Take Your Time (A Boston Love Story Book 4)

by Julie Johnson

  “I told you to bring her out the side door, the basement wasn’t part of the plan,” Cueball’s saying. “Now we’ll have to go around and get the car. We can’t exactly drag her across the main parking lot.”

  Eggplant sounds exasperated. “No choice. There were two guards stationed at the side door. Couldn’t get out that way.”

  “Lot of security, for a damn wedding.”

  “Tell me about it. Bumped into at least three security details patrolling the site on my way to grab her. Got around two. The third wasn’t so easy to sidestep.”

  “Did he see you?” Cueball asks nervously.

  “Relax. He’s not seeing much of anything, by this point.” He laughs. “My stiletto blade in his side guaranteed that.”

  My heart clenches. One of the Knox Investigations guys is hurt, badly. Maybe dead.

  Please, don’t let it be Luca. Please.

  “Why do they have so much security? These people rich or something?”

  “For her sake, better hope so. If her brother doesn’t come up with any cash to settle his loan, she’s gonna need someone else willing to pay the boss on her behalf. Otherwise…”

  “Maybe we should leave her. Try the parent angle again. Or his ex-girlfriend. From what I can tell, Sinclair isn’t even close to this girl.”

  “She’s his sister.”

  “So? I hate my sister,” Cueball murmurs.

  “Don’t tell me you’re backing out, Grafton. Boss won’t be happy to hear you left me high and dry to handle this alone.”

  “I’m not! But I’ve been watching these guys all day — they’re highly trained. Personal security, surveillance, you name it. If they catch us, we’re fucked.”

  Eggplant scoffs. “They’re not gonna catch us.”

  We reach the end of the hallway and they drop me in a heap on the floor. It takes effort to let myself fall like deadweight, without bringing my hands up to shield my face. I land with a jarring thud, my forehead banging against the concrete, half my face coming to rest in a brackish puddle. I can feel their eyes on me as I lie there like a stone, barely breathing as I struggle to keep my face clear of all emotion.

  “Stupid bitch is still out cold.”

  “How hard did you hit her?”

  “Hard enough.”

  Cueball is relegated to guard duty while Eggplant slips out to retrieve their getaway car. I don’t dare open my eyes again, even a sliver.

  “Watch her!” Eggplant barks at his partner before shoving a door wide, its metal hinges screeching. I hear a low electrical buzz as a lift gate clangs open. If I had to wager a guess, I’d say we’re at some kind of truck-loading zone or a back door used for supply drop-off.

  My mind whirls as I consider the few facts I know for sure.

  They said we were in the basement. Probably down below the main exhibit floor, then. Maybe even below sea level. It would explain the moisture in the air.

  Eggplant mentioned his stiletto blade, but nothing about a gun. The fact that they can’t shoot me raises my odds of survival incrementally.

  I hear Cueball pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. I count his steps as he makes laps. Ten toward the door, ten back to me. Ten to the door, ten back to me. Like clockwork.

  It might be my only chance.

  When I hear him start another circuit toward the door, I crack open my eyes and see him walking to the metal gate. Heart in my throat, I roll soundlessly from my side onto my knees, bunching the soaked hem of my dress in one hand as I lift into a crouch on my four inch heels.

  I wait until he’s almost at the gate before I scramble upright and start running the opposite direction, back down the narrow hallway. It’s dark and I have no idea where I’m going, but I figure bolting in the opposite direction of the scary bad guys is as good a choice as any.

  He hears me running as soon as my heels click against the concrete. So much for my head start.

  “Hey! Stop! Get back here, bitch!”

  As if, bucko.

  I pass the pile of rusted scuba tanks and buckets. Pausing for a moment, I turn and shove the heavy cylinders with both hands — they fall with a massive clatter, like fifty-pound dominoes, rolling across the floor to create a momentary roadblock. I grin as I spin and start sprinting again, grabbing my dress hem to keep from tripping.

  I hear him cursing as the tanks roll toward him but don’t risk turning around to watch him struggle. At the end of the hallway, I finally spot what I’ve been looking for — a metal exit door topped with a sign that says STAIRWELL. I slam into it full force, grasping for the handle. No matter how I twist, it doesn’t budge — either locked or simply stuck shut.

  Shit.

  A scream of frustration rattles in my throat. I can hear Cueball coming — he sounds enraged from my stunt with the scuba tanks. I whirl around, seeking an alternate route. There’s another door to the left, slightly ajar. I squeeze through the gap in a blind panic, hoping I’ll find a window, another set of stairs, anything that might help me get out of here.

  Instead, I’m confronted with a maze of storage rooms, one leading straight into the next. I soon discover an underground labyrinth of aquatic equipment, each space stacked to the ceiling with discarded instruments, empty tanks, replacement parts. There’s no end in sight.

  I cut a path through room after room, eyes straining to adjust to the dark, trying to move as silently as possible. I hear the screech of the metal door behind me as Cueball follows me into the maze. His steps are methodical as he moves, checking each room to see if I’ve stopped to hide behind a shelf, inside an old tank, beneath a pile of rubbery wetsuits.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he calls in a singsong voice, chuckling. “Don’t you want to help your brother, Delilah?”

  Shit.

  He’s closer than I thought.

  I pass into the next room, this one better lit and full of massive pipes that flow from the floor into the ceiling. Each is wider than my waist. A power grid with switches and a complicated panel of gauges dominates one wall. It’s a maintenance room, filtering water for the exhibit tanks.

  There are signs of life, here. An employee badge lying on a desk. Someone’s leftover sandwich, sitting beside it. An empty coffee mug.

  That must mean I’m getting close to an exit.

  I make my way to the next door, yanking it open and slipping inside.

  My mouth goes dry.

  I’m in a huge, high-ceilinged room, standing at the beginning of a metal catwalk that extends out over a series of massive holding tanks. The catwalk is maybe eighty or ninety feet long, and about five feet wide, suspended with steel support beams from the ceiling.

  My heart pounds as I catch sight of the sign on the wall.

  QUARANTINE CENTER

  This is probably where they keep new arrivals, until they’re healthy enough to join the main exhibits, or cordon off sick creatures until they recover.

  I can see things swimming in those tanks. Big things.

  Gulp.

  The last thing I feel like doing is walking out there in high heels and a dress, with only a narrow metal guardrail to prevent me from falling in. I’d almost rather take my chances with Cueball. But, on the opposite side, I see another metal door. The hope that it might lead to an exit spurs me into motion.

  Ninety feet. Just ninety feet. I can do this.

  I picture Luca’s face, smirking at me. Conjure up the feeling of his arms around me.

  Babe. You’ve got this. Piece of cake.

  Without another moment of hesitation, I step onto the metal catwalk and start to pick my way across the grated steel bars. I keep my eyes up, not wanting to know whether the things swimming beneath me are akin to the friendly sea creatures from Finding Nemo or something out of the movie Jaws.

  Just keep moving.

  Almost there.

  Eighty more feet.

  Seventy.

  Sixty.

  I’m halfway across when the unthinkable happens. My
strappy slingback stiletto heel slides down into the space between two of the metal grates, pinning me in place. My forward momentum sends me tumbling forward, head over feet. I wrench my trapped ankle as I fall onto my hands with a clatter. A scream of agony pops out as I land, pain searing through my twisted joint.

  Worse, though — my eyes, now poised directly over the metal mesh walkway, spot three fins in the water directly below me, confirming my worst fears.

  Friendly fish don’t have that many teeth, as a general rule.

  I twist around into a sitting position and attempt to yank my heel free, but it’s jammed in tight. My eyes water as I reach for the clasp on my shoe strap. My ankle throbs excruciatingly. I can see the joint is already swelling and pray to god it isn’t broken, thinking things can’t get much worse than being pinned down five feet above a tank full of man-eating sea monsters.

  The door squeals open, as if to prove me wrong.

  Shit.

  Cueball steps out onto the catwalk, grinning when he spots me in the middle.

  “Aw, is someone stuck?”

  I tear at the clasp with panicked fingers and extract my foot with a sharp tug. The ache that results is enough to make tears spill down my cheeks. There’s no way I’ll be able to put weight on it, let alone outrun him again.

  “Having a rough day, aren’t you?”

  He advances on me, laughing as he sees me scooting backward along the catwalk as fast as I can, using my good foot to propel me. My fingers claw at the metal grating, dragging my body along.

  “What do you want from me?” I glare up at him.

  His steps are leisurely. He’s in no rush — he knows I can’t escape.

  “Just what your brother owes us. We aren’t unreasonable.”

  I scoff. “You’re kidnapping me! You don’t think that’s a little unreasonable?”

  “You’re leverage. Nothing personal.”

  “You attacked me on the street, slammed my head into an aquarium, and dropped me in a puddle. Felt pretty personal.”

  He shrugs. “Cost of doing business.”

  I dart a glance behind me and see the door is still thirty feet away.

  “You come quietly, things will go better for you.” He looms over me, mere inches away. “And your brother.”

  “Thanks,” I hiss. “But quiet’s never really been my style.”

  With my good foot, still clad in a razor-sharp stiletto heel, I kick up and catch him straight between the legs. He goes down with a groan of pain, falling to his knees. I scramble out of range before he can grab me and drag myself into a standing position, using the metal guardrails to support most of my weight. Blinking back tears of pain, I keep my injured foot aloft and start hopping toward the exit, screaming my head off the entire time.

  “Help me! Please, I’m in the quarantine room! Somebody please!”

  I hear Cueball clambering to his feet. His voice is thick with rage. “You little bitch!”

  My eyes are on the door. Twenty feet. I can make it. Almost there.

  But my progress is painfully slow.

  His hands find my biceps, spinning me around to face him. He presses me back until the railing digs into my spine; I’m bent so far over, I fear I’ll plummet into one of the tanks. His dark eyes are narrowed in vengeance as his grip tightens to the point of pain. I’m so focused on him, I don’t even hear the door clicking open twenty feet from us.

  “Gonna pay for that,” Cueball sneers, eyes still smarting with tears of pain from the blow between his legs. “Sorely.”

  “Worth it to see you crying like a baby.”

  “Bitch!” He rears back to punch me and my eyes close, awaiting the impact.

  Except… it never comes.

  A wall of heat appears at my side. I crack open my eyes to see a giant fist enveloping Cueball’s hand in an iron grip, halting his punch midair. Turning my head, my eyes widen when I see it’s Luca. Relief sweeps through me in a wave.

  He’s here.

  He came for me.

  Luca makes short work of placing the smaller man in an unbreakable headlock. His eyes never shift from Cueball, but when he speaks, I know it’s me he’s addressing.

  “Are you okay?” His tone is strained, almost savage in its bleakness. Just hearing it makes my mouth go dry.

  “I’m okay.”

  He nods — a slight, tense acknowledgment. “Take the phone out of my back pocket. Call Nate. Tell him you’re safe, and that I’ve got the second one in custody.”

  I nod and pull out his phone with shaky fingers. Scrolling to Nate’s name, I dial and hold it to my ear. It barely rings before Nate’s voice cracks over the line.

  “Did you find her?”

  “It’s me,” I breathe, gripping the guard rail to support my weight. “Luca found us.”

  “Where?”

  “Quarantine Room.”

  He clicks off without another word.

  Luca’s hold tightens on the man in his hands, increasing the pressure against his windpipe until Cueball is wheezing for breath.

  “We’ve got your partner. He’ll pay for what he did to Theo, that’s a promise.” His words are a dark vow. “But you touched Delilah.”

  Eyes flashing with fear, face reddening from lack of oxygen, Cueball claws at Luca’s arms in a desperate bid for air. Luca never flinches. His hold never loosens as he methodically chokes the life from him.

  He’s going to kill him.

  “Don’t,” I whisper, horror consuming me. “He’s not worth it.”

  Luca ignores me.

  “Please.” My voice breaks. “Please, love.”

  At the endearment, Luca’s eyes cut briefly to mine. There’s a harrowing look in them.

  “Don’t throw our life away over this asshole,” I whisper, never blinking. “Then he wins.”

  Some small sliver of logic permeates Luca’s bloodlust, because his hold loosens, just a shade, until Cueball can draw a desperate breath into his lungs.

  “Fuck you,” he rasps at Luca, struggling against his hold but unable to tear free. “Think this is over? My boss will just keep sending us. Won’t stop till he gets his money, or his revenge. Your pretty little Delilah will never be safe again.”

  A dangerous growl moves through Luca’s chest and then, before I can blink, he’s lifted Cueball up and body-slammed him against the catwalk at my feet with such little effort, you’d think he were made of paper. Luca pins him with one knee in the center of his back and holds his head tight to the metal grate.

  “Don’t talk about Delilah ever again. Don’t say her name. Don’t look at her. Or I will throw you in the shark tank and let nature sort things out.”

  Thankfully, before he can fulfill that threat, the door swings open and several badass-looking Knox Investigations boys run out onto the catwalk. Luca drags Cueball to his feet and passes him off to Owen and Alden, who promptly zip-tie his wrists together and start dragging him away.

  Cueball struggles, screaming at the top of his lungs. “You’re private security! You’ve got no jurisdiction to hold me!”

  “But I do,” a dark-haired man in a suit says, stepping into the fray. I recognize him instantly as one of Nate’s work associates — and an occasional attender of Phoebe’s dinner parties. His intense blue eyes sweep around the group, not missing a single detail. He reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a badge. “Agent Conor Gallagher, FBI. Organized Crime Unit.” His gaze fills with what can only be described as excitement as he watches Owen and Alden drag Cueball through the door. Following them out, his voice echoes back to us from the stairwell. “I have some questions I’d like to ask you about your boss.”

  I shake my head, drawing Nate’s gaze.

  “You good?” he asks.

  “You invited the FBI to your wedding? Does Phoebe know about this?”

  “She’s the one who invited him.” He shrugs. “She’s determined to set him up with someone. He’s been single for about a decade and now that she’s found true love,
she thinks it’s her duty to make the rest of the world equally happy.”

  “That’s Phoebe West, for ya.”

  His eyes get warm. “Phoebe Knox.”

  “Right.” My eyes sting. “Of course.”

  He looks at Luca, who’s hovering by my side in silence. “You okay?”

  “No,” Luca says bluntly, blowing out a puff of air. “I’ll get there, though.”

  Nate nods, as if he understands. “I’ll handle things with Conor. You sort things out here.”

  With a final glance at me, Nate turns and walks away. In the silence that follows, I glance up at Luca and find his eyes already locked on my face. There’s a look in them that scares me.

  “Luca,” I whisper, voice breaking a bit. “Luca, I…”

  The words never make it past my lips, because he pulls me away from the rail, into his arms, and crushes me to him in a rib-cracking hug. His forehead hits my shoulder and I hear him release a huge, shuddering breath.

  “Thought I’d lost you.”

  I ignore the stinging pain in my ankle and tighten my arms around him. “I’m right here.”

  “They could’ve hurt you. They could’ve—”

  “But they didn’t. I’m right here. I’m okay.”

  His grip flexes and I get the sense he’s barely hanging onto his control. “Delilah, you don’t understand. Never had a family. Never had a home. Never had anyone who belongs to me.” His words shake. “Most of my life, I never thought that was even in the cards. Not a possibility. But… then I met you. And I started to see a different kind of future than the one I’d mapped out for myself.” He breaks off, voice muffled against my skin. “The way I see it, you’re the best chance I’ve got at building a life. A family. A real one. Because when I’m with you… I’m home.”

  My hands move from his shoulders to his neck. Gently, I lift his chin so I can see into his eyes. They’re swimming with so much warmth and love and worry, it breaks my heart.

  “Earlier, you said something to me. Something that freaked me out, made me run. But the truth is, I’ve spent the past few months running. From you, from the truth, from the way you make me feel.” I swallow. “I don’t want to run anymore, Luca.”

  His eyes flare. “Babe—”