by Jade Allen
Dylan threw himself into the back seat and pressed his lips together firmly to muffle the grunt of pain that rose up in him as he was thrown back against the bench when the driver pulled away from the curb in a fast, lurching turn. He took a deep breath and unlocked the screen on his phone—somehow miraculously intact. I found her, it said. Come to this address. I suspect Brock is on your heels. Dylan thought wryly that he more than suspected it and took another deep breath. “My man,” he said, looking up to catch sight of the man through the mirror in the front of the car. “You are about to make the fare of the month.”
****
Rachel could feel the headache gathering at her temples as the slight buzz she had worked up began to fade. She looked at James Whitley closely, trying to decide if it was even worth the effort of thinking anymore. “I understand why you feel manipulated,” James said, returning her regard without a trace of concern. “But I need you to understand where I’m coming from too, Rachel.”
“What I understand is that you could have easily given me some kind of note before I started getting stalked by people,” Rachel said. “I mean, I really appreciate being a millionaire and all, but a simple, ‘Hey, Rach, so there’s this guy who’s going to come after you—I’m sending help, but you might want to vacate your apartment and uproot your entire life right about now’ would have been nice.”
“I’ve been trying to evade him too,” James pointed out. “In case you haven’t noticed, Rachel, you and I have the distinction of swapping places as first on Jeffrey’s list to be eliminated depending on what day it is.”
“Okay,” Rachel said, standing unsteadily. She walked across the kitchen and opened one of the cabinets to retrieve a bottle of water. “Would you like one?” She asked, reaching for another bottle before James replied.
“Thank you.” Rachel returned to the table, handing James his bottle and opening her own before she sat down once more, heavily.
“I’m going to need you to explain exactly what the hell is going on to me,” she said, taking a long sip from the bottle. “Because honestly at this point the whole mess is as clear as mud to me.”
“Jeffrey has been trying to get control of the company for years,” James said, cracking the seal on his own bottle. “Before I was put in charge, his father ran Vantech Incorporated, and Jeffrey thought it was his just desserts to inherit the position.”
“I can see that,” Rachel said, taking another long pull from her bottle. Her impending hangover was not dissipating fast enough. “Where exactly do I come into this?”
“That is a bit complicated,” James told her, a faint smile curving his lips. He drank from his bottle of water and seemed to think for a long moment, spinning the cap on the tabletop. “When I came into my position as CEO of Vantech, Jeff became involved with another company; at first, we were all relieved—it seemed like he had decided to take his ‘loss’ gracefully.”
“Who do you mean by ‘we’? The shareholders?” The ghost of a smile crossed James’ face once more.
“The family; Jeffrey is my step-brother.” Rachel’s eyes widened. You bet your sweet ass it’s complicated, she thought. “In any case, the company he was involved with is the one that he’s trying to get Vantech to merge with now; if he succeeds, then he’ll have as close to a monopoly in our industry as the government will allow. And he would use the merger as a way to boot me and take over his father’s company for good.” Rachel absorbed that for a moment. She could see why James would want to avoid the merger; it would remove him from power.
“So you send me the money meant for the merger, I get that. But why does he have to come after me? If he’s in charge of the company now with you ousted…”
“He will have to take legal action to make it permanent,” James said. “There is a will involved—complicated estate issues and lawyers’ problems, ultimately. He’s only in power as long as I’m alive and able to defend myself. And from what you told me before of his explanation to you, he’s telling the truth about one of his motives: while you’re in possession of the money, his position is bad indeed.”
“How would killing me fix that?”
“If he kills you, there won’t be anyone in a position to dispute his claim that the money was transferred in error—and he could get it back with a minimum of fuss from the bank. The people running Vantech other than myself have no real interest in me as a person; they’re interested in results. If Jeff gets results, they have no reason to back me in the courts.” Rachel drained her bottle, shaking her head.
“Things just get better and better, don’t they?” she sighed. “So what do I do?”
“You stay out of his clutches, and give me time to get everything the way it should be.”
“How exactly does that benefit me? Brock offered me five million to give back the money you gave me.” James laughed.
“He would have had you killed the moment the transfer was complete,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I know my step-brother very well.”
“How do I know I can even trust you?”
“I don’t seem to have given you many reasons, have I?” James chuckled. “How about this: I have a contract at the hotel I’m staying at in this area. It is absolutely legally binding and states that in return for assisting me, you will receive an additional five million dollars.”
Before Rachel could respond to the offer, there was a knock at the door. She jumped, nearly tumbling out of her chair. “Shit, shit, he found me,” she said. James shook his head.
“Not just yet, I think. That will be Dylan.”
“Dylan?” Rachel stared at the man across from her at the table in disbelief.
“I’m going to have to cut his pay, I think; I managed to find you before he did.” James shook his head and stood, walking to the door.
“Do I get to have any control or say over anything that happens in my life anymore?” Rachel asked, directing the question to the ceiling.
“Welcome to the life of wealth and prestige,” James said wryly from behind her. Rachel heard the door open.
“They’ll be here soon, I think,” Dylan said, and Rachel deliberately kept her eyes in front of her. She didn’t want to see him; even if the effort in his voice implied that he was struggling in some way.
“Were you followed?” James asked. “I see they caught up with you at some point at least.”
“Cracked rib, not much of a thing; I don’t think they could get their hands on legal guns, felt like a bean bag.” Rachel felt her stomach lurch—Dylan had a cracked rib? She turned her head almost involuntarily and watched as he approached the table in a slow, slightly staggering walk, with little of his usual upright cockiness. “Hello, Love,” Dylan said, smiling. “You learned well from me, picking an out-of-the-way place like this.”
****
“So,” Rachel said, looking from Dylan to James as they watched her. They had managed to get Dylan to a hospital using James’ car, and after a five-hour wait, Dylan’s cracked ribs—both of them—were taped down, and he had taken some ibuprofen for the pain, not wanting to dull his senses with narcotics. “What’s next?” She tried to focus more of her attention on James rather than on Dylan. He’s being paid. The galling thought that he might only have started having sex with her due to convenience or because it would keep her close still hovered in her mind.
“We get you out of here,” James said, glancing at Dylan. “I can pay someone else to take over guarding you.”
“I’m fine, James,” Dylan said, shifting slightly in his chair. Rachel saw him wince as the movement sent pain through him and couldn’t quite help feeling a flicker of guilt and remorse that he’d been hurt tracking her down.
“You have two cracked ribs, Dylan. You don’t have a gun, and Jeff’s people are going to want to take you out as much as they do Rachel.”
“I said I’m fine,” Dylan said, setting his jaw in a way that Rachel immediately recognized. He was going to be stubborn about it. She didn’t know why; he
had already made plenty of money from protecting her—something that James had confirmed while they were waiting as the doctor saw to Dylan’s injuries. Dylan was not making quite as much money as the amount that Rachel was seeing, but it was enough that he could take a good, long vacation once his service was over.
“You’re sure you can keep her safe?” James asked Dylan.
“As long as she doesn’t go running off without me,” Dylan answered, glancing at Rachel.
“Maybe if people would have given me the full information I kept asking for in the beginning, I wouldn’t have run off,” Rachel countered, pinning him down with a scowl. It wasn’t entirely true, and they both knew it; she had run off not only because she didn’t know who to trust—but because she didn’t want to be around Dylan, sleeping with him, being protected by him, when she didn’t know what his motivations were or whether she herself mattered to him as a person at all.
“Well, Love, you’ve got all the information now. Jeff wants the money back, and he wants you out of the way so that he can clean up this mess that James here made.” Dylan gestured to her benefactor and Rachel rolled her eyes. She could understand that James had made decisions about her—about his company—with self-interest in mind, but it had certainly made her life a lot more difficult, being the person who apparently was going to keep his company from going out of his control.
“I wouldn’t say I have all the information, but I have enough to know that running to Brock isn’t going to prolong my life any.” Dylan held her gaze steadily for a long moment and smiled slightly.
“So, where are we headed, boss?” he asked, glancing away from her to look at James.
“You can’t go to Geneva, that’s for damned sure,” James said. “I’m going to make a few calls and arrange for the two of you to get on a train at Annecy, head north towards Belgium. That probably is not going to be your destination, but it’s a start.” James stood and stepped away from the table, taking his phone out of his pocket and moving towards the other door to step outside, leaving them alone.
“Are you hungry, Love? You seem cranky.”
Rachel narrowed her eyes, frowning. “I am not going to get sucked in by that ploy again,” Rachel told him firmly. “Besides, I ate while you were in the hospital.”
“Aw, Love,” Dylan said, smiling slightly. “I will say that you picked a good hideaway. I don’t know how James figured it out, but I’d have had a hard time finding you here if he didn’t give me your address.”
“That was kind of the point,” Rachel told him. “I didn’t want to even be part of it at all anymore. Just… alone for a while. To think.”
“Well, you’ve had a bit over a week, and now Brock is after you.”
“It seems to me he’s after you,” Rachel pointed out.
“Both of us, then. It’s not a competition, Love.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why? You are a little Love, you know—with your scowl and your arms crossed over your chest like I don’t know what’s underneath, looking like you’d love to rip my ankles to shreds.” Rachel found herself letting out a sound like a growl. “See? There’s that Pekingese growl I’m so fond of.”
“What if I don’t want you to protect me? You’re busted up and I can’t trust you anyway.”
Dylan shrugged, wincing only slightly at the pain the movement caused. “Told you the day we met: I will follow you anywhere. Even if James stopped paying me.”
“That makes you sound a little bit like a stalker,” Rachel said.
Dylan smiled broadly. “If you didn’t have any feelings for me at all, you wouldn’t have stormed out when I couldn’t answer your questions fast enough.” Rachel gritted her teeth, irritated with Dylan. She stood quickly, not even entirely sure of what she actually intended to do. “You like me, little Love. Admit it.”
“Liked,” Rachel said, turning to go into the bedroom and pack the few possessions she had managed to acquire since her arrival in the Alps. Dylan didn’t follow her, and Rachel wasn’t sure whether she felt relieved or disappointed.
Rachel fought back the urge to fidget, glancing at Dylan occasionally as they strode through the train station at Annecy. She told herself that she didn’t want to trust him; that she didn’t even want to be in his company. But she had to admit that she felt slightly less jumpy with him around, even if she knew that he was injured.
“Shame we couldn’t take in the old town,” Dylan said, acting as if there was absolutely nothing amiss.
“I’ve heard it’s beautiful; the lake, too.” Rachel had passed through Annecy on her way to her secluded village in the Alps, a tiny little town in the Haute Savoie region called Tannings.
“Maybe once you’re all good, we could come back.” James had ordered additional security efforts around them, saying that while he appreciated Dylan’s dedication to the contract, he wasn’t going to trust Rachel’s safety solely to a man who was barely able to walk upright.
“When are you going to give up?” Rachel asked him, her irritation rising once more.
“When you tell me flat out and honestly that you have no feelings for me. And trust me, Love, I know when you’re lying.”
Rachel had no response for that; she couldn’t honestly say that she didn’t have some kind of feelings for Dylan, even if a large component of her feelings at present was confusion. All she wanted at the moment was to keep living, to get out of the mess she was in, and have something approaching a normal life.
Dylan winced as they descended the stairs to the platform and Rachel shifted her backpack to one shoulder, wrapping an arm carefully around Dylan’s waist to cushion him against the jarring. “See? I knew you cared.”
“I don’t want my body guard to have a punctured lung,” Rachel retorted.
“That would, in fact, make it harder for me to keep you from getting killed,” Dylan admitted. “But I think you mostly just wanted an excuse to get close to me.”
“You’re infuriating,” Rachel muttered lowly.
“Says the woman who took five trains so I wouldn’t be able to track her.”
“If you had left me alone you wouldn’t have two cracked ribs.”
“Ah, but I also wouldn’t have this story to tell about chasing after the woman I love, following her from one country to another and then back to the original country, risking life and limb.”
Rachel stopped, her grip on Dylan tightening convulsively in surprise. He groaned, taking a deep breath. “The woman you love?” she asked him, ignoring his discomfort for the moment.
“Did you really think I’d keep protecting you after getting shot just for money? I’m greedy, but not that greedy, Love.”
Rachel stared at Dylan for a long moment. “If you’re just saying that,” she said, holding his gaze. She couldn’t think of how to finish the threat.
“I thought we’d agreed that I don’t disclose information that isn’t important to you?” Dylan said, raising an eyebrow.
“No, our agreement was that you don’t disclose information that isn’t vital to you doing your job.”
“Same thing. Wouldn’t you say it’s vital to me doing my job for you to know I will keep protecting you until someone ends me? I’d say it is.”
Rachel bit her bottom lip. “We have a train to catch,” she said, turning to look away from Dylan’s probing stare. She heard his chuckle but pretended to ignore it as she helped him the rest of the way down the stairs and towards the voie.
The feeling of being watched didn’t leave her as they boarded the train carefully, finding their reserved seats and settling in them. Dylan had suggested that they travel as if they were tourists, backpacking their way through the country; their tickets were first-class, but the distinction was not as obvious as it was on a flight. Rachel looked around her constantly, even as the train pulled away from the station. “Don’t look so nervous, Love,” Dylan said, sitting back in his seat heavily.
“Where are the guys James is tailing us with?”
Dylan shrugged.
“Tailing us, I would suppose.”
“Ha ha. You trust James?”
“I wouldn’t work with him if I didn’t trust him.” Rachel absorbed that for a moment. She looked around again. There was something that wasn’t right; some sensation, some presentiment she had. “It’s unlikely that they’ll attack us on a moving train, Love. They’d want to get the drop on us.”
“Unlikely isn’t the same thing as impossible. They could be getting desperate. You got away from them and they shot at you in a train station.”
“With a bean-bag gun.”
“Which only means that they’ll want to use a real gun next time.”
“Are you worried for me, or for you?”
“Both of us.”
“They’d have a hard time bringing a gun on a train. Be more worried when we get to our destination.”
Rachel sat back in her seat, but couldn’t quite shake the feeling—the near-certainty—that Brock’s people were there, waiting for them. Halfway into the trek, the ticket-takers came into the car, and Rachel got her ticket out irritably. I won’t even know what to do with myself when I’m no longer running away from people, she thought. She handed her ticket and Dylan’s to the man, barely looking at him.
“Ma’am, I’m going to need to see your passport,” the ticket-taker said. Rachel rummaged in her purse; Dylan’s hand came down on hers, and she looked up. The uniform was just close enough to pass inspection from jaded, harried passengers on a train; the look the man was giving her was not the bored, ready-for-an-argument expression of a ticket-taker, but something more interested. It occurred to her then that not a single other ticket-checker on any of the trains she had been on had been the least bit interested in her passport.
