by Amelia Autin
Until she realized her legs were still clasped around his hips. Until she realized just how intimate that was...which his body made known to her in no uncertain terms.
Alana hoped the faint moonlight meant he couldn’t see the blush she could feel creeping into her cheeks as she unwrapped her legs and he lowered her to the ground. “Sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t...” Thinking, she’d intended to say, but her words trailed off.
Then she was free. And a tiny part of her acknowledged she hadn’t wanted to be. She’d wanted to stay in his embrace. Wanted to explore the unmistakable evidence that he was attracted to her as much as she was attracted to him. Which was crazy. Because she’d never...
Two men converged on them, but the staccato patter of Cantonese that flew between her rescuer and one of the men made their conversation unintelligible to Alana. Male hands quickly and impersonally assisted her in unclipping the harness from the cable and unbuckling it. Then they were bundling her into a dark van, tugging a seat belt into place and strapping her in. Doors slammed before she could protest, and the van’s engine roared to life. She had one last vision of her rescuer stripping off his own harness then heading back toward the building they’d just escaped from, as the van sped away.
“Wait,” she choked out to the driver and the man in the left front passenger seat. “What about—”
“The operation’s not finished, Miss Richardson,” the man who wasn’t driving said in clipped British tones. “There’s still the little matter of the men who kidnapped you to take care of. But our job is to get you to safety.”
* * *
“Rendezvous” was all Jason had to say. He knew his men on the roof would meet him on the twenty-second floor with the other equipment RMM had brought along, including lock picks, stun grenades, tear gas and guns. Normally-illegal-in-Hong-Kong guns for which RMM had paid handsomely under the table to obtain special licenses.
But when they arrived at apartment 2211, the door was already standing wide open. They entered cautiously, guns drawn, but it was quickly evident it was empty. Jason cursed under his breath. Someone must have gone to check on their victim and realized she’d been rescued. Then the kidnappers had hightailed it out of there.
There was still a chance the police might recover decent evidence. But before he could give the order, one of his men said, “I’ll call in a tip to the police, Jason. Worth a shot anyway. At the very least, Miss Richardson’s fingerprints should be here somewhere, even if the kidnappers wore gloves the entire time. Her purse is here, too. That will prove she was here. And the bindings in the bedroom will be proof she was being held against her will.”
* * *
As the van wound its way up the mountain road, Alana shook off her semi-stupor and rattled off a string of questions without waiting for answers. “Who are you? How did you know where I was? Do you have any idea why I was—”
The man who’d spoken before answered her last question first. “Prostitution, Miss Richardson, plain and simple. We’ve been after this triad gang for a couple of months. More than two dozen women have been abducted in nearly the same fashion—snatched right off the streets in broad daylight. We don’t know who...not for sure, although we have our suspicions. And the women are being transported to Macau, but we don’t know exactly how...not yet. But we do know why. You’re young, pretty and you were on your own in an area that made you an easy tar—”
He broke off as the van halted suddenly at a gate that was familiar to Alana. The driver rolled down his window. “We have her safe,” he told the person who answered when he buzzed. Then the gate swung open, admitting the van, which drove smoothly through.
Light spilled out of the open front door of the DeWinters’ home, which was Alana’s home in Hong Kong, too. “We have the room,” Dirk DeWinter had told her when she’d arrived to interview for the job as his executive assistant last month. “It’ll be more convenient for all of us, but especially you. Don’t worry—your free time is yours, and you can come and go as you please.”
His wife, the beautiful Mei-li, who had a decidedly British accent, had chimed in with an understanding smile, “We know you want to be independent, Alana. We understand that’s a big part of why you’re here. But this will give you a safe place to live until you find your feet in Hong Kong. We can reassess in six months or so.”
Alana hadn’t needed her beloved cousin Juliana’s sterling reference for her dear friend and former co-star Dirk DeWinter in her decision to take the job and to live in. All she’d needed was to see the way her prospective employer had looked at his wife, as if she was his world. The same way her cousin’s husband looked at her. She’d sighed a little to herself at the time, she remembered now. Envious. Because that was the way she wished to be loved someday. Not the bloodless relationship her parents had. Something passionate. Something heated.
All at once she thought of the man who’d rescued her, and what she’d felt in his arms. Safe...but wanted. Safe...but desired. Triggering a corresponding desire that had taken her by complete surprise, especially under the circumstances.
She dragged her thoughts away from the memory with an effort. You’ll probably never see him again, she chastised herself, unbuckling her seat belt and scrambling out of the van as her employers anxiously approached.
“Alana!” Mei-li reached her first and embraced her. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”
Then Dirk was there. He didn’t say anything, just enveloped her in a bear hug that conveyed how worried he’d been, too, and how thankful he was she’d been rescued safe and sound. She knew it had to have brought back nightmares for him—his twin daughters had been kidnapped and held for ransom just over a year ago. That story, and the dramatic rescue, had been splashed across the front pages of newspapers, tabloids and gossip magazines, as well as the internet.
“I’m so sorry,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry you had to go through this again. But I wasn’t careless. Honest. Those men came out of nowhere with hundreds of people around, and—”
Dirk held her away from him at arm’s length, a frown marring his handsome features. “Don’t apologize. This wasn’t your fault. I should have warned you. And I should have made sure you knew about the—”
Mei-li put her hand on her husband’s arm, cutting off the flow of words. “Dirk,” she murmured. Just his name, but there appeared to be some sort of unspoken communication between them because his self-recriminations ceased. Then Mei-li smiled her gentle smile. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters. RMM came through for us...again.”
“RMM?” Alana couldn’t help but ask. Then she realized she’d never thanked the men who’d brought her here. She hadn’t thanked her rescuer, either, but at least she could ask these men to convey her heartfelt gratitude to him. She turned, but the van was already pulling away. “Wait!”
She took two steps forward as if she was going to chase after it, but Mei-li was suddenly there, stopping her. “They don’t look for thanks,” she explained softly.
“What do you mean?”
“RMM. They do what they have to do to rescue the innocent, even if it means breaking the law. But they don’t look for thanks. That’s not why they do it.”
“I don’t understand.”
Dirk came up on her other side. “RMM stands for Right Makes Might. It’s from a quotation by Abraham Lincoln.” His smile held admiration and something more. Deep gratitude, the kind Alana was feeling right now. “It’s not common knowledge, but they were instrumental in rescuing my daughters when they were kidnapped.”
Chapter 2
Jason walked through the door of his penthouse condo three hours later. He and his men had quickly scoured the tiny apartment where Alana had been held, noting everything and taking copious pictures, but touching nothing that would contaminate the crime scene. Then they’d melted into the darkness when the police s
irens could be heard in the distance.
He dropped his keys and iPhone in a large Ming bowl on the credenza by the front door, then headed for the bathroom, stripping off his clothes as he went. He was naked by the time he arrived, and he bundled his clothes into the laundry hamper. Then he grabbed the jar of cold cream from the bathroom counter and proceeded to smear some across the camouflaging face paint. He wiped most of the paint off with a handful of tissues, then stepped into the shower and let soap, hot water and vigorous scrubbing do the rest.
Clean, he pulled on boxer shorts and padded into the kitchen, where he snagged a cold bottle of water from the refrigerator and downed half of it in two gulps. Then he headed for his office, detouring on the way to pick up his smartphone in the vestibule. He took a moment to run one hand over the foot-high statue of Bruce Lee also on the credenza, a replica of the life-size one on the Avenue of Stars in Tsim Sha Tsui.
The statue had cost him an arm and a leg, but like the gold medallion he wore it was a constant reminder, and worth every penny. Bruce Lee was revered in Hong Kong—and in much of the rest of the world, for that matter—both as a proponent of martial arts and as a man whose films always depicted him standing up for what was right, not what was expedient. A man who protected the innocent. Bruce had died before Jason was born, but his legacy would live forever. A legacy Jason tried in his own way to emulate.
He settled into his leather and ebony office chair, flicked on his laptop, then keyed in the complicated encryption password. Tonight was going to be one of those nights...as usual. Sleep, which his adrenaline-sapped body craved, would be elusive. Rescues always wired him to the point where going to bed was useless, so he wouldn’t bother. Besides, he still had work to do.
While he waited patiently for the laptop to power up, he leaned back in the chair with a creak of leather, rehashing tonight’s rescue in his mind.
So many things could have gone wrong. Not the least of which was, he and his men could have picked the wrong apartment. GPS was good, but it wasn’t perfect. The coordinates they had in their possession had indicated that building and a most likely floor, but not which apartment. That had required a little old-fashioned deductive reasoning...and prayer. If they’d guessed wrong, screams from some surprised apartment dweller when Jason broke in would probably have alerted the triads that something was up, possibly even that a rescue was being attempted. And what that would have meant for Alana Richardson didn’t bear thinking about.
Alana Richardson. A tiny slip of a thing, really. Not even as tall as his sister, Mei-li, who wasn’t all that tall, either. But that wasn’t really relevant. No, what really mattered was how she’d handled herself during the rescue. Despite being bound, gagged and blindfolded, she’d been instantly alert when he’d awakened her. And she hadn’t questioned his orders. Hadn’t insisted on any kind of explanation. She’d just done what he’d told her to do...instantaneously.
He laughed softly. It wasn’t blind obedience he’d been hoping for; it was a woman smart enough to instantly grasp that explanations could wait for a more opportune time. Who could make split-second decisions the way he did, and follow through on them. And Alana Richardson fit that description the way she’d fit into his arms. Perfectly.
He sat up abruptly, muttering, “Hold on a minute.” Where the hell had that thought come from?
You shouldn’t even be thinking about how good she felt in your arms, he chastised himself. And you damn well shouldn’t have been aroused when she wrapped her legs around you and held on tight.
It did absolutely no good telling himself what he should have done...because it was too late for that. He had been aroused. Painfully aroused. And now that his mind had gone down that path, it was impossible not to remember slight breasts pressed firmly up against his chest. Impossible not to remember thighs clinging to his hips with unexpected strength. Impossible not to imagine those same thighs holding on tight as he rode her soft and slow and—
His smartphone dinged for an incoming text, an interruption he both blessed and cursed. He swiped a finger over the touchpad and saw it was from his sister.
Thnx, he read. Knew I could count on you. Call me?
He frowned. It was way past midnight, and his sister should be sleeping. But she knows you well enough, he reminded himself. She knows you’re not sleeping.
He pressed speed dial, and when the phone was answered, surprised himself when the first words out of his mouth were, “How is she?”
“Recovering,” Mei-li said. “The police were here. Dirk insisted we file a police report immediately, even though Alana had already been through a lot for one day. And it’s a good thing we did report it, because someone tipped off the police there was an abduction and rescue.” The emphasis on someone conveyed his sister knew exactly who that was, even though she wasn’t saying. “But the police are gone now. Finally. They took scrapings from beneath Alana’s fingernails for DNA analysis—apparently she scratched one of the men, and it looks as if she drew blood.”
He heard the unspoken approval in her voice. “They wanted Alana to go down to the police station to look through some mug shots,” she continued. “But she told them she really didn’t see her abductors’ faces. All three men were wearing full head masks. Black. Balaclavas, I’d bet, by her description.”
She paused for a moment, but Jason didn’t say anything. “After the police left, Dirk and I took her to hospital, over her vehement objections.”
“And?”
“And she’s fine, just as she insisted. A little nausea, but that’s a normal aftereffect of the chloroform they used on her. And she’s still feeling a little shaky from the blow she took.”
“What?”
“She fought them, remember? She said she tried to hold her breath when they placed the cloth over her face, but then one of the men struck her with something and that’s when she lost consciousness.”
Jason’s admiration for Alana rose, and her perfect response during the rescue tonight took on even more luster. If she was still shaky after all this time, that meant she had to have been still suffering from her head injury when he’d woken her and carried her out of the apartment. But she hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t complained.
“They took X-rays, just as a precaution, but no fractures. No subdural hematoma, either. And based on her responses to the doctor’s questions, he wasn’t worried about a concussion. He prescribed rest and lots of it.”
“Which she’s getting now?”
“Yes. For all her protestations that she was fine, Alana fell asleep in the car on the way home. Dirk had to carry her to her bedroom. I don’t think she even knows I tucked her in, so I’ll make an educated guess and say she’s still sound asleep.”
“Why aren’t you?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“You know I can’t.”
“Same for me.” Her voice, normally so light and musical, took on a slight strain. “I can never forget—”
“Sean,” he finished for her. His tone roughened. “Neither can I.”
“I know.” Mei-li sighed in his ear. “What did the triads say when you interrogated them?”
“Nothing. They must have gone to check on Miss Richardson shortly after I got her out of there, because by the time my team and I were able to storm the apartment, those men were long gone.”
“Damn!” That wasn’t quite the word Jason had used at the time, but his sister didn’t curse often. A damn from her was equivalent to cursing a blue streak. “At least Alana’s safe. Which means this one goes in the win column anyway.”
They were silent for a few moments, both remembering a day more than twelve years ago and an abduction that had gone heartbreakingly wrong.
“Thank God you had the GPS coordinates of where she was being held,” Jason said, finally breaking the painful silence. “We couldn’t h
ave rescued her without that.”
“Yes, thank God, but also thank Dirk...and you,” Mei-li said, and Jason knew she was referring to the high-tech electronic transmitter. Beacon, actually, but it only transmitted if it was manually set off or activated remotely from the parent server. Highly secret equipment not yet available to the general public, the prototype of which Jason had designed and had his company produce at his brother-in-law’s request. Alana had carried one on her keychain, although she hadn’t known it.
“Don’t forget to give yourself credit for quick thinking while you’re handing out praise,” he said drily. “I’m not sure what that triad gang was waiting for—the cover of darkness, probably. But if you hadn’t mobilized RMM right away...”
“All I did was—”
“—text Miss Richardson when she didn’t come home for dinner the way she said she would. And when you got no response, you called her cell phone. And when she didn’t answer, you activated the beacon.”
“Well, it made no sense to me,” Mei-li explained. “I knew she was going to Mong Kok, but when I activated the transmitter and mapped the location, I knew something bad was going down. She had no business being in that neighborhood—both Dirk and I had warned her where not to go by herself. And there was no ransom demand. If it wasn’t a kidnapping, I knew it was outside my area of expertise. So I called you.” Then she asked, “How did you know which apartment she was being held in?”
“Clutter...that wasn’t there.”
“An empty balcony,” his sister said softly. “Of course.” Admiration was evident in her voice, and he knew she’d made the connection without him having to spell it out. Space was at such a premium in Hong Kong, the vast majority of balconies weren’t used to take the air, but to store things that wouldn’t fit in Hong Kong’s tiny apartments. In addition to that, almost no one dried their clothes in a dryer, even if they had a washing machine in their unit. Even the residents of high-end apartments and condos hung their clothes to dry on their balconies. When you were looking for the slightest aberration, an empty balcony stood out like a red flag for RMM.
