She made another, passed it to him, and unlike last night, was abundantly careful not to let their fingers brush. His mocking half-smile showed that he realized.
Her stomach squeezed.
“About last night…” She curled her hands around the cup, searching for words, her eyes on his face.
The only sign that he’d heard was a slight narrowing of his gaze. Other than that, he stood as still as a statue.
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
He waited, unspeaking.
“The whole kissing you thing was a mistake.” His eyes flashed with something she didn’t understand. His silence was making her nervous. “It won’t happen again.”
He drunk his coffee, eyes pinned to her face, so she felt as though he were touching her.
“It was stupid. If you don’t want to do this anymore, I’ll completely understand. There must be a thousand other things you’d prefer to be doing, in fact.” She laughed uneasily.
Silence crackled between them, his eyes roaming her face, until finally he put down his coffee and walked towards her.
“The problem isn’t that I don’t want to do this.” His words were hoarse, his voice throaty and deep. Her gut pulled. “It’s that I can’t.” He stood so close she could feel heat emanating off his frame. “I have a job to do here, and I can’t do it if I’m thinking about you in that way.”
She swallowed, his explanation a balm she hadn’t known she needed.
“But it’s more than that.”
“Oh?”
“What you’re going through is incredibly difficult. I’ve seen it before. I know what this kind of anxiety does to a person, how isolated and scared you feel. You’re vulnerable, Max, you’re looking for reassurance, for someone to make you feel okay, to tell you everything’s going to be okay. I’m not going to be the asshole who takes advantage of that.”
“When you said you wanted to go shopping, I presumed you meant for clothes,” he drawled, as she turned down another aisle of the antique bookshop.
“Stereotyping much?”
His grin warmed her belly. She tried to ignore it, but the sensation of heat spiralled through her anyway. She hadn’t been able to turn off her awareness of him since that morning.
“I just wouldn’t have guessed antique books,” he said.
“I love it here,” she responded, drawing a centuries’ old complete works of Shakespeare from the shelf. “These books are from all over the world – upstairs there’s African and Middle Eastern, some of the oldest texts the general public can buy. I don’t know why it’s not busier.”
“I guess people don’t come to Paris to buy antique books?”
“Philistines,” she joked, replacing the Shakespeare. “I already have one.”
“You like books.”
She frowned. “Obviously. Doesn’t everyone?”
“No.”
“I guess that’s true now. We scroll our phones more than we actually read. Kind of sad, actually.”
“Social media is a form of reading.”
She made a sound of disapproval, then gasped. “Oh, look! It’s an early copy of To The Lighthouse – Virginia Woolf. I love this book.” She turned it over in her hands. “I have to have it.”
He walked silently behind her as she moved to the register, and as excited as she was by the book, she was aware of his every step, his proximity, his warmth, his masculine fragrance, so she slowed down a little, stretching out their closeness, enjoying being near him.
What time was her flight supposed to leave? She couldn’t remember, and as they emerged onto a sun-filled Parisian street, she tilted her face to the sky and breathed in, feeling relaxed for the first time in a long time.
“I feel safe with you,” she said, without looking at him at first, but when he didn’t respond she turned to him slowly. “You make me feel safe.”
His eyes lanced her then wordlessly he reached out, taking the book bag from her. She smiled as she passed it off, and without thinking about anything as frivolous as her fingers and their placement, their hands brushed, quite by accident, and it was like being struck by lightning. Did he feel it too?
Her eyes flared to his, then away again, her mouth dry, her knees wobbly.
“That’s my job.”
She pulled her lips to the side, as he approached the car, opening the rear door and placing the book in. She stared at the open door a moment then transferred her gaze to Noah.
“Let’s walk for a while. I don’t want to go yet.”
He lifted a brow, but closed the door, locking the car before joining her once more.
“You’re happy here.”
“In Paris? I guess so.”
“Why?”
“Look around you.” She gestured down the small rue di Antoinette, smiling as a little girl stumbled down from a chair in the pursuit of a pigeon. “It’s so beautiful.”
Noah scanned the buildings that surrounded them. “Yes.”
She laughed. “Not exactly a ringing endorsement.”
He grinned, surprising her, pulling at something in the region of her heart. “You want me to burst into song about it or something? I think that’s been done already.” To her surprise, he began to sing the Ella Fitzgerald ballad, so beautifully she stopped walking.
“You have a stunning voice.”
He laughed. “That’s something I’ve never heard before.”
“Then you mustn’t sing for people often because it’s not really subjective.”
“I don’t, actually. Ever.”
It was ridiculous that such a throwaway comment should set her heart on fire like that. She felt…special.
She began to walk again, and at the corner, pointed to a boulangerie. “Coffee?”
He lifted his shoulders. “It’s your walk, your choice.”
Her heart extinguished quickly. They were not two lovers strolling the streets of Paris. He was there out of duty, protecting her, indulging her wishes, not living out his own.
Darkness spread over her mood but she acted as though she were completely fine. “I’ll get it. You can wait outside.”
He opened his mouth to object but she shook her head. “I’m sure you’ll be able to keep me safe from the footpath, just this once.”
He frowned, but did as she wished, remaining outside while she ordered their drinks and got her rioting nerves under control. She bought a couple of pastries as well, and a cupcake, then pushed out onto the street. He stood, completely alert, his body tense, his eyes wandering in every direction, underscoring just how much this was work for him, not pleasure.
It was something he’d pointed out to her again and again, but seeing him like this just made her realise what a ridiculous fantasy she’d somehow been concocting.
“I got pastries too. Let’s eat them on the flight.”
Suddenly, she just wanted to be back in London.
Chapter 6
THEIR SECURITY BUSINESS had a private jet, but it was nothing like this. It was more utilitarian, a tool to get them from A to B in a hurry, as needed, generally just around the States. This beast of a jet was like a sky palace, from the white leather lounge suite to the chandelier decorated dining room, a master bedroom that looked like it belonged in a Manhattan penthouse, a cinema, and a gym. He toured the plane in a professional capacity, checking for safety, but even as he did so he was awash with awe at the sheer grandiosity of it.
Even compared to clients he’d worked for in the past, this was next level.
He shouldn’t have been surprised, except Gray was never showy. In Iraq, Noah hadn’t even known Gray was a multi-billionaire; he’d acted like any other guy, getting his hands dirty, messing around, going through the stress, loss, adrenalin and fear in all the same ways. Max wasn’t showy either, but living up close and personal with her he couldn’t ignore the obvious, out of this world wealth she had at her fingertips. And had done since birth. To her, this must have all been very ordinary.
It was a
short flight – just over an hour – and Max read the Virginia Woolf book the whole time, pausing only to nibble the cupcake, then meticulously wipe her fingers on a moist towelette before returning to the book. He worked – or pretended to work – when he wasn’t letting his eyes stray to her and the feline grace she exuded as she sat, legs curled beneath her, body relaxed yet graceful.
From the jet, it was straight into a waiting car, her usual driver Felix behind the wheel. Everything in Max’s life went like clockwork, thanks to Rachel, her assistant, who he knew was paid well above the odds but in exchange worked whenever Max needed her.
Noah sat in the front, dark glasses in place, so she wouldn’t know how often he looked at her in the side mirror. Almost as often as she looked at him.
Hell, this was the last thing he needed.
He forced himself to focus, to run through the data he had on her stalker, the incidents she’d logged, the access points to her life, the people in her life, the forensic evidence – none – which had him spiraling into a whole other thought process. In order to be able to leave such clean spaces, her stalker must have some kind of forensics knowledge. Time spent in a police force, a scientific or laboratory background, something that gave them the skills necessary to evade regular detection.
“I need to go to the office for a while. Okay?”
He dipped his head. “As I said in Paris, it’s your life.”
“Right. You’re just along for the ride.”
His eyes moved to the mirror, a small frown on his face. Why did she sound angry about that?
He didn’t respond. The car slid into the basement, and Noah slid his iPad into his computer bag, his eyes scanning the basement on autopilot, unprepared for anything unusual. But he saw it anyway, the moment it crossed his vision. “Stop the car.”
The driver took a second to react, but pressed the brakes lightly, so there was no squeal.
“What is it?”
Damn it. What he wouldn’t do to save Max from sounding scared like that. “Stay here.” His voice held a warning, and he turned to the driver as if to enlist his help with keeping Max in the car, then pushed out, his hand reaching for his hip, where the pistol sat.
Her car space was covered in what appeared to be, at first glance, red paint but which, as he got closer, he recognized as blood. Animal blood, he’d guess, and enough of it to dry tacky on the walls.
“Oh my God.”
He could have throttled the driver. Max was right behind him, pale as a sheet, her eyes filled with tears. “Who’s doing this?”
She moved closer to him on autopilot and without a second thought he put an arm around her, holding her to him, as if through that contact alone he could keep her right where she was.
“I don’t know, Max, but I swear to you, I will find out. And until then, you are safe. I will keep you safe if it’s the last thing I do.”
She was shivering uncontrollably.
“It’s animal blood,” he said, as though that might reassure her. She nodded against his side.
“But…why?”
“Because this person is sick. That’s the only explanation.”
He looked over his shoulder for the driver. “Take our suitcases to Max’s office. Thanks.”
He pulled out his phone, dialled his friend – DCS Wingrave – and asked for the best forensics team to be sent immediately, his eyes not leaving Max’s face. He then waited for the driver to return, giving strict instructions to remain with the car until the police arrived. They stood there, silent, for the twenty minutes that took, and then Noah had a quiet word with Wingrave.
“I don’t suspect the driver, but I can’t rule him out completely. Treat him with caution. This has to be an inside job.” He flicked a glance at Max, to be sure she couldn’t hear him. “There’s too much access, way too little trail. Anything you can turn up would be appreciated.”
“Of course, mate. We’re on it.”
“I’m going to need to be kept informed.”
It wasn’t protocol, but their friendship went way back, so too did the trust between the two men.
“I’ll send you a report by the end of the day.”
Noah dipped his head in thanks. “I want this bastard caught, Drew. Yesterday.”
“Understood.”
“I’m fine,” she assured him, when she felt anything but fine. “It’s just animal blood. A stupid prank. It doesn’t mean anything.” It meant something. It meant something dark and dangerous and scary, too much to analyse.
She forced a smile to her face as she greeted Rachel. “Hi, Rach.”
Max’s assistant dipped her head and stood, not missing a beat. “Lunch is on your desk, and I’ve prioritized your emails. There’s a two o’clock meeting you need to be in on, to do with the restructure of the Aegean contract. I’ve flagged anything else urgent.”
Noah strode into Max’s office, anger flashing through him – an anger he’d never experienced in a professional role. He’d missed something. He hadn’t done enough. There was no other explanation for the access this person had.
Max’s office was secure. He nodded to her, where she stood at the door and Max walked in with a determination that made his gut roll. She was so brave, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to pull her into his arms and hold her close to him again, to distract her with their desire, to kiss her until she forgot about a stalker and blood and being followed and danger.
She worked almost as though nothing was wrong, but Noah could see beyond the act now. He saw the tightness around her lips, the look in her eyes that spoke of feeling hunted and wanted to flatten the entire world until he knew who was doing this to her.
He worked flat out, analysing security footage, making contact with his friends in international police forces to compare MO’s, to see if there were similar characteristics to any active or historic cases. There was too much sophistication here, it wasn’t likely that Max was the first victim. But it was highly possible the stalker’s skills and abilities were improving, that he was growing bolder by having escaped detection.
Noah didn’t need to press ‘play’ on the tape to see how that ended. His eyes strayed to Max, his gut twisting hard.
* * *
“I’m finished.” She scraped her chair back, focusing on Noah, wondering why after such a short time he felt like a kind of anchor to her.
He compressed his lips, a habit he had when he was deep in thought, then stood.
“Give me a minute.”
She nodded, looking out over a bleak London, wondering if it had really only been earlier that morning she’d been in Paris staring up at a blue sky, the sun on her face fooling her into thinking she was truly carefree.
He made some calls, speaking too softly for her to hear every word, her brain too mushed to really try, and then he was at her side.
“Let’s go.”
In the garage, he took the driver’s seat, so Max shivered at the idea that the man who ferried her all over town at any hour might bear some fault in all this.
“It’s just a precaution,” he muttered, as though sensing her need for reassurance.
She clasped her hands in her lap and stared out of the window. Familiar landmarks whizzed past, but she took no comfort from how often she’d seen them.
“How do you know the way so well?” The question emerged breathless. When she turned to face him, adrenalin pounded through her.
“We came here the day before yesterday,” he reminded her.
“But you’re not from London.”
“I’ve spent time here.”
“When?”
Talking to Noah was exactly what she needed to keep her mind off things.
“For work.”
It told her nothing.
“When you were protecting someone?”
He nodded once.
“And you can’t tell me who.”
He slid her a sidelong glance. “No.”
“What if I guess?”
His laugh was rich and warm and so like a normal sound that blood pounded through her in sheer relief. She found herself smiling, curling a little in the seat to face him bodily.
“Give it a shot.”
“Will you tell me if I’m right?”
“I won’t deny it.”
“Uh huh. Fascinating. Someone…royal?”
“No.”
“Hmm. Famous?”
“Yes.”
“Famous why?”
“That’s cheating.”
She pouted, tapping her index finger to her chin as she considered that. “Famous…for acting?”
He pulled the car to a stop at traffic lights, automatically looking left and right, scoping the environment. It reminded her of the imminent danger he anticipated, and her smile slipped.
“No.”
“Music, then,” she said, her voice wobbly.
“No.”
“I’m stumped.”
He grinned, accelerating as the light changed. “Good. It’s confidential, remember.”
“Fine,” she sat back in her seat.
“I lived here on and off for eighteen months. My client worked in the city, as you do, and lived in Hammersmith. I’m familiar with these roads.”
“Did you drive him to and from work as well?”
“Her,” he corrected automatically. “On occasion.”
“Because she had a stalker?”
“No.”
“Then why –,”
“She was the target of national outrage. Death threats, newspaper articles. It was a modern day witch hunt.”
It was more information than he’d wanted to reveal, she was sure of it. Max didn’t probe though; she respected his boundary, and the fact he viewed his protectees as confidential.
“There was no one source of threat, but many. She required general round-the-clock protection. People in the street would attack her, berate her. I watched this woman go from a total ball-buster to a nervous wreck in the space of twelve months. God, I hated people.”
Max knew then who he was talking about. “Marina Oshvelt,” she said softly, referring to the Chairperson of a massive bank that had gone bust, leaving tens of thousands of Britons stranded, their money inaccessible, mortgages called in.
Never Mine: The Rich List Book 1 Page 7
