But now that joking phrase sent a shiver down my spine. Since we had just the one safe, I didn't have to bother trying to remember his combination. But when I stuck my hand in his identification folder and found his passport, I frowned. There were also little bits of something that felt confetti-size. I pulled out the whole folder and my frown deepened.

Bits of blue plastic fell out. A whole mound of them, enough for two handfuls. When I looked closer, I realized what I was looking at. My passport. He'd shredded it.

Shit.

Had he anticipated this? Had he wondered if, at some point, I would say enough was enough and I would try to go?

I sat back on my heels.

Think. Think. Think. Think. It wasn't the end of the world. I knew how to do this. I could do this. I tried to talk myself through it. Okay, I could get an expedited passport. That would take maybe a little over a week. All I needed was my birth certificate and social security card. The social security card was easy. My mother had that. She'd had mine and my sisters’ since we were kids.

I went back to my identification folder and dug around for my birth certificate.

Jesus Christ, again, torn into shreds. Who did that? Who would do that to someone?

I walked back and forth. He'd done this to me. He’d made sure that even if I got the courage to leave, I wouldn't be able to. At least, not right away. He'd made sure that if I ever grew a pair of balls, I would have to wait, that there would be no fast escape for me, and then he'd have a chance at me.

I was so screwed. I couldn't stay there. Sure, I could change the locks. That was all well and good, but he had identification to prove that he lived there, so he could get a locksmith to undo whatever I did.

I couldn't stay here, and I couldn't go to London. At least not yet.

I was going to have to go home.

Lex…

"You tried to have him kidnapped?"

I grinned as I sat back on the couch in my mother's stark white office.

Xander lounged against the floor to ceiling windows as he looked out onto Hyde Park. He looked bored, but I knew him well. He was calculating the light. I could see his fingers moving back and forth as if he was adjusting his angles, adjusting his focus. He was taking pictures. He wasn't even there. Not mentally, anyway.

Jean Claude paced back and forth on the carpet. My mother sat behind her desk, fingers steepled, chestnut hair cascading over her shoulders. Not a gray hair to be found. As always, she looked stunning.