by Sara Fawkes
I paused in confusion, but Lucas leaped out of bed, turning on a lamp and throwing on clothes. “Pirates?” I asked, failing to reconcile the peg-leg image in my head with the modern era.
“We’re getting close to the Caribbean,” Lucas said, stepping into his pants, “and a few roving bands of outlaws still prey on ships down there. I didn’t think we’d come across any this far north though.” He looked over at me. “You’d better get dressed.”
He slipped out the door as I rolled out of bed, and I hurried to lock it behind him. Grabbing up clothes from the bathroom, I quickly dressed, keeping an ear open for anything strange. The tamping of feet outside my room shook the floor, but I didn’t hear anything else suspicious. For a second I looked for the knife and then remembered that I’d left it stuck inside Alexei’s leg. The most dangerous thing in the room was the picture frame. I clutched it, wishing I’d been left something with which to defend myself.
From somewhere on the ship, there came a series of pops. I froze, clutching the frame in both hands, the edges cutting lines into my palms. More footsteps sounded outside the door, quiet this time but I could still feel each footfall. Don’t come in here, please don’t come in here...
The handle shook, then a crunch as someone attempted to pound it open. I gave a terrified squeak, racing for the bathroom right as the door gave, slamming open. A black figure filled the doorway, and I stopped immediately when I saw the big assault rifle in his hands turn towards me.
The gun lowered almost immediately, and I screamed as the figure reached for me. Batting away the hand with the frame, I turned to run toward the bed, but an arm wrapped around my waist, hauling me off the ground. Thumping at the bare arm with the picture frame, my second scream was cut off when a dark hand wrapped around my mouth.
“Lucy,” a familiar voice muttered in my ear, and I stopped struggling in shock. “I’m getting you off this boat.”
The frame fell from my numb fingers, cracking against the thin carpet. The hand lifted off my mouth. “Jeremiah?” I whispered, struggling to turn around.
He put me back on my feet, and I stared up at the man. Black grime streaked his face and arms, but those oh-so-familiar green eyes blazed like torches. I put my hand out to touch his face, then covered my mouth, unable to believe what I was seeing.
Then from the doorway came the click of a cocking gun, and Jeremiah froze, head snapping upright.
“Hello, little brother.” Jeremiah shoved me behind him as he turned to face Lucas.
The gunrunner quirked an eyebrow, then glanced at me. “Well, isn’t this awkward.”
Look for part seven of the “Anything He Wants” series, coming to all major ebook retailers in April 2013!!
BONUS STORY –
The face that Jeremiah Hamilton puts forth to the world is not the full measure of the man. He believes himself in charge, in control of his life and responsibilities. But what happens when you take away the thing most precious to him, the one person with the power to shatter his entire world? This bonus story takes us from the events at the end of the first book through the beginning of the current story. Jeremiah begins to realize that no man is an island, and all walls are breakable by someone with the right touch.
“I love you.”
Three little words, but they had the power to stop the world.
“No.”
He hadn’t meant for the denial to slip out quite like that. Jeremiah felt Lucy tense against him and watched her face as she struggled to speak again. Beneath her, Jeremiah lay silent, trying to figure out a way to salvage the situation, but couldn’t think of a good solution.
Why had it come to this?
Moving his hands down to Lucy’s waist, he gently maneuvered her off of him so he could sit up. There was a sudden clamor in his head, more of a white noise than any specific message or thought. The need for action kept every muscle in his body tense, yet he couldn’t move, stuck sitting on that bed.
“Why?”
Jeremiah shut his eyes. The broken whisper behind him reminded him he was not alone, but he hadn’t forgotten. For a brief instant they were still skin on skin, then Lucy pulled away, tugging the sheets toward her. The separation was like a lance to the gut, and Jeremiah began to shake.
Unable to answer yet, he stood to his feet and gathered his clothes, throwing them on quickly. His shirt took twice as long to close, his fingers trembling and fumbling with the buttons. He threw on his pants, ignoring socks as he grabbed his shoes, and didn’t look at the woman in his bed until after he’d buckled his belt. The pause was enough time to get himself under control, but just barely.
The open devastation on Lucy’s face threatened to break him. The clamoring in his head grew to a roar, but he didn’t allow it to break his stony façade. Every instinct within him screamed at him to run, that this was a struggle he couldn’t win, but logic told Jeremiah he had to say something. Rooted in place by duty, he could no more walk away from this than he could walk away from any other business arrangement.
But this isn’t business.
Yes, it was. Because to call it anything else would mean admitting to sentiments he refused to categorize.
“I don’t think…” He paused. Words in this instance were hard, some words more than others. “I’d prefer it if we kept any mention of love out of our relationship for the foreseeable future.”
“Why?”
The question was a demand, and he knew she deserved a response. “Let’s think about this logically.” Logic was good. Jeremiah decided he could be logical, even now. “You’ve known me for roughly two weeks now. Is that enough time to build up any type of emotional attachment?” He watched her think about his words, obviously struggling for a response.
“I’m not asking you to say the same.”
Jeremiah nodded and sat down on the bed. “Maybe not,” he conceded, then reached out and cupped her face. “But why ruin what we have with platitudes like this?”
Something twisted in her face, and Jeremiah’s breath caught. Her skin was soft beneath his hand, but he could almost feel her growing cold to his touch. The urge for him to flee, to get away somewhere neutral where he could think properly, rose up like an overwhelming tide. He felt like a rabbit staring into the eyes of a predator, unable to think of anything but the escape. So when she put out a hand to touch him, he danced away, unable to bear the contact.
“Now that you’ve been cleared in the preliminary investigation, you’re free to leave the grounds.” The words sounded distant, as if they weren’t coming from his lips. “With the police presence being what it is, I think we’re safe from more attacks. One of the guards can drive and escort you anywhere you want. Just keep me informed as to your whereabouts.”
The journey downstairs was more like sleepwalking. Jeremiah made a beeline for the front door, and only began to breathe again when he was outside. The nervous tension wouldn’t leave him, however, and he waved off the man approaching him. “I’m driving myself today, Jared.”
“Yes sir.”
Jeremiah’s long strides took him quickly to the large garage beside the house, and he keyed in the code for the doors. The gates lifted too slowly for his taste, so he ducked beneath them as the large space filled with light. There were several vertical tiers of cars within the garage, many of which had been in the family for decades. Most weren’t what he was looking for, the bulk being the kind of cars meant for passengers and not drivers, but the white Audi R8 would suit his purposes perfectly.
He peeled out of the driveway in a spray of gravel, flying toward the front entrance. The guards manning it barely opened the metal gates enough for him to race through, but Jeremiah couldn’t find the will to care. The white noise had filled his brain; the urge to run was too great.
I love you. The words reverberated in his mind, taking on an almost sinister feel. Jeremiah drove blindly, not caring about the empty roads other than the fact that they gave him the momentary freedom he demanded. Distance, he quic
kly found, didn’t help. In fact the farther away he went, the more tension settled inside his body. The desire to turn around, to go back to that bedroom and plead forgiveness, grew almost as strong as the need to flee.
That option was unacceptable.
Jeremiah smacked the steering wheel, then again. Why hadn’t he inserted a clause about this into the damned contract? If he assigned blame, then what had happened was his fault. The girl was smart; he’d seen her read the initial contract, knew she’d understood what she was getting into. If there had been a clause forbidding certain words, she would have abided by it. So why hadn’t he thought to include anything of the sort in the contract?
I hadn’t thought it necessary to mention.
Yes, but for whom? Had he believed Lucy herself would not fall in love with him…or that he wouldn’t fall in love with her?
It was all so confusing.
Jeremiah merged onto a highway, passing cars with little regard to the traffic laws. He was driving erratically and knew it, but couldn’t make himself slow down. For nearly a decade, since taking over Hamilton Industries, he’d been forced to think about every move, knowing everyone watching him would criticize his decisions. Good or bad, every choice was judged, weighed, and another mark for or against him. Such had been life with his family growing up, such had been life in the military, and moreso now that he was in such a public position. He’d made it his mission to predict outcomes, see how his decisions would impact the future.
How could he have missed this possible conclusion?
The phone in his pocket vibrated, but Jeremiah ignored it. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to slow down to the speed limit, and then pulled off the highway. He drove until the road ended at the water’s edge then turned right, heading towards the home. The overcast Atlantic skies perfectly matched his mood, and the drive back to the Hamptons mansion took longer than his initial escape.
The phone in his pocket buzzed again and, agitated, Jeremiah switched it off. He wasn’t interested in work; in fact, that was the furthest thing from his mind. Right then, if he’d been forced to make a decision or risk losing it all, he would have said “screw everything and be done with it.” So being forced, at that moment, to deal with the politics and bureaucracies of the multi-billion dollar empire he never wanted would only lead to ruin.
The ride back to the house was boring enough, but the minute he came in view of the gate Jeremiah knew something was amiss. His guards were amassed at the entrance, and they hurried out to meet him as he pulled up to it. “Sir,” one said as Jeremiah rolled down the window, “we have a situation.”
Jeremiah couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d used smelling salts to wake a man up, but the ammonia-based compound had the desired affect on the unconscious driver. Jared awoke with a start, clearly disoriented by all the faces staring down at him. He struggled upright, and Jeremiah pressed him back against the couch. “Calm down,” he ordered, and the younger man subsided. Most of the men in Jeremiah’s employ were former military, used to obeying a command.
“Tell me what happened.”
Jared licked his lips, brow furrowing in thought. “I don’t know, sir. I remember you leaving and I headed back to the bunkhouse, then the world got fuzzy.” He rubbed his wrists. “Was I tied up?”
Jeremiah nodded. “Do you remember seeing Miss Delacourt?” Every nerve was on fire, every fiber of his being poised on this question. Somehow, he kept his voice steady and himself in control. Barely.
“No sir,” Jared said finally, shaking his head. “I haven’t seen Miss Delacourt today. Why, is something wrong?”
“She’s missing.” Saying the words brought back the white noise, only this time it was a shrill scream, not a dull background roar. Thinking around it was nearly impossible, but his men were well trained and knew their jobs.
“Sir, we found the car.”
Jeremiah turned blindly toward the voice. “Which way is it heading?”
“According to tracking, it’s already stopped moving.”
Jeremiah cursed. “Send me those coordinates,” he ordered and then strode for the door. A black SUV pulled up to the front as Jeremiah exited; he didn’t even wait for it to stop before wrenching the door open and jumping inside. They sped out of the front driveway, followed closely by two other cars. As they turned out of the front gate, Jeremiah pulled up the forwarded coordinates onto the dashboard GPS.
The drive back toward the city was too slow. Twice Jeremiah came close to ordering the driver to pull over so as to take over the wheel, but stopped himself each time. There was nothing he could do except stare at the unmoving dot on the screen, and pray that this time he wasn’t too late.
He was the first one out of the vehicle when they entered the alley, but it was immediately apparent that the car was empty. The rear passenger-side door was wide open and the door handle inside was askew, a clear sign of a struggle to Jeremiah. Lucy’s purse was still inside on the back seat. There was no outward sign, however, of who had taken her or where they had gone.
“I want to know everything about this vehicle. Tell me who drove it last week, where the crumbs of food on the carpet came from, every occupant. Find me something that will give us a clue as to who took her.”
Lucy. He couldn’t even say her name without gasping for breath. All he wanted to do was tear apart the car, make it give up its secrets, but that would do no good. Impotent rage beat through him. There was nothing he could do until he knew more. His men were good – he wouldn’t hire anything less than the best – but they needed time, and even another minute was too much.
Every decision of the day came crashing down on him at once. How he’d left Lucy alone in his bedroom, ignored the calls to his phone, been so arrogant as to believe the danger was past. He was a coward, running from three little words. Now look what his stupidity had wrought.
Lucy. He could still smell her on his skin. She’d given her trust, admitted feelings for him, and he’d thrown her to the wolves. Oh God…
He couldn’t breathe. While his men were focused on the limo, Jeremiah moved around the far side of the SUV and struggled for control. Forcing himself to take deep breaths, he clung to the door handle, leaning his forehead against the window. His fists tightened as he sucked in air, the wrenching emotion in his gut almost too much to bear. Her face filled his vision, those big blue eyes radiating a confidence in his character Jeremiah never even realized he needed. Gone. All gone.
“Sir?”
Jeremiah had no idea how long the man had been standing there watching, and that realization was the final piece he needed to regain control of himself. Showing weakness was not his way, and through sheer force of habit he managed to lock himself back behind a stony exterior. The façade had cracked, but not shattered; he wouldn’t fall apart, not now when he needed to focus.
Opening the passenger door of the SUV, Jeremiah grabbed a duffle and moved back toward the limo. “Let’s see what we can find.”
Afternoon bled into evening, evening into night, and still there was no news. No phone calls, no demands, nothing that would give them even the slightest hint as to Lucy’s whereabouts. The car had been thoroughly searched, every surface was being analyzed, but so far they’d found nothing. Whoever had taken Lucy knew how to cover their tracks: door handles, steering wheel, windows, everything had been wiped clean.
That knowledge did nothing to inspire hope.
There was no way Jeremiah could sleep. Any time he closed his eyes, all he saw were the nightmares of what might be happening at that very moment. His brain filled in all the horrific details, of what could be happening to the young woman. By midnight he was a nervous wreck inwardly, managing to put on a calm façade but struggling to keep despair from overwhelming him. It wasn’t until nearly dawn however that that they caught their first break.
“Collins pulled a partial print off the underside of the limo bar.” Jeremiah snatched the paper with details as the man continued. “We
were able to cross-reference it with various fingerprint databases and got three possible hits. Two of the options aren’t likely. One is a government worked based out of Seattle, another is a felon doing time in Folsom prison. The third is a Ukrainian by the name of Kolya Stepanovich. He has ties to the Russian mafia, as well as arms dealers…”
“Loki.”
The growled word stopped the other man cold. Jeremiah crumpled the piece of paper in his hand. Why hadn’t he pursued that angle, or even considered it? Somehow, that his brother was involved didn’t surprise him. Finally, I have a target. “Get me everything we have on the arms dealer Loki, specifically anywhere he could be hiding in the city. Residences, warehouses, boats – I want a list of anywhere he might be holing up. Also look for any informants who might be part of his network; if he’s already gone, we’ll need a backup information resource.”
As the other man hastened back to his computer, Jeremiah stared at a spot on the far wall. Plaster covered the bullet hole now, stark white against the darker shades of paint. They hadn’t yet finished fixing the damage from the sniper attack; the wall was patched and sanded, awaiting the final coat of paint. Somewhere beneath the drywall, a bullet was lodged against the wood frame of the house, permanent proof of events from only a handful of days ago. Loki had slipped through his fingers then, but Jeremiah vowed that wouldn’t be the case now. If any harm had come to Lucy Delacourt… Jeremiah wadded the paper tight inside his fist.
Lucas might be family, but blood wouldn’t save his brother this time.
Copyright (c) 2013 Sara Fawkes. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
