by Mandy Baggot
The lines were getting blurred. He knew that, and he had to stop it. She was his case, his client. He never got involved in a physical way with clients, and he never got emotionally involved with anyone. Period.
“We should get going,” he spoke, making his presence known in the room.
Autumn looked up and felt her insides knot together as she gazed his way. Gunmetal gray pants and a short-sleeved white shirt that clung to his body in all the right places. He looked freshly showered and shaved, his black hair still damp and spiked down onto his forehead.
“Now? But I haven’t even started to pin her hair yet!” Tawanda turned toward the clock.
“You don’t do that for Autumn. You do it for you. I’ll get you a doll,” Nathan said with a small smile.
Autumn stood and showed him what she wore. “Do I look okay? I mean, okay for having dinner with an international security threat?”
It was a plain sort of turquoise-colored dress, but it brought out the color of her eyes and the red in her hair. She had less make-up on than usual, too, which was no bad thing. Her pale skin had caught the sun, and she was actually starting to look as if she had some small amount of flesh on her bones. He dropped his eyes to the floor. He couldn’t give away any indication that she stirred something inside him. She wore Riptape sandals.
“The sandals are a bit big. Tawanda leant them to me. There was nothing I could run in in the closet,” Autumn remarked, flushing.
Tawanda hauled herself up from the sofa. “I’m still not so sure this is a good idea,” she said.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about. Jazz’s team will be at the restaurant, at a discreet distance. Teo is watching you and the house with three others,” Nathan told her.
“I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about the child.”
“Please, Tawanda, I’m not a child,” Autumn said.
Tawanda shook her head. “You’re a child to me, and you shouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Well, she is in this situation, and we have to deal with it. And she’s not a child. She’s twenty-seven,” Nathan commented.
Autumn looked up at him, gleeful that he had defended her, delighted that he saw her as a woman. He met her eyes, his mouth hard, his expression gruff. Her brief excitement evaporated as quickly as it had come to a boil.
“We should go,” he said again.
Tawanda passed Autumn her purse. “Promise me, Autumn, that you will take care. You remember what I say about guns. They can save your life, but use them wisely...with care.”
“She won’t need to use it. I’ll be with her,” Nathan insisted.
His words lost, Tawanda pulled Autumn to her ample bosom and enveloped her in a bear hug, squeezing her tight.
“When I come back tonight, could you make some of that Caribbean hot chocolate?” Autumn asked.
She was trying to disguise the apprehension and fear she felt by making light of Tawanda’s sentimental display. The woman managed a nod before reaching into the breast pocket of her blouse and taking out a tissue to put to her nose.
“Call me, if anything changes here,” Nathan ordered her.
“I know what to do,” she answered.
Her tone was both cold and concerned.
He had to get out of the house. All the weighted comments and sentimentality was practically killing him. As was how Autumn looked in that dress. That plain dress, the minimal make-up, her bare, sun-kissed legs.
It was still warm outside. The sun had gone down, but the air was balmy, and he began to perspire almost straight away.
“Are we going in the Jeep?” Autumn asked as she followed him down the steps from the front door.
“Of course, we’re going in the Jeep,” he snapped back. “We’re leaving it at the port, getting on the boat, and getting a cab to the hotel. What did you expect? Chauffeur-driven limo?”
“No...I...”
“Listen, I’m not fucking 007, and I don’t need a Bond girl. Tonight isn’t a game. Your mother’s dangerous!”
“I know that.” Autumn clicked the catch of her purse.
“I might even have to kill her,” Nathan told her.
He turned and locked eyes with her, waiting to see what that news would do to her.
She nodded and carried on counting as she opened and closed the purse.
“Did you hear what I said?” he queried.
“Yes. Can you wait until after dessert? I don’t usually manage a starter, but I do like to have pudding.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
There it was. The Ricardo Hotel. She’d been so wired and strung out from all the lying, the confrontation she had to have with Juan, and the kidnap threat, she hadn’t noticed its appearance the first time around.
It rose up from the street like a huge chrome and glass castle, gleaming, brilliant, modern yet iconic, threatening and imposing. The magnitude of its exterior was overwhelming. Her stomach contracted, and she drew her purse closer.
The cab stopped outside the front entrance, opposite the polished granite steps she’d last stood on with Blu-Daddy.
She had to keep focused on the gargantuan hotel. She couldn’t look at the street. There were cordons a little way ahead—where Blu had fallen—forensic markers, too.
She retched and Nathan grabbed her hand, squeezing it hard. What his intention was, she didn’t know, but the pain was enough to shock her out of actually vomiting.
“It’s just a high-class, overpriced hotel, nothing more. You must have been in hundreds of places just like this. It’s no different,” he reassured.
He felt for her, but he had to stay in client/bodyguard mode for both their sakes. He didn’t want to be here either. If he was truthful, he was laying the blame for the previous night’s fuck-up firmly at his own door. He’d only ever felt as responsible on one other occasion, and the less he thought about that, the better.
“Can we go round the back?” Autumn asked.
“No.”
“Please?”
“If there’s someone here watching, I want them to see you. I need to put things to the test.”
“Put my mother to the test, you mean.”
“If you like.”
He could see her hands were shaking, despite her attempts to hide the fact, and she had paled. He needed to make sure she ate. He hadn’t seen her eat since breakfast, and he needed to keep that monitored.
He opened the car door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, his eyes darting around their surroundings. If there was anything out of the ordinary, he would sense it. The visual was merely a failsafe. He moved around the back of the cab and opened the door on Autumn’s side. He held his hand out to her and she took it, gripping it tight. As her auburn head emerged from the car, a pair of photographers leaped from the outside seating area of a neighboring coffee house.
“Back off, and do it now,” Nathan threatened, shielding Autumn from the flash of the cameras and the questions that were about to come.
“Autumn, how do you feel about the death of Blu-Daddy? Is it true it was an attempted kidnapping?”
“I said back off,” Nathan repeated.
“Autumn, just a few words.”
The reporter shouting the questions produced a recording device from the pocket of his jeans and tried to get closer to Autumn. The pap with the camera was at her shoulder, shooting from unnecessarily close range.
“If you don’t get that camera out of her face, I’ll implant it in yours!” Nathan snarled. “Back off!”
He tightened his grip on Autumn’s hand and dragged her toward the steps.
She felt vulnerable in the flat sandals. Like Samson losing his strength from a haircut, she felt sapped of energy without heels. By the time Nathan had practically pulled her up the steps and into the foyer, she was perspiring.
She thought she was ready for this, whatever this was. But judging by her flakiness and her response to the press, she wasn’t prepared for anything.
“We’ve booked
a table in the restaurant. You need to keep the reporters out of here,” Nathan told the concierge.
Nathan was right, she had to toughen up. In her career, she could be pretty ruthless. If she wasn’t on board with something, she had no qualms about letting everyone know it. Why couldn’t she find that persona now, when she needed it most? He must think her pathetic. She didn’t want him to think that. She wasn’t.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and counted herself into feeling a little more in control. When she opened her eyes, Nathan was standing a little way in front of her. He wasn’t looking at her. He just waited, eyes focused on the mid-distance toward the restaurant entrance.
“Can we get a drink?” she asked.
“Sure,” he responded. He took her arm and walked toward the door where the maitre d’ greeted them.
“Miss Raine has a table booked for eight o’clock,” Nathan informed.
“Of course. Good evening, Miss Raine. I have reserved our best table for you. Come, this way,” the maitre d’ spoke and led them through the glass paneled door.
Every diner in the room turned to watch their arrival, and when they realized who it was, they began to whisper to their table companions.
Autumn was accustomed to it, of course, but tonight they wouldn’t be remarking on her clothes or her hairstyle. They would be commenting on what had happened last night. They all knew her boyfriend had cheated on her, that she was allegedly dating someone new, that someone was trying to kidnap her, and now, her record producer was dead. The looks weren’t envious. They were expressions of pity.
“Good evening, nice to see you,” Nathan said to a woman who was paying particular interest in their entrance. “Is the food as wonderful as we’ve been told?”
“Oh, yes, it’s really very good,” she responded as her cheeks flamed.
Nathan got to Autumn’s chair before the maitre d’ had a chance and eased it out for her.
This restaurant looked like something out of a Dynasty TV production set. The décor exuded luxury, from the deep pile of the champagne-colored carpet to the elaborate, highly-polished chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Luxury did nothing for him. In his job, he’d eaten at places even more up-market than this. He’d also eaten at places most people wouldn’t want to set foot in, let alone have a meal.
“The wine list, sir. I’d recommend the new white. It’s imported from France,” the maitre d’ explained as he pointed it out to Nathan.
“Autumn?” Nathan asked.
“The most alcoholic,” she responded, pulling her chair closer to the table.
Nathan passed the wine list back. “A bottle of the French stuff then,” he agreed.
“Very good, sir.” The maitre d’ backed away.
Nathan looked across the table at Autumn. She was moving all the items laid out for them into a set order. The small pink orchid display was moved from the center and placed at the side. The thin, impeccably-styled salt and pepper cellars were slid over to the other side and turned into a position until they were just so. Then she moved the knives and forks less than an inch and did the same with the dessert spoons.
“She isn’t coming, is she?” Autumn remarked. Her eyes darted across everyone in the place, looking for something familiar.
Nathan checked his watch. “It’s only just past eight.”
“Typical her, keeping people waiting, being the center of attention,” she said with a disapproving tut.
“That was exactly how you rolled a couple of days ago.”
“It wasn’t. I’m punctual...when I can be.”
She looked back to Nathan and thought he looked nervous. It was probably the first time she had seen him look anything other than completely in control and at ease.
“Will you leave the table settings alone,” he barked.
“Sorry.” She dropped her fork on the floor and made a grab for her napkin before it followed suit.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t like it here,” she admitted.
“You hang out at places like this. These people have money, just like you. You should feel right at home.”
“Why do you say things like that? I told you I didn’t want to come here,” she whispered. “I don’t feel comfortable here.”
She quieted as a waiter came over to their table. He opened the wine, and, after Autumn tasted it and approved, he poured two glasses and left them alone.
“These people eating here spend a fortune on imported French wine like this. They have everything on a plate. They’re privileged and lucky, just like you,” Nathan reminded her.
“Lucky? Oh, yes, I’m so lucky, aren’t I? Two-timing boyfriend, liar of a best friend, hard-hearted mother, no father, nothing to do of an evening except drink, avoid eating, and listen to people telling me how perfect I am,” she stated then took a large mouthful of wine.
“Ah, the poor-spoiled-little-rich-girl routine.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “Don’t say that! Why are you saying that?” she asked.
Why was he saying that? Why was he being so heartless and cruel? She had already been kicked to the floor, why did he feel he had to put the boot in even more? He knew why. Because if he didn’t focus on all her bad points and all the fucking irritating shit she did, he would see the good points, and it was the good points that made him want to take her in his arms and never let her go. He took a drink of his wine then replaced the glass on the table.
“What do you want from life, Autumn?”
“I don’t want this, and I don’t want that either. I’m tired. I’m so tired, and I don’t know what to do.”
“So, change things,” he suggested, looking across the table at her.
“Because it’s so easy to do when you don’t know anything else.”
“Maybe you should visit Hull. See how the other half lives.”
She raised her eyes to meet his. “Would you take me?” she asked.
“You’ll have to eat chips…with your fingers,” he said.
“Doused with salt and vinegar?”
“Absolutely.”
His lips moved, stretching into a smile that touched the very edges of his face. And he felt it, too, inside himself. A warm feeling spread over his chest, moved down into his stomach, and spread lower, down to his groin.
He downed half the contents of his wineglass in one gulp.
The stuck-up pop icon facade was slowly, but surely, falling away, and as each piece came loose, there was more and more to like about Autumn Raine. He was in dangerous territory and he knew it.
He refocused and looked across at the swinging door. His shoulders stiffened.
“She’s here, isn’t she?” Autumn said, turning around in her chair to see.
“Play it cool. Let me do all the talking,” Nathan urged.
Autumn’s mother appeared in the doorway, flanked, as ever, by her two security men who had done little to disguise who or what they were. She wore an apricot-colored peplum-style dress that showed off her neat figure. Her hair was uncharacteristically down and sat on her shoulders. But the smart, sophisticated look of the tableau fell away the second her eyes met Autumn’s.
“Something’s wrong,” Autumn whispered to Nathan.
“What?”
“She doesn’t look composed. Something’s wrong.”
“Don’t be fooled by her, Autumn. You know what she’s capable of.”
“I also know when something’s wrong, and something’s wrong. I can feel it.”
Alison beamed a wide smile as she made her way across toward their table, her companions tight to her heel.
“She doesn’t look in control,” Autumn said through tight lips.
“It’s an act. Don’t be taken in. Foreign Secretary Raine,” Nathan greeted, standing up and extending his hand as she approached.
His offering was met with her two aids moving their hands to their weapons.
“Just a handshake,” Nathan insisted, withdrawing his hand an
d sitting back down.
“Mother,” Autumn said. She fixed her eyes on her and looked for some explanation to her flustered appearance.
“Hello, darling, how are you?” Alison asked. “Are you bearing up? I can’t imagine how stressed you must be feeling.”
She sat down next to her daughter, and, much to Autumn’s shock, she took hold of her hands. It was then Autumn really knew something wasn’t right. Her mother never touched her, and her hands trembled.
“I’m fine,” Autumn replied. “Well, you know, as fine as I can be under the circumstances. What about you?” She tried to focus her gaze, make Alison look into her eyes. She wanted her mother to realize she was showing her genuine concern. This was her chance, perhaps her only chance, to come clean and open up. Perhaps she had a conscience. Perhaps she had realized what she’d done.
“Me?” Alison asked. “I’m fine. Concerned for you, of course, but what mother wouldn’t be? I hate to think of you in danger. There must be more I can do.”
Autumn looked into her mother’s eyes, and whatever was going on inside her mind, the lies were being trotted out as usual.
“There is something you could do,” Autumn said in no more than a whisper.
“Get rid of the goons,” Nathan interrupted, breaking Autumn’s concentration.
“They have to be here, Mr. Regan. They’re my security. It’s their job to protect me.”
Autumn watched as her mother reached for Autumn’s glass of wine and drank down the contents.
“Five minutes, Mother. I want to discuss something personal. I can’t have it leaked to the press.” If she got her mother on her own, away from work for a brief second, maybe there was a chance. Perhaps she’d do the right thing.
“Autumn, I trust my staff, and you should, too.” Alison’s tone was less than convincing.
“Fine, have it your way!”
