Leila finally looked at him. She couldn’t stop herself. There were so many layers to his words.
She was thinking about how to respond when the lights in the elevator went out, throwing them into darkness. The lift stopped abruptly, and Laila stumbled in her heels.
Valentine’s strong hand wrapped around her arm, steadying her.
The emergency lighting flickered to life. Leila glanced up at the digital panel above the doors. They were on the 37th floor. Valentine released her arm and stepped forward, pressing the door open button.
Nothing happened.
Then he pressed the emergency call button.
Again, nothing.
“This is why you need comms,” Leila couldn’t help but point out. She tapped her transmit button. “Ops, this is Alpha. We’ve lost power in the southwest service elevator. Sit-rep, over.” The security systems should have immediately registered the elevator fault and a possible cause, and she expected to hear a diagnostic report from whoever was on duty.
Hyun-Woo’s voice filled her ear. “Alpha, this is Bravo. Standby, over.”
The comm went silent.
Leila looked at Valentine. “Something’s wrong.”
She didn’t wait for him to question her further before she explained. “Lee Hyun-Woo didn’t ask me for details, and he told me to standby. That means there’s more to the situation that he’s assessing.”
“How long until he reports?” Valentine asked.
“A minute or two. No more.”
In the dimly lit interior, Leila began considering possible scenarios while they waited.
Hardly any time had passed when Hyun-Woo’s voice filled her ear. “Alpha, Bravo, comeback.”
“I’m here,” she replied.
“We’ve got reports of selective blackouts across the complex. Some elevators have shut down. It’s affecting lighting systems and causing room lockouts. CCTV is out in all elevators, service areas and on the casino floor. Cause is unknown. Emperor’s whereabouts unknown, over.”
“Emperor is secure. Standby,” Leila said.
Then she conveyed the information to Valentine—code name Emperor.
“Anderson is a systems specialist, isn’t he?” Valentine asked.
Leila nodded. Their thoughts were headed in the same direction. This was too much of a coincidence. The possibility of an attack on Seraglio’s systems was why she’d ordered the diagnostic earlier—too late, apparently. Even if by some fluke Anderson wasn’t the cause, such a large-scale failure would not be a simple fix.
“Tell Lee Hyun-Woo to have August call Logan Archer,” Valentine ordered. Briony August was his assistant. Leila didn’t know the other name. At her enquiring look, he added, “He’s a . . . network security specialist.”
She got the feeling he was more than a simple security specialist. “He’s not cleared to work on our systems.”
“The people who are cleared weren’t good enough to prevent this from happening. Archer will fix it.” There was no doubt in his voice.
Leila didn’t argue; she trusted Valentine.
He continued speaking, “I don’t want the breach made public. If anyone asks, say we’re running security simulations.”
Leila relayed the message to Hyun-Woo, then added orders of her own. “Call in additional teams. While the CCTV is down, I want extra personnel on the casino floor and all egress points.” Millions of dollars passed through the casino every night. “Send personnel to all the elevators in case anyone else is stuck inside and unable to call for help. I also want continual sweeps until CCTV is restored. Have the teams assess every corner of this place visually and keep them doing it until we’re back up.”
“I don’t know when we can get you out of there,” Hyun-Woo said.
“It’s not a priority,” Leila replied. “Ensure public safety and casino security, and get the systems operational.”
“Wilco,” he said, shorthand for will comply.
Then the comms went silent.
Leila turned to Valentine. “We’ll probably be here a while.”
He nodded.
Leila crossed her arms over her chest, then, realizing what she was doing, dropped them to her sides. The reality of the situation hit her.
She was trapped in an elevator with Valentine Kincaid.
12
For several minutes, there was silence. But not the kind that meant those involved were lost in thought. The kind where those involved were far too aware of the situation, and the mounting tension.
Maybe it was that tension, maybe it was something else, but Leila’s next words came without volition. “How difficult?”
Valentine looked at her in question.
“You said . . . ‘it was difficult’ . . . to stand aside when I was in danger.”
She wasn’t sure what she wanted from him, and she knew the question was dangerous. It was especially dangerous to ask while she was trapped in a confined space with him.
Valentine looked at her steadily. His words were spoken with the same implacability as one of his commands. “If I hadn’t seen you sparring, didn’t know how good you are, I couldn’t have stopped myself.” He paused. “That difficult.”
Leila trembled.
Valentine took a step towards her and shrugged off his jacket. Before she could divine his intentions, he settled it around her shoulders, tugging the lapels closed.
It dwarfed her frame.
Warmth, and hints of cologne surrounded her. She inhaled deeply, trying to capture more of his scent, even as she said, “I’m fine.”
“You’re cold.”
It was true. The thin fabric of her gown was no protection against the cold air inside the elevator. But that wasn’t why she’d trembled . . . why she acquiesced. Having him put his jacket around her shoulders made Leila feel protected.
She liked it.
She liked it a lot.
So, instead of arguing, she softly said, “Thank you.”
He nodded, then returned to his position beside her, staring ahead.
His next words took her by surprise. “How did you and Lee Hyun-Woo meet?”
He’d never asked her a personal question before. “Why do you want to know?”
“It seems like you’ve known each other for a long time. When you accepted this job, one of your conditions was bringing him along.”
She nodded slowly, understanding why he might be curious. “When I was young, my father was stationed in South Korea. Lee Hyun-Woo’s father was in the Korean military. They became friends, and so did our mothers. Lee Hyun-Woo’s family took good care of us over there. When my family returned to the States, his family immigrated not long after. His father is the one who taught me Hapkido. Hyun-Woo and I were sparring when were kids. We’ve been best friends our whole lives.”
As Leila finished speaking, she wobbled. The adrenalin crash was hitting her hard, and she felt weak. She took a tiny step back, seeking the wall’s support, but stumbled over her heels when her ankle twinged.
She registered movement, but that was all she knew before Valentine swung her up in his arms. He picked her up like he’d done it a thousand times. Leila’s arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders.
Then Valentine stepped back against the elevator wall and used it for leverage as he slid down, taking Leila with him. In moments, they were sitting on the floor in the corner of the elevator, his back against one wall, her back against another, with her in his lap.
“What are you doing?” She tried to push away but his arms tightened, keeping her in place.
“You hurt your ankle, you’ve been trembling since the fight and you can barely stand.”
That was an exaggeration. Maybe. And even if it wasn’t . . . “Then I’ll sit on the floor.”
“You’ll freeze.”
He was right. The cold metal floor would seep through the thin silk of her dress in seconds. But that wasn’t why she silenced her next protest before it emerged.
She was fe
eling . . . she tried to process her emotions . . . ridiculously amendable to him.
She was not . . . her arms around his shoulders tightened for a half-second . . . unhappy about this.
Things between them had changed.
They’d changed in his office.
They’d changed on the dance floor.
They’d changed against that pillar.
And now, there were no potential threats that she needed to identify. No dark corners where an enemy could be hiding. They were safe. They were alone. And the CCTV was out.
Inch by inch, Leila allowed her body to relax against Valentine.
Then they both pretended that this was normal—the General Manager of Seraglio, sitting on the floor of a cold metal elevator, the Chief of Security cradled in his lap.
Even though they were both incredibly aware that it was far from normal.
Incredibly aware that they’d never been so close before.
Subtly, as though that would somehow make him oblivious to what she was doing, Leila nestled into Valentine. She was surrounded by warmth, achingly aware of the strong chest she leaned against and the arms holding her securely, protecting her from the cold metal at her back.
She was once more disconcerted.
She was sitting in his lap.
In Valentine . . . Kincaid’s . . . lap.
Before tonight, had they ever had even a casual conversation? Spoken about anything outside work in more than the most general terms? She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.
They hadn’t. But if ever there was an occasion for it . . .
“Where—” she bit her lip, cutting off the words as she became inexplicably shy—which was ridiculous. It was an innocuous question.
“What?”
She gave a small shake of her head.
“What?” Valentine’s arms tightened in gentle command.
“Where did you . . . grow up?”
“Miami.”
He answered without hesitation, as though she had every right to ask. Given how private he was, Leila was still hesitant.
“How did you end up here?” Here meant any number of things: Seraglio, Las Vegas, with her in his lap . . .
“My mother was a maid at a hotel in South Beach. I don’t know anything about my father except that he was from South Carolina. He didn’t stick around. I grew up living in a hotel, being taken care of by housekeepers and bellhops.”
She hadn’t expected that reply. “Is that why you decided on this career?”
“I didn’t have a choice.” His voice was quiet.
“What do you mean?”
“The owner of the hotel where my mother worked . . .” he stared at the metal doors four feet away “. . . took an interest in her.”
The way he said that . . . “Was she . . . okay with that?” Clearly, the answer was no, but Leila didn’t know how else to ask the question.
“She agreed to it, but she was Mexican. Illegal. He was her boss. Married. He was also high in one of Miami’s organized crime families.”
“You mean the mafia?”
“Mm.”
“I didn’t think they were still around, at least in the traditional Italian-Mafia-family sense. The world seems to have moved on to cybercrime and drug trafficking and terrorism.”
“They’re more low-key. Makes it easier if people think you no longer exist. Now they’ve added drug and arms and human trafficking to their operations.”
“So your mother couldn’t say no, even if she wanted to.”
She felt him nod.
“It went on for years, whenever he felt like it.” Valentine’s arm slid further around Leila’s waist. “One day, a rival came to the hotel looking for him. He was with my mamá. I always knew when he was with her. While I was trying to protect her,” his exhalation stirred the hair at Leila’s temple, “I got shot.”
Leila stiffened against him. He was shot? “I didn’t see a scar in your office.” She blushed, glad her face was hidden.
“It’s mostly faded.”
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen.”
So young. She relaxed against him again, as much for him as for her.
“When I saved my mother, I also saved him. Not that I was trying to, but after that . . . his interest extended to me.” She heard him inhale before he continued. “I’d already been working odd jobs at the hotel, off-book. Knew the ins and outs of every department. But he started keeping me around. It didn’t take long until I realized he wanted to bring me into the family. He figured I’d make a good lieutenant one day.” Valentine’s voice was derisive. “He didn’t know I hated everything about him. That I’d rather be dead than be like him. But I couldn’t leave.”
“Your mom,” Leila said softly.
Valentine nodded. “If I walked away, she’d pay the price. But while he kept me around to learn the family business, I also learned the hotel business. I was good at it, so he made me a manager. But he kept trying to bring me into the fold. It became something of a project.”
“How so?” She asked softly, afraid of his answer.
“Old-school persuasion.”
He didn’t say anything else, and Leila instinctively knew it was bad. She didn’t press for more.
“I got lucky. Everyone knew who I was since he kept me close. One of the rival families, let’s say, acquired, a hotel, but they had no experience and it was bleeding money. I went to them and offered a deal. I’d make a $10 million net profit within one year. If not, I’d swear allegiance. It was a win-win for them.”
That wasn’t luck. That was insanity.
“They got their hotel fixed or they scored against a major rival, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Losing me, after investing so much effort, would have damaged his standing.”
“But how could you give your allegiance to another family? In that kind of culture, doesn’t disloyalty equal death?”
“I never swore loyalty. Everyone knew it. That was the point—and why he couldn’t start a war just because I chose the other team.”
“So you have ties to organized crime?” she asked, hesitantly. Not that he wanted them. He’d made that clear.
“No.” His voice was firm. “I know the players. They know me. But we avoid each other. That was the deal—I fix their hotel and they let us walk away clear. Because you can’t walk away without permission. Doesn’t matter if you’ve sworn loyalty or not.”
“Then what happened?”
“I got a reputation as a hotelier. The next job I took, we left Miami.”
“And they let you go? They kept their word?”
“They gave it publicly. They couldn’t break it without losing respect. And he couldn’t touch us without starting a war.” Valentine inhaled deeply, his head resting back against the metal wall. “But it was years ago, and I’m no longer powerless.”
This explained so much about Valentine. Why he was so private . . . How he had become a man whose commands she’d follow unto death. Leila knew why he’d told her about his past . . . What he was saying by trusting her with his secrets and his scars.
She nestled deeper and lowered her head to his shoulder. “I was a military brat, and I followed in my dad’s footsteps, much to my mom’s chagrin. I studied political science at the U.S. Naval Academy and worked in Naval Intelligence—but you already know that.” It was on her résumé.
She wanted to give him something of equal value to what he’d given her.
“You probably don’t know why I left.” She whispered her words into his neck.
“I can’t give you details, because it’s classified. But there was a mission . . . a joint operation. I was the field intelligence officer.” She could feel his heartbeat where she lay against him. “We were following an operational plan that I developed. We walked into an ambush.” Leila swallowed around the lump in her throat. She could only speak in simple sentences, devoid of adornment. “One of the other soldiers, an army captain, saved my life.
At the cost of her own.”
The arms around her tightened and he whispered over her head. “So you left because of guilt?”
“If only it was that simple,” Leila replied softly. “I do feel guilt . . . I feel it every day.”
Her head moved in a slow negative against his shoulder. “But I’ve gone over it a million times. The plan was the best one based on the available intel. In warfare, there are always unknowns. I can’t control those factors. The unexpected happened and she saved my life. Even now, I’d switch places with her. But I don’t feel the same kind of guilt I would feel if there was something that I could have done to prevent it.” Leila dragged in a shuddery breath. “What I feel . . . is debt.” Her voice choked. “And it’s heavy.”
She was quiet for a moment. The moment stretched into a minute before she continued.
“The army captain . . . she was a single mom,” Leila eventually whispered. “She had a two-year-old daughter. That daughter is now being raised by her grandmother. She has no other family. They don’t have much money, even with the death duty entitlements.” Leila shifted in his arms. “I feel a sense of responsibility, and the private sector pays much more than the military.” She pulled away a little so she could see his face, and there was a twist to her lips as said asked, “Did you know that you pay me more than five times as much as I was making then?”
“I know how much I pay you.” She heard the message in his words, the one that said he thought she was worth every penny.
“Hmm.” Leila lowered her head back to Valentine’s shoulder. “I help them out financially.” She left it at that and tamped down the pain she’d long ago learned to control.
They were silent for several minutes, until the past was once more back in the past.
For both of them.
But Leila knew that now he would understand . . . “Her sacrifice made me sensitive to other people endangering themselves for me, especially when it’s my job.” Leila remembered how she’d felt out on the terrace when she thought Valentine would intervene. Her fear that he’d get hurt because of her . . . because she failed to protect him . . . because he wanted to protect her. The thought of losing him made her feel vulnerable, made her want to be near him, as though his presence alone was assurance that he was okay. “So don’t ever put yourself in danger for me.”
Be Mine: Valentine Novellas to Warm The Heart Page 92
