I might not want to help him out… but maybe he could help me. Maybe, if I talked to him again, I could get him to tell me more about Brad and whatever he was involved with.
Maybe.
I grabbed my phone, dialed his number, then held the phone to my ear, trying to ignore the anxiety snaking its way through my stomach into my chest.
After the third ring, a sleep-blurred voice answered. Patrick. “Hello?” he said.
“Hi,” I said. “It’s Cassie Young. I need to meet with you.”
Cassie
As I rode the tube to the restaurant Patrick had said we would meet at, every cell in my body was asking me what the hell I thought I was doing. I thought about our brief conversation just a few hours earlier. I’d woken Patrick up, and I’d felt badly about that. I realized that it hadn’t occurred to me that Patrick actually slept… or ate… or did anything else except work. I was intrigued by him, a mystery to me, and I knew absolutely nothing about him. I didn’t know anything that would lead me to be intrigued, except that he worked for the NCA. I still didn’t know if he had any hobbies, but now at least I knew something more about him: he was still sleeping at five in the morning.
It had been my idea for us to get together again; I’d told him I needed to talk to him, but I hadn’t said why. Of course, he knew it was about Brad; that was the whole reason I’d discovered Patrick following me. He was investigating Brad, and I was an easy target for questioning. That was, until he’d found out I was a journalist and knew all of his interrogation techniques. During our brief phone call, he, surprisingly, hadn’t asked any questions. Perhaps it was his sleepiness, but he’d just told me that yes, he could meet me. He’d given me the name of a restaurant and the address, and he’d told me what time to meet him.
Now, as the tube carried me closer to the station he’d mentioned, I shook my head. Meeting Patrick was a terrible mistake. I saw his image in my mind, the picture I’d seen online of him in his bathing suit pressing in at the corners of my vision. I shut my eyes; there was no way I could think of him that way. I needed to put any thoughts of Patrick as anything other than an NCA agent out of my mind before they could take root. More than they already had, at any rate. I was with Brad, and my meeting with Patrick was one hundred percent business.
Business about Brad. My instincts were still highly activated, though I hadn’t yet found anything that tied Brad directly, or even indirectly, to any sort of questionable activity. I kept this in the front of my mind as I stepped off the tube and walked quickly to the restaurant. I watched for Patrick with every step, but, when I walked into the bistro he’d suggested, a small corner café that served what smelled like absolutely delicious pastries, he was nowhere to be found. I scanned the patrons and, not seeing him, realized I had a chance here to back out, to disappear. I could text him from the hotel and let him know I couldn’t find him, or something had come up, or anything. I didn’t need to go through with what I was beginning to think was a huge mistake.
“Cassie!” Patrick shouted. I turned and my stomach sank as I saw him running down the block toward me.
I waited until he got closer. “Hi,” I said reluctantly.
“Hey,” he said, arriving at my side. “I’m sorry I’m a little late. I had to run into the office for an hour and do some paperwork.”
“You’re not late; you’re early,” I said, looking at my watch.
“I’m late if I arrive after the person I’m supposed to be meeting arrives. You’d be surprised how many people call me and cancel meetings.” He gave me something of an amused expression that suggested he was, somehow, inside my head and knew exactly what I’d been planning.
“Surprised, yeah, I’m sure,” I said. “Should we go inside?” I figured I might as well get things over with.
We ordered coffee and pastries, and then sat at a table near the plate glass window overlooking the street.
“Listen,” I said. “At the risk of being like, apparently, everyone else who calls you, I think this might have been a huge mistake.”
Patrick regarded me with smoky eyes; they were a gunpowder gray with flecks of blue, and they seemed to stare right through me. I felt my breath catch in my throat. My stomach began fluttering, though I wasn’t sure if it was happening because I’d called to meet Patrick, or because of how he was looking at me, or both.
“I don’t think it was a mistake,” he said slowly. “I think you had some time to think about our conversation from yesterday, and you maybe have some suspicions you’re not quite sure what to do with.”
I started to object, but he shifted in his seat, leaning closer to me. His eyes bored deeper, and I caught a whiff of a scent—shampoo, cologne—and I had to shift, too, because I was, to my horror, becoming aroused.
He continued. “I know he’s your boyfriend and you care about him. And, I know that you don’t want to say anything—anything—that could get him into trouble. But, have you thought about the possibility that Brad is a victim as well?”
“A victim of what?” I asked.
He shrugged. “You tell me.” He sat back. His shirt collar was open one button more than it likely would have been if he’d been sitting at the office. I could see, even from that small amount, the smooth skin of his chest beneath the stubble of his unshaven face and neck. I blinked slowly.
“I don’t know anything; I told you that.”
“So, then,” he asked, taking a sip of coffee, “why did you call to meet you this morning?”
I played with the remaining bits of my pastry on the end of my fork. “I’m honestly not sure,” I said. “I mean, it’s possible, I suppose, that I thought about what you said. And it’s possible, I suppose, that I started to think about some things Brad has said, or things people around him have said, and I maybe think that being safe is better than being sorry. Is that possible?” There was a testy quality to my voice that I didn’t much care for, but I knew I needed to show some strength here.
“It’s very possible,” Patrick said. “So, why don’t you tell me what things Brad has said that you’ve been thinking about?”
I shook my head. “That’s the thing,” I said, “it’s nothing specific. It’s just…”
“A feeling,” he finished.
I looked at him sharply, but his eyes were neutral. He took a sip of coffee as if we were two friends just hanging out and getting caught up.
I said nothing, so he continued.
“Listen, Cassie, what do you know about Brad White for certain?”
I sighed. “I know that he’s 31, and he’s the owner of Legacy, a chain of luxury hotels that has expanded worldwide. I know that he’s never been married and has no children. I know that he’s a billionaire, and that he’s very charitable. He contributes to thousands of charities regularly, and there are a few that he serves on the board of trustees and things like that. I’ve done my homework on him, Patrick,” I said.
“I believe you,” he said. “Have you ever looked through his texts? Checked his computer?”
“For what?” I demanded.
“I don’t know, for other women? Is he seeing anyone else?”
“I don’t think so, but he could be. And he has every right to; we haven’t talked about being exclusive.” I realized, bitterly, that I was feeling jealous of a woman who may or may not even exist. It hadn’t occurred to me that Brad would feel the need to withhold the fact of him dating someone else, if he was. I’d just assumed his attention to me was for me alone.
“So you’re not even curious?”
“Listen, Patrick, I’m not some stalker, and I’m not some victim. I don’t search through my man’s stuff constantly looking for ways to catch him doing the wrong thing, or to twist stuff I find into that happening. I don’t look at his texts, I don’t read his email; I don’t even know…” I stopped. I didn’t even know where he lived in London. He had a condo, I knew that. But I didn’t know where it was, and I’d never been there.
“Don’t even know wha
t?” Patrick prompted.
“Nothing,” I said. “Never mind. The bottom line is, I’m not some sort of spy.”
He smiled at this, the corners of his mouth widening to reveal straight, white teeth. He had two small dimples that appeared and small laugh lines near his eyes. My arousal, which had stilled, returned.
“You’re better than a spy,” he said, a small laugh in his voice. “You’re a journalist.”
***
A few hours later, I was back in the hotel after leaving Patrick and stopping at the Embassy to check on the status of my passport. Brad had given me the name of his friend and said he’d texted him to let his friend know I’d be stopping by. It turned out to be a wasted trip; his friend wasn’t there. Still, I went through the usual paperwork to get an expedited replacement passport. A bored woman said that this sort of thing happens all the time, looking at me like I was an irresponsible kid, and then she said that sometimes the passports even get returned to the Embassy.
I opened the French doors to the balcony and stepped out, the moisture of the foggy air cool against my skin. I took a deep breath and blew it out. I had been telling Patrick the truth; I was not the type of woman to go skulking behind her boyfriend’s back looking for evidence he was being unfaithful. I’d always trusted my instincts about who I picked to date in the first place. And, the few times I’d been wrong, well, the guys had been doing me a favor by giving me a reason to break up with them. So, I never worried.
The one piece that was worrying me was that Brad hadn’t yet invited me over to his condo. We’d been seeing each other every day since I’d landed in London… him inviting me over seemed a logical step. I decided to put my worry to rest.
Hey baby, I texted. I’m getting bored of the hotel. Can we do dinner at your place tonight? I’ll cook.
I waited. He responded within a few minutes. Are you sure you don’t want to go out?
I’m sure.
A few more minutes passed. I held my breath, anxiety building. What would he say?
Sure, then. I’ll have to make sure the place is cleaned up before you get there, though, ;-) Meet me in the lobby at six and we can head to my place.
I grinned and texted back. Sweet, thank you. What do you want for dinner?
We spent most of the day exchanging inappropriate texts, and, around five, I went out to a market near the hotel to buy the makings of fish and chips for dinner. When I got back, I put everything in the fridge behind the front desk. As I took the elevator back to my room, Brad texted again.
Pack your stuff; no sense in you coming back to the hotel.
My heart skipped a beat and I smiled. Patrick pulled at my mind for a moment, but I pushed him away. I packed quickly and I was downstairs to meet Brad promptly at six.
Brad
“Fuck,” I sighed. “He’s here? Today?”
Simon’s voice on the other end of the phone was somber. “Yes, Sir; he’s here.”
My head was spinning. I’d been going crazy all week with meetings, trying to balance Cassie at my condo, and keeping the front of Legacy going with the continuing pressures from Manuel Brown. And now, according to Simon, Manuel Brown was here in London.
“Well, obviously I will need to arrange a meeting,” I said. I shook my head. Manuel’s appearance in London couldn’t have been good news to any degree. “I’ll text his contact number. I’ll let you know if I’m permitted to bring an associate.”
I could almost see Simon nodding on the other end of the line. “It would be safest for you to bring me,” he said.
“Yes, but…” I paused. If I could prove to Manuel that I was meeting him alone, perhaps I could have some interaction with Antoine. “I can’t take any chances.”
“Understood, Sir,” Simon said. We got off the phone and I leaned forward, my head in my hands. The timing on this couldn’t be worse. I had just invited Cassie to stay with me for the remainder of her time in London. I’d thought that doing so might give her more patience with her passport and may even convince her to stay longer as her own idea. But, I was already hiding this secret from so many people; I didn’t need another to add to keeping my lies straight.
My phone pinged. Assuming it was Cassie, I grabbed it and looked. The number was unrecognizable, but I knew exactly who it was.
Meet me at the warehouse in fifteen minutes.
It was Manuel Brown.
My stomach jumped and my heart shot into my throat. I glanced at my watch as I stood up, shoveling papers into my briefcase and clearing off my desk. It would take me at least that amount of time to get to the warehouse if I left immediately. I grabbed my coat and flew out the door. My driver scrambled to attention and opened my door; I gave him directions to the warehouse and told him to go as fast as he could without getting us arrested.
He expertly weaved through traffic and had us to the warehouse in twenty minutes. Not good enough. I told him to wait and I stepped out of the car, nervous energy pressing through me with every step. I walked quickly to the back of the warehouse. My lips tightened, along with my jaw, as I saw a plain, black Lexus parked in the back.
A man stepped out of the car and, for the first time in years, I was face to face with Manuel Brown.
“Mr. White,” he said.
“Sir,” I said, bowing my head.
“Let’s go in.” He looked at me with intense eyes. He was just a shade taller than I was at six foot two, and he was not a small man. He had gotten far with his domineering presence, yet he also had the ability to blend into a crowd and remain unseen for a surprising amount of time. I followed him, cowed. I’d seen both sides to him.
He opened the door; how he had a key to the lock I had no idea. He pushed the door open and gestured for me to walk in.
When he flipped on the lights, I saw the same sight I’d seen the first night when the shipment had come in. This was a big one; millions of dollars’ worth of guns, ammunition, grenades, and bombs and bomb-making equipment lined the walls. Anyone who walked in would have thought it was a military base, not a private inventory.
“What does this look like to you?” Manuel asked. He wasn’t looking at me. He stood next to me as we both looked at the expanse of the warehouse.
I didn’t know how he wanted me to answer. I glanced over at him to see if his face would betray any sense of pleasure or displeasure. I had to assume he was displeased; there was no other reason for him to travel all this way.
“Sir, if there’s something wrong, I’ll fix it immediately. I followed the specifications, but it’s not a problem…”
“Stop, Mr. White,” Manuel said. “You’ve done well.” He nodded his head slightly toward a floor to ceiling stack of blocks that looked like train cars. “Those are the AA-12s?”
“I believe so, Sir. Each block contains ten thousand, Sir.”
Manuel nodded and he turned to me.
“Very good,” he said. “I knew I put the right person in charge of this branch of the project.”
“Sir,” I began, emotion flooding through me at the thought of Antoine. “When will I get Antoine back? When is enough enough?” I bit my tongue to try to take the words back in, but, of course, they were already out. Manuel cocked his head at me as if he was surprised I was asking. As if I already knew the answer to such a silly question.
“Mr. White,” he said slowly. “You do very good work for me. You do good work for me because you are properly motivated. I would be very foolish to take that motivation and destroy it.”
My stomach sank.
“The time will come when you and Antoine will have the chance to be reunited. But, that time is not now. It’s not in the near future. What you can do to get your son back,” he sneered these last words, “is to keep doing exactly what you’re doing. Nothing more, nothing less.”
His look silenced any negotiation or objection I might have come up with, and I nodded, my eyes downcast. I wondered if Antoine was near; if he had traveled with Manuel to London.
“Is he
here?” I whispered.
“In London?” Manuel burst out laughing, a sound that echoed around the warehouse and chilled my bones. “Mr. White, how stupid do you think I am? If he was, I’d never tell you. But, no, he is nowhere near London. He is safely hidden away, where he will remain, until such time as I decide that having the two of you together will benefit me.”
I nodded.
“This is just the beginning, Mr. White. All of the things you see around you, all of this is just the planning stage. See the bigger picture. There is so much left to do before we’re finished. I have lots and lots of plans ahead.”
His voice, the tone and quality of it, sent shivers through me. He was an insane lunatic… and he had my son.
The Billionaire’s LEGACY
Dark Secrets
An Alpha Billionaire Romance
Sarah J. Brooks
Cassie
I stared at the phone in my hand in complete disbelief. There’s been an accident. The man who owns the phone… he… he’s in bad shape. The caller’s voice echoed in my mind, and I began to pace the room, all thoughts in my mind focused on Patrick, envisioning all kinds of horror about what the caller had meant by ‘bad shape.’ I immediately redialed Patrick’s number, but no one answered. When his voicemail clicked through and I heard his voice, I began to cry. I felt helpless; I thought about what hospital he might be at, but I realized I didn’t know any of the hospitals in London. I called his number again, and, again, no answer.
I wandered around the house, keeping my phone in my hand. I looked at it every few seconds, suddenly not trusting that my ringer would go off. Twice, I checked the volume. The caller’s voice kept hammering at my brain. I just came upon him like this… I called an ambulance… He’s alive… Are you his wife?...
My phone rang and I jumped.
“Hello!” I said into it without checking to see whose number it was.
“Come to University College Hospital. Take the tube to Euston Square, and you’ll be within walking distance. I would advise you to get here quickly.”
Billionaire Romance Box Set: The Billionaire's Legacy: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Box Set Page 8
