my own attire of boxer briefs and a white TShirt.

"Then let's reconvene here in twenty minutes for breakfast," I suggested, not missing Taylor's slightly surprised expression. We didn't usually take our meals together unless he was shadowing me at a restaurant, but I wanted to know the second this deal was done. Besides, I'd found I quite enjoyed his company on this trip. He was surprisingly erudite and witty, and he helped distract me from my ever-present thoughts about Anastasia Steele.