The phone went dead before Quentin could answer her, and he slammed his hand against the steering wheel, letting out a string of curses so long and so florid that even Jack, who seemed to have been around a bit, looked shocked. Quentin had shocked himself a bit, too. He was not usually a man known for his temper, but God—if she hurt Lydia …
She was in the hotel room. He knew that she had to be. Quentin picked up speed, desperate to get there before she could move to another location. Something had spooked her and made her realize that she needed to change tactics. Had he been too hard on her? No—he had to be someone that she feared. He couldn’t let her think that she could walk all over him. And he had to let her know there was hell to pay if she hurt Lydia. But now they were playing a new game and not only did he not know the rules, but she might not either.
The five minutes of silence after he ended his string of curses felt like ages, and when his phone rang again, he nearly jumped out of his seat. But he grabbed his phone before the first ring stopped, answering it sharply. “Do not hang up on me again.”
“Patching you through,” Jordan said, and he heard that same click again.
“Whitney—,” Quentin said. “Do not hang up on me again. That will not be good for you.”
“I don’t want to meet here,” Whitney said. “We’re meeting far away. Just the four of us. You will follow my instructions, and any deviation means the loss of the person you love most.”
Her words were a shock, and not just because she was changing the plan without him understanding why. She had said that he loved Lydia. She’d assumed that because he was so frantic to get Lydia back, that he was in love with her. Had Lydia heard her say that? Had she reacted? Would it scare her? Was it true? The questions in his head bombarded him, but the swelling feeling in his heart told him all he needed to know.
Of course, he was in love with Lydia. Maybe he had been from the first moment that he saw that little upturned nose and those long, beautiful strawberry-blonde tresses.
He was in love with her. God—he was so completely in love with a woman that he had only known for a few days, but who he felt more connected to than he could ever have imagined.
Could Lydia hear him?
“I do,” Quentin said into the phone. “Lydia? Lydia—I do love you. I’m going to get you back. I promise. I love you. God, I love you so much.”
There was a muffled sound in the back, but he couldn’t hear what she said. His heart constricted in his chest, and he closed his eyes, picturing Lydia’s perfect face. A loud honking sound jerked him out of his reverie, and he remembered that he was driving.
“Fucking hell!” Jack shouted, clutching the passenger side door and the console between them, as he pressed back against his seat. There was a truck coming right at them, and Quentin swerved quickly out of the way, almost hitting a car in the lane over in his attempt to correct his wandering vehicle.
“I’m sorry,” Quentin said to Jack, who was breathing with dramatic effort. “You’re fine. Everything is fine.” But his own heart was pounding, too.
“Come to the place where the two rivers meet and the tree grows from their apex,” Whitney said. “We’ll be there.”
The phone went dead again, and Quentin groaned, slamming it against the dashboard. “What the hell does that mean? Where the two rivers meet at an apex? What is this—mysticism class? Damn it all to hell! What is wrong with your wife?”
Jack looked at him, shaking his head. “I don’t even know how to begin answering that question. I married for love, at the time. Careful with that love stuff you were throwing around there with whoever that other woman was. You've known her a long time? Because if you haven’t, you have no idea if anything she’s telling you is true, man. Let me just tell you that.”
“Excuse me if I decide not to take love advice from you,” Quentin said, jerking the car off to the side of the road and putting it in park. He fished around for his phone, regretting the moment of temper that had caused him to discard it now that he needed to find out where the rivers were meeting.
“You can dismiss it,” Jack said, shrugging a shoulder. He seemed strangely calm given the fact that Quentin had just agreed to hand him back over to Whitney in exchange for Lydia. “But you sure your girl has never lied to you?”
Quentin glanced up at Jack, his eyes narrowing slightly. He and Lydia were well past the lies that she had originally told him. He knew why she did it. They were harmless lies, as long as she didn’t actually write that book she’d talked about.
Out of nowhere, a punch of doubt hit him in the gut. God—had she ever agreed that she wouldn’t write the book? Sure, she was sincerely desperate to get her friend back and to help him, but was she also planning on putting all of this down on paper? Was she still studying and investigating dragon shifters?
Was she going to put him in her book, or her blogs, or whatever she wrote? Would she talk about what it was like to make love to a dragon shifter?
His mind and his heart told him that it was ridiculous to even think something like that. Lydia had made up a story, yes, but she had been absolutely terrible at actually playing it out, which told him that she wasn’t a habitual liar. She was no good at it at all. And she had been nothing but sincere with him ever since. He knew that she cared about him. He was positive.
Although she had never said it.
But she had woken up the morning after they’d made love, and she’d still been herself. Normal. She’d cuddled with him, and he had thought everything was fine. But now that he thought about it …she’d never said that it was more than just a good time. An experiment with her dragon shifter subject. And here he was, totally head over heels in love with her, when maybe he had just been a way for her to try something new and take her mind off her stress.
“See?” Jack said. “Best to steer clear of women. They’re all pretty much the same. Yours might not be as bad as Whitney, but I can see it on your face—you’re not sure of her. If you can’t trust her, then you got no business with her.”
Quentin closed his hand around his phone and sat up. He gave Jack a look that made sure the man knew how seriously to take his next words. “Do not speak again,” Quentin said. It was enough to remind the man that Quentin had no personal stake in Jack, and that Jack was merely here as a commodity. Jack was not Quentin’s client and he was not his friend, and Jack had just insulted the woman that Quentin loved while that same woman was in mortal danger because of something to do with Jack. It wasn’t a good combination.
Swiping his phone open, Quentin called Jordan back. She answered almost immediately.
“I need coordinates for a place in Baton Rouge where two rivers meet and a tree grows out of the apex,” he said, his voice tense. “And then I need everyone on standby.”
“I was on the call,” Jordan said. “I stayed on with you. I’ve already been looking. As soon as I have it, I’ll send you the coordinates.”
“Thank you,” Quentin said, hanging up his phone and setting it aside. He should just sit there and wait, but he couldn’t do that. He didn’t have technology sophisticated enough to track down the coordinates that Jordan would be able to find, but he did have instincts. And as he let his instincts take over, his hands moved back to the steering wheel, and he looked out of his window. There was a place in his mind—one that he had been to only once, long ago. But it felt like the right place, and going there was going to be a hell of a lot more productive than staying on the side of the road like a sitting duck with no direction.
He thought of Lydia as he put the car back in gear and started to drive. He was coming for her, no matter what. He was in love with her, no matter what. He couldn’t change either of those things, even if he wanted to—and he didn’t want to. But, God, he hoped that he hadn’t fallen in love so fast that he’d fallen blindly. Please don’t let trusting her be a mistake.
Chapter 31
Lydia
Whitney was falling apart right in front of Lydia’s eyes. Th
e woman was becoming frantic, jumping from one idea to another. Whitney ran around the hotel room that Lydia still didn’t know why they were in, talking to herself and gesturing with her hands. She had this habit of fisting both of her hands in front of her and almost trembling with anxiety and anger when her muttering was at its peak. All that Lydia could do was sit where she was and try to make out as many of the words as possible.
“It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine, it’ll be all fine,” Whitney was saying now, over and over again. Her hands were jittery, spread out so that every finger seemed to point in a different direction. “It’s fine. You have enough power stored. You do. You have enough. Look—look at it right there.” She walked herself over to the table, where the jar that she kept taking out of her purse was—the one she had been sipping every few minutes. She sipped it now, shaking the bottle. “See? It’s still one-third full. One-third full. You’ll get Jack back. You’ll make more of what you need. It’ll be fine. You’re in control. Everything belongs to you. You’re the most powerful …” She took another sip. “The most powerful in the world. Nobody has what you have. He grows life for you. Power for you. It’ll be fine. You’ve set it up perfectly. One-quarter full now. It’s still one-quarter full.”
Her hands fisted in front of her again, trembling, as she paced back and forth. She was ignoring Lydia, seeming to have forgotten that the woman was even there after hanging up with Quentin. Lydia’s heart surged as she thought of him. She knew he was coming for her, and she had so much hope because she knew that Quentin could do anything. And she knew that Quentin would understand how important it was to Lydia that they save Jack from this insane woman. She knew he wouldn’t trade Jack to Whitney—not even for her. Not even though she thought she had heard him shout to her that he loved her. He would find another way.
It had shocked her more than a little bit to hear him say that he loved her. She thought that perhaps she hadn’t heard him right, since his voice had been so distant over the phone. But part of her knew that she’d heard exactly what she thought she’d heard. It was the loveliest thing that anyone had ever said to her, and it gave her such a warm feeling of sweetness for one moment, before reality started creeping in again. The idea that a man like Quentin—a powerful, incredible dragon shifter—would feel that way about her was just mind-blowing. And it wasn’t just that he was a shifter. He was a good person. Funny. Gorgeous. Intelligent. Loyal. Trustworthy.
He was all of the things that a man should be. And he made her feel incredible.
Was that love? Did she love him back? She wasn’t sure that she believed that love could happen so quickly. What if it was just the heightened emotions that they had been sharing because of the situation they were in? Yes, making love to him had been amazing—like nothing she had ever experienced before. But was physical chemistry love?
She didn’t know.
But she couldn’t afford to be thinking about it right now. If they all lived through the insanity that Whitney was imposing on all of them, then she and Quentin could figure out how they felt about each other and how to make a relationship between Baton Rouge and Twin Falls, Idaho, work. Because that was her home, after all. She had …well, she had nothing there, actually. Not without Whitney and Jack, or her job, or her tiny apartment, all of which she had given up.
There was a knock at the hotel room door, and the sound vibrated straight down Lydia’s spine, jerking her back into reality. She looked at Whitney, who was staring at the door with wild eyes and hair, which was almost standing on end from the way that she had been running her hands through it. She looked pale and gaunt and nothing like the glamorous self that she always presented.
“Who is it?” Whitney called, holding a finger out at Lydia to stay where she was while Whitney reached for her bottle and took another sip.
“Ma’am, there’s been a bit of an issue with your room. Management would like to speak with you.”
Lydia thought there was no way that Whitney could possibly answer the door, and she glanced towards the window, wondering if they were going to barricade themselves in or try to escape. She wondered if Whitney was going to be able to handle this unplanned intrusion when she was already so close to the end of her rope, and her throat tightened at the possibility that Whitney might kill her, cut her losses, and run.
But Whitney did none of that.
She walked over towards the door, and as she did, she smoothed her hair down and straightened her rumpled clothing. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and cracked her knuckles, and when she reached for the door handle, the insane woman that had been pacing the room and threatening to kill everyone and everything was gone. The Whitney who Lydia had thought she had known for so many years was back and as elegant and graceful as ever.
Whitney opened the door smoothly, smiling at the man who stood on the other side of it with a slightly coy hint in her eye. “Yes? What’s the problem?”
Lydia could hardly believe the instantaneous transformation, and it only reinforced in her mind the fact that Whitney had always been this insane—she was just really, really good at hiding it.
“I apologize,” the man said, standing there in his suit, his name badge on his lapel reading Kent. “It’s just that you checked in abnormally early, and so our desk staff was not aware that there was a conflict with this room. You see, this is the presidential suite, and we have a repeat client coming into town on business tonight. We had guaranteed it to her, but the desk staff was unaware of that conversation between the woman and the manager. I do apologize, but I’m afraid we need to move you to a different room. Of course, we will refund your money in full and provide you with every comfort we can. We’d also be happy to offer you a voucher for an additional stay as well as meal vouchers in some of the finest restaurants in the area.”
Whitney was all smiles, leaning up against the doorframe casually, as though she hadn’t a worry in the world. Lydia, out of the man’s direct line of sight, could only just see the doorway and a sliver of the man standing in it. She bit her lip, not wanting to endanger him in any way, but she was seeing a clear opportunity to escape Whitney. She almost called out, but then clamped her lips shut, knowing that if she did that, it meant the man would die along with who knew how many other people.
“Oh, that’s no problem,” Whitney said, sounding every bit like her normal self. “No problem at all. I completely understand. You all did us such a favor letting us check in before noon, when I know that’s against your policy. As it happens, this works out just fine for us. My friend, Lydia, and I were just talking about changing our travel plans.”
Lydia felt the same force come over her that Whitney had used to walk her silently out of the agency, against her will. It slid over her like a vise, shutting down her ability to move her body on her own, and she was completely under Whitney’s control.
She found herself standing up and walking over. “Yes,” Lydia said, in her own voice without her bidding, “We were talking about moving on a day early, in fact. We’ll be glad to get out of your hair.”
Kent nodded to her. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope it wasn’t because you were dissatisfied with the room in anyway.”
“No, no,” Whitney said, waving a hand and giving him a charming smile. “We’re just on a bit of a vacation, and we’re playing things by ear. Indulging ourselves a bit here and there.” She gestured around the fancy room they were in. “But we’re thinking of heading down to New Orleans, actually. Apparently the weather down there is going to be just beautiful this weekend, so we wanted to get an early start on it. I hear that there’s an oyster festival.”
Lydia wondered if there actually was an oyster festival, or if Whitney was just making things up and relying on her confidence and charm to pull it off.
Either way, it worked. Patrick smiled at her. “Well, that will be fun. Of course, we’ll refund your money, and we’ll be happy to still send you away with some vouchers. We really appreciate your cooperation.”
“Of course,” Whitney said, still smiling. Lydia didn’t move at all, because apparently Whitney did not give her permission to.
“Just stop at the desk on your way out,” Kent said. “There’s no immediate rush. Our repeat client is not due in until later this evening, and there will be plenty of time to clean the room.”
Whitney smiled and fluffed up her hair, her hand lowering to rest on her hip. “No problem. Thanks, Kent.”
She closed the door, and then she stood there, listening to his footsteps as he walked away. When Kent was gone, Whitney turned on Lydia, thrusting out her hand and slamming Lydia up against the wall. “How did you bring him here?” Whitney hissed, her façade falling away to review her real, and desperately gaunt self again. “How did you bring him here?” she almost shouted the second time.
Released from the hold that Whitney had put on her, but pinned to the wall by an invisible force, Lydia gasped, kicking her feet out in the air to try to free herself from Whitney. “I didn’t! I didn’t—you know I didn’t!”
“Well, the joke is on you,” Whitney said, lowering her hand so that Lydia fell to the floor, her ankle twisting badly beneath her and sending pain shooting up her leg. “Because we were leaving anyway.”
Whitney bent down and got right into Lydia’s face, not caring that Lydia was gripping her ankle, rocking back and forth, as she gritted her teeth against the pain.
“I just can’t decide whether or not to kill you,” Whitney whispered in Lydia’s ear, her breath tickling at the back of Lydia’s neck. “You are the biggest waste of space that I’ve ever had the misfortune of having to tolerate.”
Lydia blinked back the tears that were stinging at the corners of her eyes because of the pain shooting through her, and she looked right up at Whitney’s face. “And you are the most pathetic woman that I’ve ever had the misfortune of having to tolerate. You think you’re so powerful, but you’re nothing. You’re addicted to whatever nasty thing is in that bottle you drink, and without it, you’re nothing. It comes from Jack, doesn’t it? You harvest his organs—that’s disgusting. And you make some potion, and you drink it, and that’s the only reason you have any power at all. Maybe it’s the only reason you’re even alive. Which means that without Jack, you’re nothing. And I’m going to take Jack away from you—which means that you are about to truly be nothing at all.”
Rockwell Agency: Boxset Page 68
