Chayton

by Danielle Bourdon

  Anton puffed on the cigar and exhaled through his nose. “He's probably already dead. Or very soon to be. You didn't think I'd waste this precious opportunity to take out Mister Black, did you?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Ten minutes after he heard the front door close, Chayton slithered out of bed and found new clothes from a dresser drawer. He chose black, head to toe, and had just reached for his phone when a message came in.

  He braced himself for bad news.

  It was Leander. She's looking for Anton. Searching in the rain.

  All the warmth of the last two hours turned to cold sludge in his veins. He sent a quick text back. On my way.

  For the life of him, he would have thought Kate was telling the truth. He'd allowed her in, let her sway his trust. Now she was looking for Anton. What else would she be doing in the rain, at this time of night?

  Mouth pulled into a tight, unhappy line, he tied back his hair, then let himself out. A westerly wind drove needles of rain into his body, most of it blocked by denim and cotton. He hadn't gone farther than fifty feet from the front door when a body eased out of the shadows between two palms.

  Chayton tensed, then eased as Mattias came into better view. The dark haired prince, soaked to the skin, never complained, never mentioned any discomfort.

  “She's on the other side of the clubhouse. Leander's got her in his sights,” Mattias said. He made eye contact, dragging a hand back through his wet hair.

  “That's a shame. I really thought she was telling me the truth.” Chayton followed Mattias's lead and took to a path other than the sidewalk, one that utilized the foliage to their advantage in case Kate walked back this way.

  “If this is all an act, then she's a better actress than most I've seen. I had someone check, but we're unable to discern whether she's lost her fortune, or whether her mother willed it to someone else.”

  Chayton, like Mattias, believed that could be the only reason Kate needed his money. If she'd lost everything, and was in truth Anton's lover, then she now had access to half of his empire. The thought made him ill.

  “I would have bet a year off my life that her disgust with him was real at the party,” Chayton said.

  “That's how the best of the best do it, though. The most convincing con artists could probably put everyone in Hollywood out of a job.” Mattias paused next to a tall, swaying palm tree, and pulled out his phone. He checked the messages.

  “Leander said Anton's men have her and are escorting her to one of the houses.” Mattias glanced up and looked at Chayton.

  “Why would she need an escort?” Chayton asked, maintaining eye contact with Mattias.

  “She knows me and Leander were at the party. It's possible she might use that as an excuse if we happened to be watching tonight—which we were. So she could later say that she'd just gone for a late night walk, that she loves rain or some other story, and that the men surprised her.” Mattias paused, then added, “But there is the possibility that she has another agenda that isn't what we think it is.”

  Chayton put his hands on his hips and stared through the slats of the foliage. It provided decent cover—not that they probably needed it any longer. “I don't know. It's been upheaval since I met her. I want to trust my instincts, and those instincts tell me that lately at least, she's been honest with me. But this...this makes no sense to me. Putting herself in danger after being so afraid of him at the party.”

  “I can't figure it either. Unless she's in with him and they're working you over.” Mattias checked his phone after another vibration. “Leander said she's in there with him. There are two guards at the front door and two at the back. Anton's got himself covered pretty well.”

  “I just bet he does.” Chayton, oblivious to the rain, considered his options. He could pull back and see what Kate did from here, barge in and get her out of there, or leave Kauai completely and let Kate deal with the consequences of her actions.

  In the middle of making decisions, he noticed a vague shadow creeping past the foliage on the other side of the pathway. The rain made it difficult to make out details. Nudging Mattias's elbow, he gestured the other direction with his chin, bringing Mattias's attention to the skulking shadow.

  As they watched, the man—that bulky shape and size couldn't belong to anything but a man—crept the other direction. Toward Chayton's rented beach house. Following on their side, using trees and fronds as cover, they observed the shadow approach the front door of Chayton's rental. Lurching back, the shadow used a foot to give the door a violent kick. Then the shadow went in low and fast, something held in his outstretched hands.

  Chayton didn't need to explain to Mattias what they were witnessing. The prince knew as well as he did that the shadow was a would-be assassin, there to end Chayton's life. The decision now was whether to confront the attacker and glean information, or let him clear the house and go back to report a failure to Anton. Because that's surely who'd sent him.

  He moved at the same time as the prince. After all this time working together, they were a well oiled machine, able to pick up on the subtle nuances that allowed them to think the same in situations like these. Staying low, they followed the greenery back toward the beach house, breaking cover only when they had to.

  Rushing the door, they entered as a team, weaponless but alert. Lamp-glow illuminated a figure rounding into the master bedroom, unaware of anyone behind him.

  Using surprise to his advantage, Chayton took the man down with a sleek grab-and-twist motion. Grappling, Chayton landed on top, knocking the man's weapon arm wide.

  The gun went off with an ear ringing crack.

  Grunting, Chayton applied pressure to the throat while Mattias stepped on the man's wrist and wrested the gun away.

  Lurching back, Chayton got to his feet, breaths coming short and shallow compared to the intruder who rasped for air.

  “Get up.” Chayton used a boot to drag over a thick, padded chair. Clearly, he expected the intruder to sit in it.

  “Screw you,” the man said, still on the floor. Dressed in dark clothes, with a bulky coat, he appeared to be a few inches above six-feet with blondish-brown hair. Perhaps in his middle fifties, he had meaty hands and thick fingers and bushy eyebrows.

  Chayton absorbed those initial details while Mattias turned the weapon on the intruder. Calm, calculated, businesslike.

  “Get in the chair. He won't have any issue putting a bullet through your thigh,” Chayton said to the man.

  Grumbling and grousing, the intruder got off the floor and flopped into the chair. Scowling, he said, “He's a prince. What would everyone think to know he goes around shooting people?”

  “It's your word against his. Who do you think people will believe?” Chayton, short tempered after the turn of events, didn't loiter with semantics of whether or not Mattias's reputation would take a hit. “Besides assassinating me, I want to know what Anton's agenda is.”

  “You can't prove anything. I was just coming to talk.”

  Mattias laughed. “You were going to let your bullets do the talking, hm?”

  Leander rushed through the bedroom doorway, body tensed for action.

  “It's all right. We've got control,” Chayton said to Leander.

  “Heard the shot,” Leander said, out of breath.

  “It went off while we were disarming him.” Chayton turned back to the glaring intruder. “Now then. We know you didn't come here to talk. What does Anton want? You can either tell us what we want to know, or I can call the authorities and you can spend the next ten or fifteen years in prison. Your choice.”

  “What you think he wanted.”

  “To end me, surely. What else?” Chayton asked.

  “Does there need to be anything else?”

  “So you were supposed to come in here and kill him and that's all?” Leander said, jumping into the interrogation. The stranger's eyes swiveled to land on Leander.

  “It was supposed to be a simple matter. Now it's not.”


  “No, I guarantee you, it's not simple any longer,” Leander agreed with an unamused laugh. “Were you supposed to steal anything from Chayton? Wallet, identification, money?”

  “Just end his life. That was all I had to do. Then disappear off the island at the soonest opportunity. I've told you what you wanted to know, so let me go now.”

  “Oh, it's not that easy,” Leander said. “What are Anton's plans? Is Kate working with him? Like Chayton said—you can do this easy, or you can do this hard.”

  Chayton tensed at the question. Relieved that Leander had taken over the interrogation, he flexed his hands in and out of fists, anticipating and dreading the answer.

  The intruder licked at his lips, a calculating look in his eyes. He glanced between all three men, then rasped another laugh. “What do you think? Of course she's working with him. You fell into their plans much easier than they expected, but...”

  Chayton bristled, fury surging hot and fast through his system. Leander set a hand on his arm, preventing him from lashing out at the intruder.

  “She sure as hell didn't act like she wanted to be around Anton any time I've ever seen her in his presence,” Leander said.

  “Of course she didn't. That would have ruined the damsel aspect of the plot and clearly, Chayton here likes to be the rescuer.”

  “He did what any other compassionate human would have,” Mattias interjected.

  “He certainly did. Bought right into the plan wholesale, without a lot of extra effort.” The man laughed.

  “Get him out of here,” Chayton said, suddenly disgusted. He pivoted out of the bedroom and stalked into the kitchen.

  “I'll take care of it.” Leander took possession of the gun and gestured the intruder to his feet.

  Mattias followed Chayton into the kitchen and clapped a hand on his shoulder. In a quiet voice, he said, “I know you usually like to be alone in times like these, but I'll stay and drink with you if you'd like.”

  Chayton poured himself a stiff drink. “No thanks. I'm going to be leaving the island shortly myself.”

  “I figured as much. Call us if you need us.” Mattias turned away, but paused. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry it came down this way.”

  “Yeah. Thanks for your help. Tell Leander, too.” Chayton lifted his glass as Mattias joined Leander and the intruder on the way out the door. A ruined door, no less, with a busted latch and splinters spread through the foyer.

  He didn't care. After three more numbing drinks, he would do exactly what he'd told Mattias he would do: get on a plane for home.

  . . .

  “You're lying,” Kate said, a cold knot taking shape in her stomach.

  “Am I?” Anton brought the cigar to his mouth and puffed. Smoke curled up his cheek, past his brow, toward the ceiling. Wood, nut and the faintest tinge of nutmeg tainted the air.

  “When did you plan it? When was there time? No, I think you're bluffing.” Kate's fingers shook on the doorknob.

  Anton laughed. “While you were wandering the sidewalk in the rain, of course. I knew the moment you left the house that you were coming to find me. Never did I expect it was to offer me money, but that's beside the point.”

  “I don't believe you. He's too high profile--”

  “Your mother was high profile, too,” he said in a low voice.

  “So you did kill her.” Kate gasped as the implication set in. She'd suspected his involvement all along. It was the one secret she'd kept from telling Chayton, too afraid it made her look more paranoid than she already did.

  “She fell down the stairs, Kate. A tragic accident. I'm merely stating a fact.” He stared at her while he smoked, a cunning glint in his eyes suggesting he thought he had the upper hand.

  “What you're doing is baiting me. We both know she didn't just fall down the stairs. Except I can't prove you pushed her. You won't simply walk away from murder here, though, not where there are so many potential witnesses. It's secluded, with high ranking guests that don't need to go around committing murder to protect their investments.” Kate's chest rose and fell, her breaths coming harder, faster.

  “Such a naïve kitten. Half the guests here have hired contracts for murder or blackmail or something like it to protect their empires. This is exactly why you, of all people, should never be in control of the estate your mother left you.” He pointed at her around the cigar with one finger.

  “You're just bitter that she would never marry you. She knew better, and you hated asking, and asking, and asking, only to be turned down with a laugh and a flutter of her hand. I'm not sure she ever took you seriously, come to think of it. You were a play toy, something to be used at whim, although I'll never understand her attraction to you.” It was the one thing Kate had praised her mother over, the repeated denials of Anton's proposals. She remembered her mother laughing once when Kate expressed her relief. Anna had said, You don't honestly think I'd jeopardize everything I've spent a lifetime building, do you? It had been Kate's first glimpse into just how shrewd her mother could be. Yet Anna had a definite weak spot where Anton was concerned. She'd pandered to the man's wants and needs, barring marriage.

  Anton narrowed his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but a distant crack split the night and his lips closed over words that never made it out.

  Kate at first thought it was the slam of a door. It had that kind of sharpness to it, even through the pounding rain. Then she realized what else it could be, probably was, and she wrenched the knob under her fingers.

  “Emil!” Anton shouted.

  Kate flung the door wide, coming face to face with the two guards at the doors. The larger, darker man grabbed her arm. The other bustled her deeper into the residence and kicked the door closed with a foot.

  “Let me go! Chayton!” Kate wasn't sure anyone would hear the shouting over the increasingly hard rain. A hand clamped over her mouth and an arm banded her waist. Kate fought the hold, tried to bite the palm across her lips. In periphery, she glimpsed the flicker of Anton's robe as he strode with purpose into the bedroom. No matter how she grappled and struggled, she was no match for Anton's henchmen. They had a foot of height on her and eighty pounds of solid muscle.

  Some other lackey of Anton's had just pulled a gun on Chayton, and she couldn't get the images out of her mind. The flash of a muzzle, a hulking shadow, Chayton asleep in the bed where she'd left him, never realizing what was coming.

  Two more men waited outside the back door as they departed under the cover of darkness. Kate squirmed and slithered in their hold, desperate to free her mouth from the smothering palm of a henchman. Hustled ten feet to a waiting limousine, Kate got into the back under duress, kicking a foot into someone's knee. A grunt sounded above her, but it didn't pause the progress.

  Anton, still buttoning a hastily donned shirt, got into the back as his luggage went into the trunk. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and, after all his guards were in place, ordered the driver to drive.

  “Stop fighting, Kate. It's done and it's over. Just accept the inevitable and things will go a little more smoothly for you,” Anton said. He straightened the crease of his slacks and drew on a pair of sunglasses despite the early morning darkness.

  Kate didn't stop fighting until the brute holding her wrenched her arm halfway up her back. Blinded by pain, Kate wilted into silence. Distraught, her last thought was of Chayton as the limousine departed the compound.

  . . .

  The distant echo of a gunshot played over and over in Kate's mind as the jet descended to the tarmac. Those few moments had been the most terrifying of Kate's life. Knowing she'd been responsible for bringing harm to Chayton tormented her more than what had happened after the shot.

  Anton and his thugs had forced her into the rain, into a limousine, and ultimately to Anton's private plane waiting at the airstrip. All her wrenching and squirming and fighting had done her no good. With a smothering hand clamped over her mouth, any screams and protests had gone unheard in the storm, and s
o, Anton had simply absconded with her in the wee hours of the morning.

  The smug bastard had gloated over his prowess in flight until Kate tuned him out, preferring to look out the window and fret over Chayton. For the first half hour, she convinced herself that a single gunshot didn't mean anything. Chayton could still be alive, perhaps knocked out cold or merely wounded, not dead. An hour after that, she overheard Anton on a private phone, making arrangements for the disposal of a body.

  “Drive along the coast, find a rocky spot, and dump the body,” he'd said, keeping his voice low.

  Who else could it be, but Chayton? Sick at heart, alternating between anger and distress, she'd tuned out the rest of Anton's conversation.

  Now it was evening and they were back on the mainland, about to land on a different but no less private airstrip in upstate New York. She was home after being on the run around the world, fleeing a man who would now finagle her into a discreet marriage so he could plunder her fortune. Along the way she'd discovered several things about herself: she was more resilient than she'd given herself credit for; when it came down to it, she was willing to fight for her safety rather than cower and cry and let someone else use her; her heart could break over a man. She knew because her heart ached over Chayton.

  Why oh why had she ever left the beach house? She should have stayed right there, curled against his side until morning. None of this would have happened and her heart wouldn't feel as if an anvil had landed smack on top, crushing all the feeling out.

  Hustled from the plane to a limousine, Kate settled against the seat and stared out the tinted windows. Anton, busy on the phone yet again, spoke in rapid Italian, one hand gesturing madly.

  She paid little attention to the language she couldn't understand. Instead, she battled through melancholy to figure out a new plan for escape. Just because Anton had gotten this far didn't mean he would get what he wanted in the end. Somehow, some way, she would keep him from obliterating her fortune and her future. It was exhausting, she thought as she watched the dark shape of tall trees whip by out the window, to think of being on the run again. But she would do what she had to do. It wasn't just her fortune on the line but her life. She still believed Anton meant to end her the second he had control of her empire, leaving him in charge of everything and with enough money to pay down all his debt. He could become the true playboy he'd always wanted to be.