‘Unconditional devotion,’ she murmured as she obligingly rubbed the cat’s fur, and heard the appreciative purr in response.
She was all alone with no one close to call.
Cameron was in Melbourne, Siobhan had returned to Italy, and she couldn’t, wouldn’t ring Diego.
OK, so she’d feed the cat, fix herself something to eat, then she’d clean the apartment. An activity that would take a few hours, after which she’d shower and fall into bed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WORK provided a welcome panacea, and Cassandra applied herself diligently the following morning as she adjusted the binocular microscope and focused on the delicate setting. Its intricate design provided a challenge, professionally and personally.
She wanted the best, insisted on it, aware such attention to minuscule detail brought the desired result…perfection.
If achieving it meant working through a lunch-hour, or staying late at the workshop, nothing mattered except the quality of the work.
Yet there were safety precautions in place. Loose stones were easy to fence, and therefore provided a target for robbery. Priceless gems, expensive equipment. Security was tight, the vault one of the finest. Bulletproof glass shielded those who worked inside, and a high-priced security system took care of the rest.
It all added up to a heightened sense of caution. Something she had become accustomed to over the years, and one she never took for granted.
The cast-in-stone rule ensured two people, never one alone, occupied the workshop on the premise that if by chance something untoward happened to one, the other was able to raise the alarm.
In the three years she’d worked for this firm, no one had attempted to breach the security system in daylight.
Oh, for heaven’s sake! Why were such thoughts chasing through her mind? Instinct, premonition? Or was it due to an acute vulnerability?
No matter how hard she tried, she was unable to dismiss Diego from her mind. He was an intrusive force, every waking minute of each day.
She could sense his touch without any trouble at all. Feel the way his mouth moved on her own. As to the rest of it…
Don’t go there. The memories were too vivid, too intoxicating.
Great while it lasted, she admitted. A fleeting, transitory fling orchestrated for all the wrong reasons. Manipulation at its worst.
So why was she aching for him?
The deal was done. Preston-Villers would flourish beneath Diego’s management. Cameron retained anonymity in his private life. As to her? She’d fulfilled all obligations and was off the hook.
A hollow laugh sounded low in her throat. Sure she was! She’d never been so tied up in her life!
She barely ate, she rarely slept. Some of it could be attributed to grieving for her father. The rest fell squarely on Diego’s shoulders.
The electronic buzzer sounded loud above background music from wall-speakers, and Cassandra glanced up from her work to see a familiar figure holding twin food bags on the other side of the door.
Sally from the café near by with their lunch order.
‘Want to take those sandwiches, or shall I?’ Cassandra queried, only to see Glen in the throes of heating fine metal. ‘OK, I’ll get them.’
She laid down her tools, then moved towards the door, released the security lock and reached for the latch.
At that moment all hell let loose.
She had a fleeting glimpse of Sally’s terrified expression, caught a blur of sudden movement as Sally catapulted into the workroom, followed by a man whose facial features were obscured by a woollen ski-mask.
A nightmare began to unfold as he whipped out a vicious-looking knife and brandished it.
The drill in such circumstances was clear. Do what you’re told…and don’t play the hero.
A knife wasn’t a gun. She had self-defence training. Could she risk attempting to disarm him?
‘Don’t even think about it.’ The harsh directive chilled her blood as he pulled out a hand gun and brandished it. In one swift movement he hooked an arm round her shoulders and hauled her back against him, then he pressed the tip of the knife to her throat.
Calm, she had to remain calm. Not easy with a gun in close proximity, not to mention the threat of a knife.
At the edge of her peripheral vision she glimpsed Glen making a surreptitious move with his foot to the panic button at floor level. An action that would send an electronic alert to the supervisor’s pager, the security firm and the local police station.
Had the intruder seen it? She could only pray not.
‘Empty the vault.’ The demand held a guttural quality, and she saw Glen lift his hands in a helpless gesture.
‘I don’t know the combination.’
He was buying time, and the intruder knew it.
‘You think I’m a fool?’ the intruder demanded viciously, tightening his hold on Cassandra’s shoulders. ‘Open it now, or I’ll use this knife.’
She felt the tip of it slide across the base of her throat, the sting of her flesh accompanied by the warm trickle of blood.
Glen didn’t hesitate. He crossed to the vault, keyed in a series of digits, then pulled open the door.
‘Put everything into a bag. Go!’
Glen complied, moving as slowly as he dared.
‘You want me to hurt her bad?’
The knife pressed hard, and Cassandra gasped at the pain.
‘I’m being as quick as I can.’ And he was, withdrawing trays, tossing the contents into a bag. ‘That’s all of it.’
‘Give it to me!’ He released her, and backed towards the workshop door.
She saw what he could not, and she deliberately kept her expression blank as two armed security guards positioned themselves each side of the outer door.
One well-aimed kick, the element of surprise, that was all it would take to disarm the intruder and provide the essential few seconds’ confusion to give the guards their opportunity to burst in and take him down.
She went into calculated action, so fast it was over in seconds as her foot connected with his wrist and the gun went flying.
A stream of obscenities rent the air as he lunged for her, and she barely registered the door crashing open, or the security guards’ presence as he swung her in against him.
Oh, God. The pressure against her ribs was excruciating, and she had difficulty breathing.
Sally began to cry quietly.
‘Let her go.’ One of the security guards made it a statement, not a plea, and earned a scathing glare.
‘Are you crazy? She’s going to be my ticket out of here!’
‘Put down the knife.’
‘Not in this lifetime, pal.’ His snarl was low, primal, and frightening.
What began as a robbery had now become a hostage situation.
Then Cassandra heard it…the distant sound of a siren, the noise increasing in velocity, followed by the diminishing sonorous wail as the engine cut.
Seconds later the phone rang.
‘Pick it up!’
The guard’s movements were careful as he obeyed, listened, spoke, then he held out the receiver to her captor. ‘It’s for you.’
‘Tell the man I want clear passage out of here and a fifteen-minute start. That’s the deal.’
They wouldn’t buy it. At least, not without resorting to any one of several psychological ploys in an attempt at negotiation.
The scene was too close to a movie script. Worse, the man holding her was desperate and wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her.
Did your life flash before your eyes in a moment of extreme crisis? Cassandra pictured her mother, father. Cameron was there. Diego. Oh, hell, why Diego?
She didn’t have a future with Diego. Dammit, she might not have a future at all!
‘I want all of you out. Now!’ He was incandescent with rage, and she consciously held her breath.
The guards, Sally and Glen filed out quietly, the door closed, leaving only Cassandra and the madman i
n the workshop.
‘We’re going to take a ride together, you and me.’ His voice was close to her ear. ‘If you’re very good, I just might let you go when we’ve put in some distance from here.’
Sure. And the sun shone bright at midnight in the Alaskan winter-time.
His hand closed over her breast, and squeezed. ‘Or maybe you and me could shack up together awhile, have some fun.’
‘In your dreams.’
He pinched her, hard, then thrust her roughly against a work-bench. ‘Pick up that damned phone, and tell those bastards to get their act together.’
She could hardly believe they’d let him walk out of here alone. The gems in the vault were worth a small fortune. And there was the matter of her life.
Her hand stung, and she saw blood seeping from a deep cut as she lifted the receiver.
‘Stay calm. Do what he says. We’ve set up road blocks. He can’t get far.’ The masculine voice was quiet, steady. As if he controlled a hostage situation on a weekly basis. Maybe he did, she thought wildly.
‘They make a wrong move, and you’re history, y’hear?’
What happened next was a nightmare of action, noise, fear in a kaleidoscope of motion as she was forced to carry the bag of gems, then used as a human shield as her captor hustled her towards his waiting car.
Would they try to take him out? Shoot, or hold their fire?
In those few terrifying seconds out in the open she consciously prepared herself for anything, and it wasn’t until he shoved her across the driver’s seat and climbed in almost on top of her that she realised he was about to make good his escape.
Taking her with him.
He fired the ignition and surged forward, wheels screeching as he took off at a frightening speed.
Cassandra automatically reached for the dashboard, not that it afforded her any purchase, and heard his maniacal laughter as he swerved in and out of traffic, then he took a hard turn left, only to scream with rage as he saw the road block up front.
She barely had a second to gauge his next move when he swung the car round and roared back down the road to crash through a hastily set-up road block.
The car bounced off another vehicle with a sickening thud of grinding metal before careening off down the road. Car horns blasted, brakes screamed.
Cassandra saw impending disaster a few seconds ahead of contact, and she acted entirely on impulse, throwing open the passenger door and leaping out an instant before the car hit.
There was a moment of searing pain as her body hit the asphalt, a conscious feeling of movement, then nothing.
Cassandra was dreaming. Her body felt strangely weightless, and at some stage she seemed to drift towards consciousness, only to retreat into a non-intrusive comfort zone.
There were voices, indistinguishable at first, then invasive as she came fully awake.
White walls, bustling movement, the faint smell of antiseptic…and a uniformed nurse hovering close checking her vital signs.
Hospital.
She became aware of an intravenous drip, bandages on one arm…and the dull ache of medicated pain. Her head, shoulder, hip.
‘Good. You’re awake.’
And alive. Somehow that fact held significance!
The nurse spared Cassandra a steady look. ‘Multiple contusions, grazed skin, superficial knife wounds. Concussion.’
No fractures, no broken bones. That had to be a plus!
‘We have you on pain relief. Doctor will be in soon. Meantime, you have a visitor.’ Someone who had descended on the hospital within minutes of the patient being admitted, the nurse acknowledged silently. Insistently demanding the best specialists be summoned, and the patient allocated a private suite. Each attempt to compromise had been met with a steely glare.
‘A visitor?’
‘If you don’t feel up to it, I can have him wait.’ It wouldn’t hurt to have him cool his heels a little longer. And if he dared upset the patient, she’d have his guts for garters.
Who knew she was here? It was probably a police officer needing her statement.
‘It’s OK.’
‘Five minutes,’ the nurse stipulated, and left the suite.
No sooner had she swept through the door, than it swung back and Diego entered. A tall, dark force whose presence seemed to fill the room.
Her surprised expression brought a faint smile to his lips, one that didn’t reach his eyes as he advanced towards the bed.
‘No hello?’ He lowered his head and brushed his lips to her cheek.
Not even being pumped up with painkillers stilled the fluttering inside her stomach, nor did it prevent her quickening pulse. ‘I’m temporarily speechless.’
‘That I should come visit?’ He kept his voice light, and wondered if she had any idea what he’d been through in the past few hours. Anger…hell, no, rage on being informed what had happened. And fear. Unadulterated fear he could have lost her.
He was still fighting both emotions, controlling them by sheer force of will. Her captor would pay…and pay dearly for putting this woman’s life at risk.
‘No one could stop me,’ Diego drawled, his voice a mix of steel and silk.
Cassandra looked at him with unblinking solemnity. ‘Who would dare?’ His power was a given. His use of it, unequivocal.
His expression softened, and his eyes warmed a little. ‘How are you, querida?’
The quietly voiced endearment almost brought her undone. ‘As comfortable as can be expected.’
He lifted a hand and trailed gentle fingers along the edge of her jaw. ‘Is there anything you need?’
You. Except he wasn’t hers to have. ‘When can I get out of here?’
The pad of his thumb traced the lower curve of her mouth. ‘A day or two.’
She had to ask. ‘My abductor?’
Diego’s features became a hard mask. ‘Arrested and behind bars.’
So there was justice, after all.
The door opened and the nurse returned. ‘I must ask you to leave. The patient needs to rest.’
For a moment Cassandra thought he was going to refuse, then he moved in close, lowered his head and covered her mouth with his own.
It was a gentle kiss, and his tongue slid in to tangle briefly with hers. Electrifying seconds that sent a rush of blood to her head. Then he straightened, touched a light finger to her cheek, and vacated the suite.
Flowers arrived late afternoon. A bouquet from the workshop staff, and three dozen red roses with ‘Diego’ scrawled in black ink on the attached card, together with a special-delivery package from one of the élite lingerie boutiques.
‘Definitely ah-hh time,’ an attentive nurse declared as Cassandra revealed two exquisite nightgowns and a matching robe. There were also essential toiletries—Chanel. He was nothing if not observant.
Cassandra ate little, endured a short visit from the police, gave a detailed account covering events during and after the robbery.
Then she slept, and she was unaware of Diego’s presence in the room as he stood observing her features in repose.
So small, such a petite frame. Porcelain skin, and a mouth to die for.
He wanted to gather her up and take her home. To share his bed and hold her through the night. Just so he could. To protect, and ensure no one ever got close enough to hurt her again.
He, Diego del Santo, who’d bedded any number of women in his lifetime, now only wanted to bed one.
A slip of a thing, whose beautiful blue eyes had captivated him from the start. Without any effort at all she’d slipped beneath his skin and stolen his heart.
Was she aware of the effect she had on him?
The question was what he intended to do about it.
Cassandra woke early, accepted the nursing ritual and took a supervised shower. This morning the intravenous drip would be removed, and she wanted out of here.
The specialist was less than enthusiastic. ‘I’d prefer you remained under observation for another twenty-f
our hours.’
‘Prefer, but it’s not essential?’
‘Do you live alone?’
Tricky. ‘Not exactly.’ A resident cat didn’t count. But she had the phone, her cellphone, and a caring neighbour.
He checked her vital signs, perused her chart. ‘Let’s effect a compromise. I’ll check on you this afternoon with a view to possible release.’ He gave her a piercing look. ‘You have someone to collect and drive you home?’
She’d take a cab.
Which she did, arriving at her apartment just after six that evening. The manager produced a spare key and there was a sense of relief in being home.
The cat greeted her with a plaintive protest, and she fed her, put down fresh water, then made herself a cup of tea.
The ouch factor was very much in evidence, and she swallowed another two painkillers.
A nice quiet evening viewing television followed by an early night. By Monday she should be able to return to work.
Cassandra settled comfortably on the sofa, and smiled as the cat jumped onto her lap. She surfed the television channels, selected a half-hour comedy and prepared to relax.
The insistent ring of the intercom buzzer was an unwelcome intrusion, and she transferred the cat, then moved to check the security screen.
Diego.
She picked up the in-house phone. ‘I’m fine, and I’m about to go to bed.’
‘Release the door.’ His voice was deceptively mild.
‘I’m too tired for visitors.’
‘You want for me to get the manager and explain you left hospital under false pretences?’
‘I already spoke to him. He gave me a spare key.’
‘Cassandra—’
‘Leave me alone. Please,’ she added, then she replaced the receiver and moved back to take up her position on the sofa.
The cat had just re-settled itself on her lap when her doorbell rang. Her neighbour?
The manager, she determined through the peephole, with Diego at his side.
She unlocked and opened the door. The manager looked almost contrite. ‘Your—er—friend expressed concern about your welfare.’
‘As you can see, I’m fine.’ If she discounted the pain factor.
The Helen Bianchin Collection Page 64
