She's a Spitfire (Tough Love Book 2)

by Chloe Liese

  “Christ Jesus.” I sat up and spat forcefully into the toilet. Rolled myself back and reached for the shower handle, then waited to let it reach scalding. Thankfully, the shower had a bench I could sit on. After I yanked off the dress and transferred over, the water was slow to warm. I shivered as cool water ran over me, wishing I had it in me to keep it cold—I deserved to be uncomfortable, to hurt and suffer.

  The sole reason Zed lay in a medically induced coma, with a cracked skull, and a brain contusion was because some sick fuck was obsessed with me and had a delusion that if he removed my boyfriend, I would magically want to be with him. It was frightening, all the more so because it was senseless. And it could irrevocably alter Zed’s life.

  When I came out of the shower, I dressed in the clothes Elodie had picked up for me—leggings and Zed’s old Harvard jumper. I basked in it because it smelled just like him, warm and clean. After I plaited my hair, took a piss, and brushed my teeth, I whipped open the lavvy door.

  “Thank you, El.” I wheeled right up against Zed’s bed again, so I could clasp his hand.

  Elodie squeezed my shoulder as she stood and moved her chair to make better room for me. She sat back down on it, crossed her legs and interlaced her hands. Which meant an inquisition was about to begin.

  “I’ll keep it brief, because you’ve been through hell, and I don’t want to upset you: Would you tell me why you kept this situation from me?”

  I sighed. “I didn’t want you to worry. I saw no point in burdening you. He’s my problem, not yours or Zed’s.”

  “Nairne.” She smiled softly. “The people who love you in your life want to know the battles you’re fighting. We want to put on our armor, use our own weapons—our strengths and resources and insight—to fight alongside you. Next time, will you give me a chance to be there for you?”

  I palmed away tears and yanked her toward me in a hug. “I’m sorry. I will.”

  “Thank you.” She kissed my cheek then stood. “I’ll give you some time with him. Be back soon.”

  I nodded as I stared at Zed. It felt like a kick to the stomach. So I focused on how good it felt to touch him, as always. Gently, I massaged his hand, appreciating how beautiful it was—olive skin, long bones, and sharp knuckles. No one else’s hands were beautiful like this. His were meant for paintbrushes and massages, for caressing my breasts and stroking my skin. For drumming on surfaces while he was deep in thought, and dancing by his sides before he took a penalty kick. They weren’t supposed to be like this—still and heavy. Lifeless.

  I kissed his hand and rested my head on the blanket as I watched him. He looked frighteningly inanimate, and fear gripped me. I had to touch him, be close the way he liked.

  I pressed the button that lowered Zed’s bed so that it was the height of my wheelchair. Careful of him, I transferred myself over, lifting my legs up one at a time and lying on my side next to him.

  “I’m here,” I whispered into his ear. I stroked softly up and down his arm, mindful of the portal feeding him a cocktail of medicines that kept him in this sleep while his brain recovered. “I love you. After you wake up, I’ll tell you that every day.”

  I watched his chest rise and fall mechanically. I hated how the breathing tube tugged his mouth in a grimace. He looked pained. There was no peace in his expression. Was he aware at all? Frightened? Dreaming? I had to reassure him somehow.

  Gently, I propped myself on my elbow and covered his face in kisses. “Feathers, butterfly wings,” I whispered against his skin. “Fields of flowers and sea breezes. You and me dozing on the beach. Dream of that.”

  Finally, I pressed my lips to his and whimpered as I did. They were cool and still, so unlike his usual vitality and warmth. I sighed and wiped my eyes, then leaned back down. Then I kissed his shoulder, nestled against it, and made us both a promise. “All will be well soon.”

  I was exhausted, and quickly fell asleep.

  Tom’s low voice woke me. “She wasn’t exaggerating. He’s got some kind of influence, because I can’t get anywhere with the fucking police. No explanation of why they let him go.”

  “Besides money?” Marc spat. “There has to be some way to get him.”

  I startled fully awake and sat myself up. “What did you say?”

  Tom cleared his throat, looking down at his hands, then back up. “They let him go. No charges.”

  “What?” I shout-whispered.

  Elodie leaned against the wall, arms folded and a scowl marring her pretty face. “I wish I could I say it’s unbelievable but look what he got away with in Paris.”

  Zed was in a coma—I wasn’t waking him up—but something told me he could hear me, and the last thing I wanted to do was worry him while he was drugged and helpless. I moved off the bed back onto my wheelchair, away from him.

  “He threatened me, nearly killed Zed, and was about to kidnap me for Christ’s sake!”

  Tom and Marc both nodded.

  “Yes,” Marc said, “but we can’t directly link all of that to him. It’s your word against his. And there’s no surveillance footage from the loo where he was violent with you. All footage of you two from the main room appears innocuous—one can easily assume you were two old friends catching up.”

  “But, what about Zed? He was brutally attacked. What about whoever attacked him? Alexandre obviously hired him!”

  Tom pinched his lips between his fingers. “There’s video footage of that, but the men’s faces are masked.”

  My eyes widened. “I’m sorry, men?”

  “Yes, four of them, to be precise. Not that anyone’s surprised, but Mr. Salvatore’s a bloody beast.” Tom grinned proudly before his face fell. “Three were waiting in a vestibule outside the loo. They cornered him there, but he held his own, knocked two out cold, stunned the third one, and got halfway down the hallway, but a fourth one was waiting. Heard the commotion and grabbed the fire extinguisher off the wall and—” He stopped abruptly, seeing me shrink at what he was about to say. “Well, you can infer the rest.”

  “You watched the footage? The police have it?” Elodie asked.

  Marc nodded. “Until we can tie it to Dubois specifically, there’s nothing we can do. If we could get that, I’d think it will be much harder for him to avoid charges.”

  “How can we do that?” I turned from Tom to Marc.

  Marc sighed. “I’m still trying to figure that out. Perhaps if we could trace his finances. See if we can show that he contracted these men for the hit. But this Dubois is powerful, wealthy. I’m sure all his transactions are protected.”

  I glanced over at Zed, his mouth gaping with the tube that kept oxygen flowing into his body, and a rage I’d never known before filled me. Pure unadulterated hatred, a bone-deep demand for vengeance poured through my blood and turned it to fire. And in the glowing embers of my rage, a brilliant idea formed.

  I turned back toward Tom and Marc. “I need your help.”

  Both men raised their eyebrows, looking at me warily.

  “What did you have in mind?” Tom asked apprehensively.

  “I want Dubois out. I’m who he wants, so I give him me, and get the information I need. Somehow. I have to be the one to do it.”

  They both started shaking their heads violently. “Absolutely not,” Tom muttered. “Mr. Salvatore would never allow it.”

  “Hear her out,” Elodie said.

  “Zed has a split-open head, and is in a coma because of that man. I’m not letting this go unanswered,” I said. “He does not get to walk free after this.”

  Neither Marc nor Tom budged or spoke.

  “Let me put it this way,” I pressed. “I’m ending this, with or without you. So you can either help me do this right, or you can let me go it alone.”

  Elodie’s eyes caught mine and no words needed to be said. I knew she’d help me any way she could.

  Marc muttered to himself as he scrubbed his face, cursing about insufferably stubborn women and losing his job, until he sighed wearily a
nd looked up. “Fine.”

  Tom turned sharply toward Marc. “Are you mental? He’ll kill us when he wakes up.”

  Marc shrugged. “She’s right though. This bastard needs to be taken out. If the law won’t do its part, I will.” He glanced between us. “And I don’t doubt her—she’ll do this whether or not we help her. I want her to have the best chance at success. He hired us to keep her safe. How I see it, we’re doing just that.”

  Tom looked to the ceiling. “I’m going to regret this.” He pulled out his phone and flipped it open. “Right then, let’s figure it out.”

  Marc pulled out his phone, too, his thumbs flying madly over the keys.

  “And what in the hell are you doing?” Tom leaned his way and tried to read the mobile. “I’m contacting Sandford.”

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “The PI Mr. Salvatore hired already.”

  Marc looked up from the screen and frowned at Tom. “Christ, man, not him. Is he still alive even?”

  Tom scowled and opened his mouth to answer but Marc pressed on, shaking his head. “No, I’ve just the person for the job. Detective Martin’s perfect.”

  Elodie tipped her chin toward Marc’s mobile. “This Detective Martin, he’s good?”

  Marc smiled wide. “She’s the best. She’ll work with Ms. MacGregor to come up with something brilliant, I have no doubt.” He grinned at Tom, who was scowling. “Tom just doesn’t like her underhanded ways.”

  Tom stretched out his legs and grumbled. “That I do not.”

  “And fair enough. She’s a little rogue and unconventional, but we’re dealing with someone who requires an outside-the-box thinker. She has the right connections, and men like Dubois are her specialty. She’ll find him and come up with the best strategy.”

  “Good,” I mumbled under my breath. “Because I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Nairne

  Detective Martin found him within hours of Marc calling her. A fancy place in Chelsea—amber colored lights, dark red walls, velvet cushions. A live band played and there were beautiful, scantily dressed women about. It was chic, just like the places Elodie and I used to go.

  I’d gone all out on my looks, with Elodie’s help. Short, tight number in inky black that left little to be imagined. My eyes were covered in smoky shadow, hair full and smooth. I sat in my wheelchair at one of the tables on the floor, long legs crossed, and left myself on display while twirling a tumbler of whiskey that I didn’t actually have the stomach to drink. Elodie’s chunky gold bangles on my wrists clanked together as my hand methodically moved the glass, quarter rotation after quarter rotation. I waited, knowing he’d see me, and if Detective Martin was right, he would simply try to pick up where we left off—with him, convinced I was his, no matter my response.

  I adjusted the necklace I was wearing, a long gold piece with a small pendant jewel, the center of which looked quite convincingly like an onyx but was actually a camera. Detective Martin had handed it to me, then walked me through it.

  “You’ll wear this,” she’d said, matter-of-factly as she slid the necklace across the table. “It’ll get full audio and video. As long as you keep it on, we’ll be able to get what we need.”

  I’d examined the necklace, ran it through my fingers. “You think this will work?”

  “It’s government-standard surveillance. Permissible as evidence in court. You get him to talk, and I’ll make sure he’s behind bars.”

  “He’s just going to welcome her with open arms, after she told him to sod off and had her security beat him up,” Tom had asked skeptically.

  Martin had rolled her eyes at Tom. “I know what I’m doing. Men like this are predictable—they’re self-absorbed, egotistical, and totally overconfident. They’re also completely delusional. In his mind, there is no other acceptable reality than to have her, so he’ll take any behavior that reinforces that.” Then she’d turned and looked me dead in the eye. “Use his fascination with you to your advantage, and get the job done.”

  I lifted the whiskey to my mouth and let it brush my lips. Inhaled its aroma, and smiled to myself, remembering how Zed said it all tasted like petrol. I’d laughed until my sides hurt. Thinking of Zed wasn’t wise, though, because then my emotions ran high. I had to focus and pay attention. My eyes glanced around the room casually as I finally took a drink, then set down the glass.

  No sooner had I swallowed and sat back when a surly looking fellow approached my table. “Ms. MacGregor.”

  I smiled politely. “Yes.”

  “Your company is requested in a private suite upstairs.” He passed me a note.

  Ma sirène. Seeing sense at last.

  I glanced around the room and saw both Tom and Marc in the space, their getups disguising them well. It would be comical if the whole situation weren’t so serious. Tom in a fedora and fake mustache, along with Marc’s glasses and shoulder-length wig as they ate at separate tables, reading menus and nursing drinks.

  I nodded my acceptance and followed the big fellow.

  Moments later, we rode a quiet lift that was set in the back of the lounge. The doors made a soft ding as they slid open, and we went down the hall to a door cracked open. When I moved into the room, it appeared empty. Slowly, I wheeled forward, up to the one-way glass that allowed you to look down and see the club floor. Even if I was invisible to them, Tom and Marc both knew where I was, thanks to the surveillance in my necklace, and that heartened me.

  I set my palms on my push rims and rolled back and forth. I was nervous, because plenty bad could happen tonight. What if I didn’t get enough to incriminate Alexandre? This would drag on and on and on, and Zed and I would never be free.

  I didn’t know what I’d do if tonight ended and neither Zed nor I were safe from his reach, his delusional ambition. I rested my forehead against the cool glass and breathed slowly. I wasn’t much of a praying type anymore, but I tossed one up at that moment. Asking for a turn of good luck felt like too much to ask for, so I settled for a small plea for bravery and wits.

  I heard the door snick shut behind me and I turned around.

  “Ma sirène.” Alexandre sauntered toward me, sporting a nice bruise on his forehead but otherwise looking pretty well for having been bodily tackled by Tom, who was not a slight fellow. He inspected me appreciatively, before his eyes returned to my face. “It is so good to see you. I knew once he was gone, you’d come.” He bent down, planting a kiss on my lips. I fought the very natural impulse to bite his tongue off as it slithered into my mouth.

  “You taste as good as I remember.” He stood and turned away to the bar. “Something to drink?” he asked, pouring himself a large glass of the disgusting cognac.

  I shook my head. “Thanks, no. I had whiskey already.”

  Leaning a hip against the bar, he cocked his head to the side as he lit a clove, sucked deeply, then exhaled through his nose. “Here you are. I knew one day you’d accept the truth. That we belong together.”

  I swallowed. “You were right.”

  He grinned lasciviously. “You like what I did, don’t you? How I claimed you as mine. You were a filthy girl when I met you. Nothing’s changed.”

  I dropped my eyes, hoping I conveyed bashfulness rather than the boiling rage I actually felt. When I looked up, he was staring at me hungrily, and I was once again shocked by how someone so objectively handsome could be so revolting. That’s what evil did—made even beauty hideous. He took another drag of his clove. “It’s why we’re perfect for each other, you know.”

  Egomaniacal fuckwit.

  “So it seems,” I said. I moved my hair over my shoulder, arching my chest, and I got the reaction I wanted. His eyes danced as he scanned my body, and he licked his lips as he flicked his cig over the ashtray.

  This was the moment. “How did you…decide what you were going to do? It was quite extreme.” I slid my hands from my hair to my necklace, straightening it to make sure it was pointed direc
tly at Alexandre as we faced each other.

  “Well,” he said, exhaling smoke. “There’s a nice little backstory. It started with Christophe. He’s my cousin, you’ve deduced I’m sure.”

  He smirked, ashing then lifting the cigarette to his mouth and taking a long drag. “He fancied you. I visited him in London not long after you got here apparently, to make him sign a few more documents that secured the textile company as mine. He was so pathetically drunk, and crying about you. I didn’t make the connection of course, because I didn’t know your real name, but how he described you…it piqued my interest. So, I kept my eye on things, and then like manna from heaven, you were in the paper and it was your face and that name he’d used—Nairne,” he said derisively. “The same Nairne Christophe was wild about. By the way, your name you used in Paris, Aila, is much better—it rolls of the French tongue easily and it suits you. In fact, that’s what I’m calling you from now on. Get used to it.”

  I swallowed my disgust and plastered what I hoped read as an alluring smile. “As you wish.”

  “I do wish, yes.” He drank his cognac, watching me over the glass, before setting it down. “So, once I realized, well, it was simple from there. I had a connection to you, finally, a way to pin you down. I flew in twice, waited near the lab. Both times you were heavily guarded. Then I paid a fellow to watch you, and if you were alone, he had instructions to take you. But you were still always impossibly covered with security. So, I had to change my plan. Where could I find you, without those guard dogs smothering you?”

  He smoked his cig and exhaled steadily. “The gala. It was the perfect solution. You’d be given more space, and I’d make my move. I paid a visit to a very willing female employee in this London fundraising office, made a fat donation, and got myself a last-minute invite.” He shrugged. “From there, it was easy. Obviously, you and that interferer would be together at the event. I knew that would be when I’d free you to be mine, once and for all.”