Unchained

by Roze, Robyn

  She had added new memories to a city packed with the strain of old ones. She had reordered and reconciled in her mind the kaleidoscopic narrative of a lifetime spent with Frank Chastain. The good. The bad. The unforgivable…The tortured internal debates on why or how they had ended, how it had all ended, no longer figured in her future. Tonight, at last, she released him from her mental prison, purging the doubts and guilt that had mired her in emotional quicksand.

  Her lungs filled with the crisp air of resolution and finality as she fixed her stare on the tower’s beacon, hands resting on the balustrade in front of her. She would be fine, whatever happened. With that unshakable knowledge steadying her, her inner strength and harmony restored, Shayna bid her past, and the imposing man from it, a last, belated farewell. An overdue exercise that dissolved imaginary chains and freed her to move forward, one step at a time.

  And she already knew what her next step would be.

  “Do our ‘tour guides’ report to you? Or Sean?” Shayna asked.

  Scotty sat up straighter in bed, his back pressed against the headboard. Sliding the open laptop onto the rumpled bed linens beside him, he shoved the readers to the top of his head. Moments ago, Shayna caught him off guard when she barged into his adjoining suite through their unlocked, shared access door, wrapped in a fluffy hotel robe and slippers. A harmless looking getup at odds with the fire in her eyes and the unmistakable tenacity in her demeanor.

  He glanced at the late hour on his beefy watch, then back up to her standing tall at the foot of his bed. “I feel like I’m missing something here.”

  “It’s a simple question, Scotty. For once, just answer it.”

  “Why are you asking it?”

  Snippets of Mick’s statements rushed back in her mind. You won’t need me anymore. You’ll be safe once you’re airborne. The new identity is overkill. Inadvertent scraps of information that now filled her belly with potent certainty. Sean would not have allowed Mick to leave her side if he thought she would be unsafe outside the so-called hot zone for even a minute.

  Like a hungry feline targeting an unsuspecting mouse, she positioned herself on the end of Scotty’s bed, causing him to squirm under her knowing scrutiny and calculated silence.

  Then she let her gut do the talking. “The two men and the plane are yours. They can’t be traced to Sean, or any of his people. My trail went cold the moment I left that ship and boarded your plane. A plane that no doubt is registered under some innocuous corporate charter that’s impossible to tie to you.”

  Growing up, she played countless hands of poker with her dad and brothers, and she learned their tells. Like now, as Scotty tried to hide the fidget of his fingers and the bob of his Adam’s apple.

  He lowered his chin and crossed his arms over his wrinkled T-shirt. “What’s your point.”

  “We can leave. We can get on your plane and go somewhere else.”

  He shook his head, annoyance creased on his face. “Like hell.”

  She ignored his bravado and continued her game of cat and mouse. “Dani and Harper are off taking a well-deserved vacation. I enjoyed my time with them, but now I’m ready to leave. And we have the freedom to do so.”

  “It’s outta the question, sis. This hotel is where Sean’s heading after everything’s done. It’s already planned.”

  She shrugged. “Plans change.”

  “Not this one.”

  “Why? Is he already on his way here?”

  Scotty remained mute and stoic, validating her hunch.

  “You have no idea what’s going on, do you?” she said. “Sean knows I made it to the plane, and that we landed safely here—that’s it. After your confirmation, I bet he only wants to hear from you if it’s an emergency. That’s why you’ve had no other contact with him since we arrived here.” She held her words and watched him, reading his tells now just as she had when they were kids playing cards. “Looks like I wasn’t the only one left to twist in the dark.”

  He turned defensive. “In this situation, no news is good news, Shayna. You need to remember that.”

  “It’s hard to think of much else, Scotty.”

  His face sagged in apology.

  She lifted off the bed and stood above him. “You’re staying, then?”

  He looked uneasy. “Yes. We are staying put.”

  A sly half-smile curved her lips as she turned and exited his bedroom, crossing through the sitting area to the door that connected their suites.

  Scotty bounded off the bed after her. “What’re you up to, Shayna?” he asked, nervous tension rattling his voice.

  She pivoted under the doorway, one eyebrow arched in provocation. “Smoke and mirrors.” She patted his scruffy cheek. “I’ve been learning from the best for quite some time now.” She stepped back, shutting the door on his bemused face, and engaged the deadbolt just before he twisted the knob in rapid succession, his frustration howling through the locked door.

  Pressing her palm to the barrier between them, she calmed him with the words she knew he wanted to hear. “We’ll talk more about it over brunch, Scotty. It’s late. We both need some sleep.”

  He sighed with relief. “You’re right,” he said. “Get some sleep, and then we’ll hash it all out tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow, then. Goodnight, Scotty.”

  “Night, sis.” The gentle pat of his hand sounded on the door, then his lumbering steps retreated toward his bedroom.

  With her brother soothed, Shayna made her way to a writing desk with a landline stationed at one corner. She picked up the handset cradled there. The hour was ungodly, but she knew the person she intended to call would not mind. She pressed the old, remembered numbers on the keypad.

  Her husband and brother weren’t the only ones with connections.

  As she waited for the call to pick up on the other end, she opened a drawer and pulled out the hotel’s gilded stationery. There were letters to write, ground rules to enumerate. When she finished, Sean and Scotty would have to follow her rules. Play her game.

  Because she was damn tired of playing theirs.

  Chapter 19

  The driver lifted Shayna’s wheeled luggage from the trunk and extended the pull handles, ready to haul them into the hangar. She rejected the offer, instead handing him a generous tip, then waved him off. She watched and waited. The receding slog of tires, headed in the dark of night back to the city, ground through waterlogged gravel from a recent heavy rain.

  Frank’s longtime friend and former business associate, Jonathon Martel, had offered to send his own driver to retrieve her from the hotel, but she declined, choosing instead to play it smart, and safe—especially, for Sean’s sake. The fewer people her name and location were mentioned to, like Jonathon’s personal driver, the better. That is why she planned to ask Jonathon to withhold her name from the passenger manifest that would be recorded once she informed him of her chosen destination. He would no doubt balk at her odd request, but she was confident he would agree, given his vulnerability to feminine persuasion.

  During their earlier phone call, he seemed unaware she had remarried—as she hoped would be the case. He also believed Dani to still be living in California. She chose not to enlighten him on either front.

  However, she had done a little research on him before asking such a big favor and was unsurprised to learn he divorced his wife last year. And though he had been nothing but polite to her over the years, including at Frank’s funeral, she expected him to, at some point, offer to warm her bed.

  His desire for her had always been evident, even to Frank, who confided to her once that taking another man’s wife was a trespass even Jonathon Martel shunned. Yet, whether he was married, a single woman was fair game for the philandering Frenchman. Absurd rules of relationship relativity that no doubt explained his five divorces.

  Frank had also warned her Jonathon never did favors without getting something he wanted in return. The former wife of a friend, deceased
or not, would be no exception to that selfish rule. And for boldly asking to use his private jet, she understood what he would expect from her…

  Steeling herself for the lies she would need to tell Frank’s old friend, she gripped the handles and pulled her suitcases into the private hangar in front of her.

  “Shayna, ma chère!” Jonathon’s greeting echoed in the cavernous metal space, his smile wide as he skipped down the stairs of his jet with the agility of a man half his seventy years. Her arm outstretched, he accepted her raised hand, pressing a respectful kiss to the back of it. “Aussi belle que jamais.”

  “And you are flirtatious as ever, Monsieur Martel.”

  “Guilty as charged,” he admitted, palm to his chest, with an impish chivalrous bow.

  He looked around, then snapped his fingers and pointed to a uniformed man nearest them, directing the attendant’s attention to the matter of stowing her bags.

  When the worker wheeled the luggage away, Jonathon’s adoring gaze traveled back to her, scanning Shayna from head to toe with unabashed appreciation. “That husband of yours,” he groused, tongue tutting, “Quel imbécile!” He inhaled sharply, appearing to have caught his faux pas. His eyes, and tone, softened in apology. “Qu’il repose en paix.”

  “Yes. May he rest in peace.”

  Frank and Jonathon’s association had begun over three decades earlier when he retained Frank’s law firm regarding the Martel companies’ extensive holdings in the US. Their business relationship developed into a friendship that had lasted even after Frank left the practice of law to strike out on his own with CCL Properties, at Jonathon’s encouragement.

  Shayna met Jonathon for the first time at her wedding, a lifetime ago. Then, when she and Frank honeymooned in Paris, Jonathon and his second wife accompanied them when possible, delighted to share their country, culture, and cuisine. However, he had always been Frank’s friend, not hers, because Jonathon was a man who only kept women as lovers, or wives. Never as friends.

  “I’m happy you called, Shayna. I’ve been wondering what happened to you. You seemed to have fallen off the face of the earth.”

  One eyebrow arched in question. “You’ve been looking for me?” No surprise there, even though she pretended to be.

  His feet shuffled, but his confidence remained steady. “Of course. I’m a single man—once again,” he chuckled at his remark, then grinned meaningfully. “It seems the fates have favored me this time. As we’re both unattached…”

  Excellent. He had only done a cursory search for her in the US, where her marriage and name change were not recorded. There wouldn’t have been any reason for him to check Italian marriage records. Not to mention, now that they were standing here together, he would have no reason to dig any deeper.

  She played coy to further confirm her assumption. “What makes you think I’m single?”

  His chin jutted out in determination. “If there is a worthy man in your life, he’s made a grievous mistake.” His unrepentant gaze shifted to her left hand perched at her hip, ring finger bare, then lifted back to focus hard on her. “I’m a master at leveraging other men’s mistakes.”

  She did not doubt his boast for a second. His vast business empire was proof of his acumen. It was also impossible to overlook his bronzed, fit form, and thick head of silver and black hair, exemplifying his still potent charms and seasoned virility.

  Bolstered determination solidified her strategy; the calculated decision to remove her wedding ring had paid off. She wanted him to believe her to be single and available to him. Most of all, she wanted him agreeable to her coming stipulations: his silence regarding her call, their meeting, and the use of his plane. Then, she would incentivize his compliance by leaving him in this hangar thinking she wanted him, believing she would eagerly welcome him into her bed—sooner, rather than never.

  Cruel? Perhaps. Although, he would shrug off the future disappointment. Shayna understood a libidinous man like Jonathon Martel, with limitless wealth and boundless vitality, already had a stable full of willing, beautiful ‘thoroughbreds’ from which to choose. She was simply one, among many, he wished to ride to a lather.

  Her gaze dropped to the smooth concrete under their feet, then raised with a well-timed, demure tilt. “I’m flattered by your interest, Jonathon, and by your boldness. I like a man who knows what he wants and then goes after it. I like that very much.”

  Under the bright array of lights, she witnessed the spread of his pupils, his amber eyes darkening.

  “It does seem the fates have smiled on us with their timing, doesn’t it?” she said in agreement with his earlier remark.

  He nodded, his eyes fixed on hers.

  “And right now, timing is very important to me. I came to Paris to say goodbye to the past, to my memories of Frank, so I can move on, once and for all,” she said, solemnly, wagering sentimental talk of Frank would lower Jonathon’s immediate expectations. “You may be surprised to hear it’s been difficult for me to let go of him. Our divorce seems to have complicated my grief, not made it easier.” Her gaze shifted past him. “We always think there will be time to make amends. To forgive. To be forgiven. Then the clock runs out on our righteous indignation, and we’re left with only our flimsy pride, and monumental lack of foresight…” Her eyes drifted back to him. “But,” she murmured, touching the open collar of his dress shirt, “I’m almost ready to move on. To have another man at my side.”

  In response to the invitation, he shrunk the space between them, moving closer into her personal space. Her hand dropped away from him as she stepped back, faking an upset that had pulled her attention elsewhere.

  “I have one last thing to do before I can move forward. And I need to do it alone. I hope you’ll respect my wishes on that,” she touched his shirt again, for affect, “and keep all of this between us—our little secret, my name omitted from the passenger list. As you assured me it would be, Jonathon,” she prodded, her tone and gaze earnest and emphatic. She planted the false promise for good reason. Otherwise, she risked him making his own demands on the spot for such a generous guarantee.

  Her fingers lingered near a button at his chest, a countdown clock ticking in her head, as he remained mute, perplexed by her mention of a promise he had not made. She knew it was a gamble. Nonetheless, a wager she believed he would take. Chivalry required him to keep his word to her, regardless of whether he remembered giving it. A man like him would not quibble with a grieving woman in need of help. A woman who would thereby become indebted to him.

  Seconds later, her bet paid off. He shook off the puzzlement, his focus restored, her name, no doubt, bolded and underlined at the top of his ledger.

  “Of course, ma chère, I’m at your service. Whatever you need, it shall be done. I’m nothing if not a patient man.” He moved nearer to her, his intent unmistakable as he leaned down. “And a persistent man, when I want something.”

  She held her ground under the lusty implication of his dogged stare, his warm breath on her cheek, and the looming risk of his lips near hers.

  “Thank you for your patience, Jonathon. Most of all, thank you for your respect of me, and my wishes. It’s precisely what I need from you right now.” Her heart thundered in her chest, but she remained calm on the surface, not so much as a ripple. The struggle was real for him, though, obvious in the tense vibe from his body, the strain on his face. The indecision in his eyes wavering between hers and her lips.

  Had she overplayed her hand?

  Then, with the grace of a gentleman, he relented with a step back. “Next time, ma chère,” he seemed to warn.

  She released the breath trapped in her throat. “Thank you,” she said, her relief sincere, grateful to have cleared the highest hurdle in her exit plan. The remaining obstacles would be easy in comparison.

  There would be no record of her under any name departing France. She hadn’t even checked out of the Shangri-La so as not to trigger alarms that might disrupt Se
an or Mick. She would remain vigilant about her safety, while reasserting control over her life. Sun hats, dark glasses, varied aliases, and cash transactions would all camouflage her from this point forward, traveling across a different continent in another hemisphere.

  Scotty would be furious when he discovered her deceit later in the day: the empty suite with two envelopes, one addressed to him, another to Sean. Her words would ring unsatisfactory to both men. The same way their answers had so often disappointed her. They would have to deal with it, like she had. They would have to learn to accept from her that which they expected from her.

  She could imagine Sean’s manic reaction, when, after completing his dangerous mission, he arrived at the hotel to learn she had not waited for him in her gilded cage—as ordered by him.

  Given the actual threats of his current situation, maybe she should reconsider her gutsy choice to leave. Maybe. However, she left a clue for him with Scotty. One only Sean would understand. When he was ready—when he could agree to her terms, he would know where to find her. However, for the near term, whatever fate had in store for her, grieving yet another husband, or living the rest of her days with him, she would be ready. But she was done waiting for him to stroll back into her life, to restart their life.

  Or not…

  The mere thought of losing him caused the sting of bile at her throat and an icy chill to snap across her skin. If she had learned anything from life’s cruelest lessons, it was to always prepare for the worst. Because hope alone was a foolish conceit.

  In that vein, for the sake of her breakable heart and battered sanity, she would confront her fears, stand and prepare for the possibility of the worst outcome, even when it dropped her to her knees. Since she could not be near him to do that, she would go somewhere she could feel him. Where the memories and warm breezes of their most intimate whispers and treasured dreams would surround her. A place where their story had begun anew, not so long ago.