by Lucy Leroux
Waving that away, she sat back down with her pamphlet. “My comment stands. Go do your call. I should get my notes on this to Peyton. We’re supposed to go over the second draft this afternoon.”
He grinned and stole a long kiss before waving goodbye. No sooner did the door click behind him than she began to miss him.
I’m hopeless. But she was smiling when she thought it. And who could blame her for being preoccupied with her drop-dead gorgeous fiancé? Anyone who’d caught a glimpse of his ass in those fitted suit pants would be obsessed.
It is a perfect ass. Sublime and completely bite-able. Once or twice, she had taken a nip…
Back to work, she scolded herself. Grabbing a pen, she started jotting notes in the margins of her papers. Half the pages were covered when she finally remembered to check when Peyton was free.
A knock on the door interrupted her mid-text. Semi, one of the hotel’s porters, was there with a delivery.
Accustomed to getting a slew of presents from Patrick, and now wedding gifts, she signed for the box and took it next to the dining table by the window to open.
The unmarked box held a phone with a wide new screen.
“He already got me a phone,” she muttered.
True, it wasn’t as fancy as this one, but Patrick needed to stop shopping online for her when he was working. He’d filled her closet with coats and expensive shoes. If he started with electronics, they’d be buried in gadgets.
The screen on the smartphone blinked on, making Tahlia drop it on the table.
She frowned. The impact must have turned on a movie. It appeared to be some sort of spy thriller. The phone displayed a live view of an office. There was a man was talking on the phone, his back to the screen. A red bull’s eye was superimposed on his back. It shrank until the red laser sight was pointing at the man’s head. Then he turned to face the window.
Patrick. It was Patrick. Someone was filming him from a neighboring skyscraper, and they had him in the sights of a gun.
Her half-strangled scream didn’t make it past her throat. Tensing, she was about to run to Patrick’s office when a voice stopped her. It was coming from the phone, superimposed over the silent video.
“Hello, Tahlia. My name is Killian. We are going to get through this together, but you have to listen to me. Do not move. Warning your boyfriend will only get him killed.”
“What?” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Shivering, she reached for the phone. A red laser beam bounced of the back of her hand. Gasping, she snatched it back.
“Why don’t you sit down? We need to talk.”
The voice on the phone was deep and smooth, more like the suave hero of a movie than the villain.
She didn’t move.
“Tahlia. Sit.”
Shaking from head to toe, she pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Good, now what I need you to do—”
“Hey, Tahlia! We got tired of waiting for you, so we came up.”
Her head snapped up.
No! Peyton and Maggie had walked in holding three coffees in a cardboard holder.
Peyton was holding a danish. Tahlia didn’t know why her mind seized on that.
The voice was not happy about the interruption. “Tahlia. Focus”
Maggie and Peyton blurred as tears filled her eyes. She snapped, rushing to her feet to wave at them frantically.
Get out, she mouthed.
Maggie frowned and stepped closer, but Peyton grabbed her arm, jerking her back. Her wide blue eyes were fixed on the bouncing laser light dancing all over Tahlia’s limbs. Reacting, she tackled Maggie around the middle, pulling her down behind the long cream leather couch near the door.
“I don’t like disruptions, Tahlia,” the voice continued.
“It was the maids coming to clean. They’re gone,” she lied, hoping the man didn’t have a clear view of the back of the room.
“Good. Now back to business. We need to get you out there without interference. You’ll have to go out the basement exit. It will be unmanned for a three-minute window at exactly seven forty-five. That’s how long you have to get down there. There will be a car waiting for you. Take the phone.”
Her hand shook as she picked it up. The screen zoomed in on Patrick again as if to remind her about what was at stake.
“I would wipe those tears,” the voice said. “The entire staff watches you closely. You have to hold it together long enough to get out of the hotel. Make sure no one stops you.”
Shuddering, Tahlia took one step toward the door. Then she took another, barely able to feel her own feet.
She scrubbed her face with her sleeve, holding the phone to her chest as she reached the couch.
Maggie and Peyton were huddled behind it. Peyton had her arms wrapped around Maggie’s neck. The latter was sobbing, her hands pressed against her mouth to keep the noise trapped inside.
Peyton’s eyes were wide and filled with fire. But Tahlia knew she wasn’t angry at her.
“Don’t go,” she mouthed.
“I have to,” Tahlia whispered back, her heart shattering into a billion pieces as she flipped the phone over to show them the screen.
Then she opened the door to the hallway, stepping out as the feed from the camera faded to black.
She didn’t look back.
The penthouse elevator was taking an eternity to arrive. Tahlia held the phone as if it were contaminated with the plague, but she couldn’t afford to drop it. She knew the man was listening.
Perhaps he was bluffing. He could have some fancy laser pointed at Patrick, and not a gun.
You know it’s real. And if there was room for doubt, she couldn’t take the risk. Weak-kneed, she counted, willing the elevator to speed up.
Thankfully, it was empty. Stepping inside, she waited for more instruction, but the voice from the speaker was silent.
“Hold up.”
Starting violently, Tahlia spun around. Liam stopped the elevators doors from closing. He joined her, his attention on the papers he was holding.
The carriage began to descend.
Tahlia kept her eyes on the floor, her body alternating from hot to cold and back again. She was praying Liam wouldn’t notice her.
“What’s wrong?”
Flinching, her eyes flew to him. Liam was frowning. She plastered a smile on her face. “Nothing.”
The lines around his mouth deepened. She could see the suspicion growing in his eyes.
“Are you sure? You’re pale.”
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
His eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms and raised a thick dark eyebrow at her. “Then why are your eyes red?”
Damn it.
“Allergies?” She didn’t mean to make it sound like a question.
His face softened. “Is it your family?”
Crap. Why did Liam have to be so perceptive all of a sudden? He was usually too wrapped up in work to pay her any mind.
“I talked to Peyton,” she blurted.
Liam straightened and dropped his arms. “What did she say?” he asked, his dark eyes flaring.
Wow. She hadn’t anticipated such an intense reaction. Liam was…eager. The man may not have been capable of returning Peyton’s feelings, but she was important to him. Very important.
The image of the woman in question hiding behind the couch with a crying Maggie flashed through her mind.
“She’s thinking about it,” she hedged, fingering the phone. The voice was silent, but she knew he was there.
“In fact, I think Peyton wanted to talk to you about it some more. She said there were some ground rules you needed to agree to.”
Liam smirked. “Of course she did.”
“She wants to see you in her office. Trick, too, but I forgot to tell him that. Maybe you can pass that on for me?”
Peyton’s office was on the ground floor—a windowless room filled with trained security officers.
The elevator o
pened, revealing the rear lobby area.
She hurried out, turning back at the corner. “I would go now while Peyton is still in a good mood.”
Liam smiled at her—a heart-stopping grin that warmed his entire face. He resembled Patrick so much when he smiled it hurt to look at him.
“Thanks for convincing her for me. I appreciate it.”
“No problem,” she replied faintly, waving as he disappeared down the hall leading to the back offices.
“You’re almost out of time,” the voice reminded her once he was gone.
Tahlia flinched. She swallowed hard and headed for the basement stairs.
She didn’t know how the voice learned so much about the hotel’s internal security measures, but he had the guard’s rotations down pat. He’d managed to find the one tiny moment when the men were changing shifts, leaving through the same basement door she used when she left for Monaco.
A wave of dizziness swept over her as she opened the door. There was a black sports car with tinted windows waiting in the alley.
“I am a lucky penny,” she reminded herself.
Neck stiff from holding her head high, she climbed into the passenger seat.
Chapter 29
Trick hung up the phone with a satisfied smile. His surprise for Tahlia was starting to come together.
It took some wrangling, but he’d managed to get one of the Casino de Monte Carlo’s old poker tables shipped here. It was going to be the centerpiece at their wedding reception. The entire event was going to be modeled after the casino Tahlia had fallen in love with.
Copies of the casino’s over-the-top chandeliers were on their way. He was also having the event company send him red-patterned upholstery samples so he could pick chairs that fit the theme.
He reached for a pen to make a note when the door swung open. It swung so hard it banged into the wall. Maggie and Peyton burst inside, falling all over each other in the process.
“Get away from the window!”
The hired assassin was incongruously handsome. He had thick dark hair and straight Roman nose. His features weren’t any one nationality or race, but a distinctive scar ran from the end of his right eye straight back to his hairline.
He was so calm, pulling away from the curb with a friendly little nod and a charming smile.
What the hell? At least the goon in New York had been a predictably evil-looking jerkwad. This guy acted like he was a long-lost friend.
Tahlia sat silently, her limbs weak with shock and panic. She couldn’t seem to calm her racing heart. The man looked familiar. She realized he must have been staying at the hotel as a guest, so he could watch her.
She quickly lost track of their location. It was too difficult to scan for street signs when her entire body was trying to shut down.
“You should buckle up,” he said solicitously.
Her head pulled back as she stared at him in disbelief. “Why? Aren’t you driving me to the docks or some lonely warehouse district to put a bullet in the back of my head?”
He patted her shoulder. “No, of course not. You can let go of that phone by the way. You won’t be needing it in Florida.”
Tahlia buckled her seat belt with numb fingers. “So you’re not going to shoot me? Because if that’s an option, I’d rather you did.”
The man laughed, a booming hearty sound. “My name is Killian. I mentioned it before, but I think you forgot.”
“Sorry, the laser sight pointed at my future husband’s head kind of wiped it from my mind. It’s not every day an assassin comes after you. In my case, it’s only every couple of weeks.”
Killian flicked thick sooty lashes at her. “I’m not an assassin. At least not all the time. Funnily enough, the market for that sort is down, at least for the cases that fit my criteria. A man has to have standards. I’m very selective about my clients. “
“A selective assassin?” she asked flatly.
The cold surreality of her circumstances were pressing down on her. Nothing felt real—not the seat underneath her or the seat belt pressing against her chest.
Killian tsked, turning the wheel to pull onto the highway. “These days I call myself a facilitator. Your family wants you home by any means necessary. I make that happen with a minimum of fuss.” He glanced at her. “Don’t worry, your boyfriend is quite safe now.”
The tight coil of anxiety in the pit of her stomach loosened a fraction. “Good,” she mumbled, but then wondered why the hell she believed him.
The car sped along the road, weaving in and out of traffic with ease. “I did a little research on him by the way. Patrick Tyler is a pretty nice catch for a girl like you.”
Her brows pulled together. “What the hell does that mean?”
The hired killer waggled his fingers without taking them off the wheel. “He’s a young, attractive philanthropist. Excellent reputation, even among his ex-girlfriends. Very pro women’s rights. And he’s rich to boot.”
Unbelievable. “I know what Patrick is. I meant the girl-like-you dig.”
He frowned. “Do you honestly think that nice boy deserves a murderess for a wife—no matter how good she is at poker?”
Her mouth dropped open, the shock driving the numbness away. “A murderess?”
Killian sniffed a disdainful little sound.
“Who did I kill?”
He sighed, keeping his eyes on the road.
She buried her face in her hands. Her head hurt. “They told you I killed my father.”
Her family had attempted to pin his death on her through legal channels. Why was she surprised to hear they would lie to an assassin as well?
Because killers for hire aren’t supposed to have standards. Shooting people was just supposed to be a paycheck to professionals.
Except her family had fed Killian the patricide lie, which meant they at least believed in these fictional standards.
“The way I heard it, you couldn’t wait for your inheritance,” he offered. “That was when you decided to slip a little something in his afternoon coffee.”
Tahlia groaned. This nightmare was swiftly turning into a farce. “I suppose my family told you they only want justice served, and they’ll be turning me over to the authorities.”
He shrugged. “If it makes any difference, I didn’t buy that line. But there’s something to be said about keeping things in the family. I’ve worked for a few outfits that worked that way.”
“Let me guess…you were the one who fixed these internal problems for them?” she said, making air quotes around fixed.
“My reputation precedes me, I see.”
Ugh. “I suppose you also believe I decapitated my father after I poisoned him?”
The car jerked a little as he twisted to look at her.
She could tell she’d surprised him. It was her turn to sniff. “I thought you did your research. Did you miss the part where my father’s body was dismembered?”
Killian narrowed his eyes and stayed silent. Tahlia rubbed her forehead.
“Never mind,” she muttered. “You and I both know your supposed standards are just some fake set of hoops you make your clients jump through to justify what you do. They’re meaningless. You can stop pretending you care about a person’s innocence. Just take the damn cash and murder indiscriminately because there’s no difference to the people you kill.”
The air almost vibrated. Tahlia knew she should have been frightened by the touch of menace emanating from the hired killer, but she was past caring.
Whatever he did to her between now and Florida couldn’t be any worse than what was in store for her there. She turned away, staring out the window as the city sped by.
The minutes stretched into an hour. Silence reigned as they pulled into a small airfield. A luxuriously appointed jet was waiting on a short runway.
She was going home.
Trick avoided hitting a garbage truck by mere inches. He gripped the wheel and pulled into the narrow space between two SUVs before shooting acr
oss three lanes to enter the fast lane.
“Jesus, Patrick, you’re going to kill us.” Liam held onto the dashboard of the Mercedes by his fingernails.
He clenched his teeth, his eyes intent on the road.
“Update,” he barked.
“We’ve eliminated Logan airport,” Ethan said over speakerphone. He and Jason were following in their FBI-issued vehicle. Jason’s line was connected to their office, where their fellow agents were scouring flight plans and pouring over traffic-cam footage.
“If it’s not Logan, why the fuck am I on this highway?” His voice was both shrill and hoarse. Panic clawed at his throat.
“Breathe, damn it,” Liam snapped from the passenger seat. He was clutching the doorframe now. “Crashing and killing us both won’t help Tahlia.”
“He has a point, Trick,” Ethan said in a rare moment of solidarity with Liam. “You need to calm down. Be methodical. Think of it like a high-stakes poker game.
Was he kidding?
“Just find the fucking plane or train or whatever the hell this guy is taking her away on.”
“It has to be a plane,” Liam reasoned. “A train or a car would take too long. If they were willing to hire a hitman to force her, then those assholes are desperate. They won’t want to wait.”
He paused for a moment. “I should have known something was wrong when Tahlia called you Trick. She never uses your nickname. It’s always Patrick with her.”
Trick’s guts twisted as he remembered the near-hysterical explanation Maggie had given him when she and Peyton came to find him. They’d been hugging the floor, trying to stay out of sight of the windows when Peyton finally clapped her hand over Maggie’s mouth to tell him what happened in a clear clipped voice.
Liam’s phone chimed, and he texted a rapid reply. “Eric just got there. He’s going to sedate Maggie.”
“He’s what?” Jason’s shout came through Ethan’s phone loud and clear.
“Let him do what he has to do,” Liam snapped. “We gotta focus on Tahlia now.”
Jason swore. “I know,” he apologized. “We’ve got two possibilities out of a private airfield near Lexington. I think those are our best bet.”
