Eaton’s gaze finally shifted to Mark. “Your father ruined my career, crushed my reputation and destroyed my family. My wife and daughter are gone!” he shouted. “I’ll never see them again. You think these men at my back are friends?”
“Friends or enemies, they’re a pack of idiots to stand behind you,” Mark said.
Eaton snorted. “Hardly. They’re skilled soldiers and loyal to me, the source of their money.”
“We’ll see how loyal they are when the authorities get here.” He stretched as far as the cuffs allowed so Eaton’s men could hear him clearly. “Did he tell you that we’re all under surveillance? Before long, they’ll swarm this warehouse and round up everyone who helped your fearlessly delusional leader.”
The only faces he could see were Eaton’s and the gunman’s and neither man flinched. Didn’t matter. Eaton might pay well for his private army, but when the crazy started to show, a mercenary’s survival meant walking away. Quickly.
“I expected better.” Eaton shook his head. “You didn’t follow blindly in his footsteps. I’m hoping you’ll provide a more devastating kind of trouble for your father.” He stepped back, reaching to close the doors.
“Wait!” Mark said. “Let her go. An act of good faith.” He pitched his voice so it sounded more like a plea than an order. “She’s not military. She isn’t even a Riley,” he added, feeling like a jerk. “It’s not like Dad raised her.”
Of course, she had the mettle to be a Riley. His parents and hers had been inseparable, and they’d brought up the kids as if they were all cousins. But he was trying to use Eaton’s definition for revenge to get her out of here.
Eaton studied him. “They told me you were together when they found you. She stays.”
“Together? No. Not like that.” The idea of together with Charlotte stuck in his head. He could see her art on the wall in the house of his dreams where a little girl with strawberry blond curls and a sweet dimple in her cheek danced in a bright sunbeam. “No,” he said again, as a chill slid through him. Eaton had proven he didn’t mind putting innocent lives at risk in his sick games.
Eaton’s gaze slid from Mark to Charlotte and back again. A knowing smirk creased his weathered face. “She stays.”
The door slammed and the lock turned.
“I’ll go ahead to make room for her,” Eaton said to his men. “I want this place cleared within the hour. No trace…” His voiced faded as he and his men trooped off.
Charlotte’s breath hitched. Damn it. He had to do something. “Charlotte—”
“I hate this dress,” she said, wrestling with the neckline. “This is the worst time to feel like a girl.”
“You are a girl,” he pointed out.
“A frilly, useless girl,” she amended. “Vulnerable.”
“Hardly,” he argued. “You’re strong. And the dress is killer.”
The driver’s door opened and the van rocked as a burly man they hadn’t seen settled behind the steering wheel. The engine started and they were backing out of the warehouse.
Mark heard her sniffle and wished there was something more he could do. “Lottie.”
“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”
He sputtered, barely containing an outright laugh over the obvious lie. “I will get us out of here.”
“I know.” She pulled again at the neckline of her dress. “You’ll squash that creep like a bug and I’ll give you a big round of applause.”
“That doesn’t sound like something a frilly girl would say.”
“I wish I could do the squashing,” she said. “Your sisters could squash him.”
Mark didn’t want to mention how Eaton had nearly destroyed Grace Ann. “In a fair fight, my money’s on you, honey.” He’d rip out the man’s eyes for making Charlotte feel like a helpless object rather than a capable woman. And what would he do to himself for making her feel less important to him and the family? Once they were safe, he could work on making amends for that. “Try to relax,” he murmured. “He has the advantage now, but everyone makes mistakes eventually. You know I didn’t mean all that about—”
“Forget it,” she said, her voice small. “It’s okay.”
He’d hurt her feelings when he should be a source of strength and hope for her. He wanted to be comforting, but he didn’t have the luxury right now. Hope was fragile and wouldn’t hold up long against whatever Eaton had planned for him.
Charlotte needed more than comfort. She needed the jaded, cold warrior the navy had carved out of him through the rigors of training and operations. Only his well-honed, lethal skills would get them out of this alive.
* * *
Charlotte was not okay.
In fact, this entire night was the polar opposite of okay. From the moment they’d been attacked in the alley until now, she felt she was living a nightmare. Her fears for her own life were pushed behind ones for Mark’s. Even if she were let go, what would happen to him? Her breath came fast, and she felt her pulse race, as anxiety flooded her.
And yet all she could think about was how much her heart ached. She supposed she should thank Mark for momentarily distracting her from the paralyzing fear of being kidnapped by a madman who had some perverse idea of revenge.
Her plans for a kiss were trashed, but worse, her fantasy of being his had popped like a bubble. A sphere of gleaming rainbows in the sunlight impaled on a blade of grass. That’s what happened to lifelong crushes when exposed to the harsh light of reality.
She would never be a Riley. It was completely irrational to hurt this much over a few words tossed out in an attempt to protect her. Mark had no idea she’d imagined their wedding day in her head a thousand times. A silly figment of her imagination. Thank goodness she’d never shared that nonsense with anyone. She fought against another wave of tears, thoroughly annoyed with herself.
A kiss wouldn’t have changed anything, even if she had pulled it off. He had five years on her and a career that included pressures and dangers she couldn’t even fathom. In contrast, her life had been a cakewalk. Her biggest career challenges were snobby critics, obstinate patients and the occasional travel delay.
If they’d met as strangers, would they have any common ground? Would he have given her a second look? She had to get control of her reactions and regain her perspective. Had to find a way to help him.
“I’m sorry this man hates your family.” All her life, General Riley, his wife and their five children were a natural extension of her family. Her memories of all of them together created a vibrant canvas, infused with bold color and light and love.
“Not as sorry as I am that his hatred spilled onto you.” He dropped his head back and stared up at the ceiling of the van. “He didn’t bother concealing his face.”
“That’s a problem?” she asked when he didn’t elaborate.
“It shows a troubling degree of arrogance.” Mark muttered an oath. “You shouldn’t be here. He knows that. What is he thinking?”
“You shouldn’t be here either,” she pointed out. He seemed to be forgetting they’d both been kidnapped, only one of them on purpose.
“If I hadn’t been out there flirting with you, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.” He glanced toward her bare feet. “And you’d still have those sexy heels you were wearing.”
Had they been flirting? He’d recognized the connection between several paintings, but the rest was a blur, thanks to Eaton. Her hopelessly romantic heart fluttered in her chest knowing that Mark found her heels sexy. She preferred to think of that rather than the situation they were now in. The idea of flirting with him, on purpose, was enticing. Tempting. She’d wanted him to look at her like a woman—an interested, available woman—for so long, it seemed too good to be true.
She wondered what Mark would say if he knew that’s where her mind had wandered. She suddenly despised Eaton for intruding on h
er first real chance to connect with Mark as a consenting adult. Mark had noticed her heels. He liked the dress. Those were moments she’d thought beyond her reach. “Can I put in a request for when we get out of here?” she asked.
“Absolutely.” He slid closer, a sexy tilt to his lips. “It’s smart to have something to look forward to.”
She cleared her throat and went for broke. “When we get out of this, I’d like to have dinner with you. Just you, not the family. It doesn’t have to be fancy—”
“Why not? You deserve fancy.”
The statement made her smile, something she’d thought beyond her a few minutes ago. “Thanks. In that case, bring on the candles and good wine.”
He chuckled. “Count on it.” He shifted on the bench. “Want in on a secret?”
“Absolutely,” she replied, echoing him.
“I walked into the gallery tonight expecting to be bored. Then I saw you. All the color and movement of your art faded into the background. I suddenly wanted to steal Dad’s new boat and take you out for champagne on a sunset sail.”
“You thought all that?” Was this a new tactic to keep her calm? “About me?”
He nodded and she felt his gaze drifting over her as distinctly as if he’d touched her with those strong, long-fingered hands that mesmerized her almost as often as his face.
“It was the dress.” His voice was quiet and warm and completely at odds with their surroundings. “Those blues and greens remind me of a Caribbean beach. You looked so…you. Grown up, confident, amazing. And your hair. If that isn’t champagne-worthy hair, I don’t know what is.”
No one had ever said anything so romantic to her. Not even the fascinating guitarist she’d dated for a few months in Paris. Even better, she believed Mark. Those words resonated as true. The awareness was liberating, empowering and a bit unnerving. She could practically hear the water against the boat’s hull, feel the wind teasing her hair while the sun sank slowly into the horizon. See the glint in his eyes just before he kissed her.
She was probably reading way too much into the moment. Flirting was one thing. Mark, older and more experienced, with his intense career, couldn’t possibly be satisfied with her, a woman frequently lost to an image no one else could see. Not in the long term. Although, considering their situation, long term was relative.
If she asked, would he kiss her now? Pondering those odds and possibilities, she nearly slipped off the bench when the van driver took a corner too fast. Mark caught her before the cuffs could jerk her arms and chafe her wrists again.
“You’re quiet. What are you thinking?” he asked, still holding her steady.
It wasn’t easy to speak with his warm hands on her skin. Even in this dangerous situation, his nearness both roused and soothed her.
The van took another turn and she grabbed his strong forearm, feeling the strength under the fabric of his suit coat. “Someone up there could use a safe driver refresher course,” she said, loud enough to carry to the driver.
Mark grunted in amused agreement. “Seriously,” he said at her ear, as the ride smoothed out. “Before that.”
She could hardly admit she’d been thinking of them together in the setting he’d described. “Dinner on the water would make a beautiful painting,” she said. “Planning a canvas sometimes helps when I’m stressed or uncomfortable.”
Once Mark got them out of this, she would go back to her studio and paint. For days. Only breaking for dinner with him. She would paint a sun-soaked ocean and layer in all of her longing for Mark. All of her romantic wishes could float safely there, just under the surface of the water and she’d never have to face the likelihood of his rejection. He’d be kind and let her down easy, but that wouldn’t change the result.
Obviously it would take a series of paintings to address the wealth of emotion she carried for him. On the canvas, only the sunset, the water and the effervescent champagne she dreamed of sipping while stretched out under the muted light of an endless sky would show. Endless. Yeah, that about summed it up. Endless fantasies, endless hope, endless what-ifs. She wasn’t so sure that dinner after this crisis was a good idea after all.
“Must be some painting.”
She was glad the light was dim and irregular back here, so the blush heating her cheeks wouldn’t be as easy to spot. “I guess we’ll see if I can pull it off when I get back to my studio.” Maybe then she would work up the courage to grab a little piece of her dream of Mark.
“I’d like to see that.” He shifted a bit, his hands still on her, lighter now. “Do you ever invite people to watch you work?”
“No. The idea of painting in front of an audience makes me queasy.” Her hands cramped and her muse skittered out of reach, hiding until it was safe to come out. “Every artist has a process that works for them.”
“That makes sense.” He sighed and moved away from her. “I’m so sorry, Lottie. I can’t tell you how badly I want you out of here.” His voice was so low she barely heard him over the engine and tires. “No stops lately. We’ve been on a highway for a while. I don’t like it.”
Remarkable she hadn’t even noticed. Apparently he could effectively distract her without losing his focus. His features were hard to pick out in the near darkness. “How can I help?”
“It would be great if you had a magic wand handy. Barring that, I’m open to ideas,” he said.
He slid farther away from her until he was at the end of the bench behind the front seats. Slowly, he stretched his arms, then his legs, but the restraints kept him far from the metal screen between them and the cab of the van. He couldn’t interfere with the driver at all. “Eaton is a stickler for detail,” he grumbled.
Following his example, she slid to the other end of the bench, straining for the rear door. They couldn’t get out because the door handle had been removed, but she just realized that what she’d been hearing sliding around in the back were her shoes. Maybe if she could reclaim one or both shoes they could use the high heels as weapons.
It was a balancing act and far from graceful, but she stretched full-length, trying to catch her toe in one of the straps.
Obviously they weren’t alone out here on the road. If they could find a way to make a scene, surely another driver would notice and possibly call for help. When their driver pulled over to deal with whatever scene they made, they could attack him with her shoes.
“Charlotte?” Mark said softly. “I can use the point of the buckle on your shoe on these cuffs.”
“Almost there.” She was sure she could stretch another inch or two. She was wrong. The stupid sparkly heels remained just out of reach. She slumped onto her back on the bench, willing herself to stay positive. That’s when she saw the hatch overhead.
If they could get that open it might garner attention from other drivers, as well. Getting her feet under her, she stood on the bench.
“What are you doing?”
“Creating a diversion,” she said. “Or trying anyway.” She was disgusted, but not surprised, that the cuffs didn’t give her enough slack to stand upright on the bench. Frustrated beyond bearing, she screamed and stomped her feet.
She startled the driver and he twisted in his seat, shouting about the commotion, and jerked on the steering wheel in the process. His curses blended with Mark’s and hers too as she lost her balance, tumbling to the bench. Horns blasted from either side of them as the van swerved all over his lane.
Unfortunately, there were only near misses, no collisions that might have helped them escape.
Mark helped her get situated again on the bench beside him. “I’d rather you didn’t break your neck before I have a chance to get you out of here. What was that?”
“Dashed hope, obviously,” she replied. Pain sang up her arms from her wrists to her shoulders. “I thought opening that hatch might get some attention from another driver.”
“Not a bad plan,” he said.
“Really?”
“Really.” He looked toward the hatch. “I should’ve thought of it.”
Was that admiration in his voice? She gathered herself and rolled her shoulders. “The swerving probably wasn’t enough.”
“Probably not,” he agreed. “Can you get your shoe back on and hook the heel into the handle of the storage bin?”
With all the swerving, one of her shoes had come within reach. She got it on her foot and then followed his gaze to the bin under the bench seat they shared. “I can,” she said, determined to be useful.
She had to fidget and twist a little and ignore all the places that ached from her last attempt to raise havoc, but at last she hooked the heel of her shoe through the handle. A few seconds later, she had the right angle and the door popped open.
“Nicely done.”
She felt a flush of pride. “What’s there?” She couldn’t see into it as well as he could. “Anything we can use as a weapon?”
“Looks empty.”
She shook her head. Not even a scream would help this time. “What now?”
“Now you start banging that door back and forth.”
She scowled at him, though he probably couldn’t see her expression. She didn’t think making noise would do them any good, but trusting him, she did as he asked. “We could’ve just stomped,” she said.
Under the flash of a streetlight, she saw him shake his head. “This is better. Keep going.”
Time and again, she did as he asked. The driver took his sweet time reacting, but finally he slowed down and pulled over to the shoulder.
The van rocked as he came to a hard stop. He was muttering to himself as he put the gearshift in Park. An overhead light came on and he turned in his seat to yell through the screen. “What’s that noise?”
Charlotte held out her cuffed hands and Mark did the same. “It’s not us,” she said. She kept the bin closed with her foot so he wouldn’t see the trouble immediately.
He glared at Mark. “What did you do?”
Harlequin Romantic Suspense December 2020 Box Set Page 76
