Escapade: Her Billionaire - London (Her Billionare)

by Lisa Marie Rice

  Elle tapped the screen. “Look at the amounts.”

  Bennett ran his eyes over a ton of text and then bounced his fist lightly off the table. Son of a bitch. “That’s ten million USD.”

  “Yes, it is. For the first transaction, the first transfer of knowledge. They didn’t even know if what she would send them would be useful or viable. It was a shot in the dark. Ten million dollars is a lot of money for a shot in the dark.”

  “I guess it was worth it.”

  “Very definitely. And they might be like fishermen along the bank, casting lines. Ten-million-dollar lines. This one bit and it was a whopper.”

  “How many transactions so far?”

  Elle dropped her hands to her lap and turned to him, her face sad. “There have been six transactions. The data transfers have been immense. And highly encrypted. Do you need for me to try to decipher?”

  Bennett picked up her hands, held them in his, thumbs caressing the soft backs of hers. That crackling energy was a little diminished now. She’d worked in a fever of excitement, but the end product of all of that amazing work was finding a woman who was insanely greedy, able and willing to betray her colleagues, her company and her country for money. That was depressing enough to bring anyone’s energy down.

  He wouldn’t have been capable of that kind of betrayal, for no matter what amount. There wasn’t enough money in the world. And he knew, instinctively, she felt exactly the same.

  He looked her in the eyes, those amazingly beautiful and expressive eyes.

  “No, sweetheart, your work here is done. My client knows what’s in those files. It’s their proprietary information.”

  She pulled one hand away from Bennett’s to touch a key, and a long alphanumeric list came up.

  “Well, if they want the last element of proof, here it is.”

  He didn’t even look at the screen, didn’t take his eyes off her. “What is it?”

  She sighed, looking even sadder. “It’s a bank ID. No name, just a number that identifies the owner of the bank account. It’s a bank in Panama. I think they can prove it’s hers, once they have this number. Or they could just wait for her to connect with the bank and catch her that way. At any rate, I think you can tell your client it’s over. They have their culprit and they can stop the leak of information.”

  “I will.” Bennett gave a half smile. “That was good work, Elle. The best. Man, though, it’s sad to see a scientist betray everything like this.”

  “Wait.” She grinned, eyes wide, the light back in them. “I think I know a way to turn this around.”

  “Yeah?” Shit, there was no resisting her. It was great seeing her animated again, that look of sadness wiped from her face. Whatever it was, it was sure to be a good idea. That was the only kind she had. “Shoot.”

  “I think the Board of the company should let leak that one of their scientists, working on a top secret project, was inventing data. Then they fire her and put out word that she was let go because she was falsifying results. All the data she produced was bogus, worthless.”

  “Wow.” Bennett whistled. “Brilliant. So the Chinese won’t know whether to trust the data she sent or not.”

  “They will be angry. Those results would be very hard and insanely expensive to duplicate and they won’t know whether it’s a wild goose chase or not. They would just figure she was inventing data that was useless. Not only that.” Elle’s smile was wicked. “With that ID, the company can access the bank account, drain it completely, so the money is lost to the Chinese and to Dr. Haverson. Please ask them to donate a sum — say, ten percent of what they recover — to charity.”

  “Done. They are going to be really pleased. I don’t think they’ll have any problems donating a percentage. They get their woman, get most of money the Chinese sent her, and throw serious doubt on what the Chinese have bought so far. It’s perfect. Win-win. What’s your charity?”

  “I think … I think I’d like the money donated to Médecins sans Frontières. They do good work.”

  “They do indeed. So a very nice sum will be donated to the good doctors without borders. Now, can you send me the essence of this information in a form a company director who doesn’t have a PhD in information technology and who probably inherited his shares from his father can understand, including the bank ID?”

  “I can.” She pressed a key. “And did.”

  No flies on this woman, no sir.

  “And what do you want?” Bennett was feeling generous. She’d solved a big problem they’d been working on for weeks and weeks. Yesterday and today she’d done something invaluable. Apart from being amazing, she was worth her weight in gold. “Any ticket to any show, anywhere. A private meeting with the Pope. Anything, anything at all.”

  His hand stroked hers. He’d almost forgotten he was holding her hand, it felt so natural. How could anyone sit beside her and not hold her hand?

  She cocked her head. “You know, right now, I can’t think of anything I want that I don’t already have. But while I ponder what you should give me, I think you should feed me. And make popcorn. And we can watch a movie on the couch and hold hands. Can we screen the new Mission Impossible? Or is it too early? It only came out last month.”

  Oh yeah. Something he could do for a woman who didn’t want much for herself after handing him the professional equivalent of the moon.

  Sparrow Square had an amazing inbuilt video system that screened first run movies. It was one of the many attractions of the place that prided itself on providing so much for the residents that they never had to leave. He’d get the Mission Impossible movie for her if he had to fly Tom Cruise himself here.

  And anyway — it sounded like absolute heaven. Bennett couldn’t imagine anything he wanted more than to celebrate with Elle in their cozy apartment, watching a kickass movie, eating popcorn, necking on the couch.

  He kissed her. “Absolutely. Dinner and a movie coming right —”

  The Skype call tone sounded, loud and jarring. What the fuck? Anything from work would be a call to his cell. Who the hell —

  He checked his laptop monitor. Oh. The last thing he wanted to see. CLIFFORD RICKS IS CALLING.

  Well, fuck. He was astonished to find that he was irritated with Ricks. What was wrong with the man?

  Bennett and Elle were just fine. He didn’t want to be interrupted by a client, particularly not this client. Bennett had spent his entire time as CEO of BMC by putting clients first. And second and third. But right now, he’d happily throw Ricks off a cliff to have his evening with Elle. An evening he was looking forward to more than any he could remember in a long, long time.

  But. Duty was duty.

  Hell.

  Bennett clicked on the Skype app and the program that hid his location. The screen opened. It took him a moment to realize what he was seeing. The screen was all white, like the apparition of a ghost. Ricks’s unkempt white hair was a messy cloud around his head. He seemed to be enveloped in a white toweling robe, with the hood up, and he held an enormous white handkerchief to his face. Even his skin was a sickly white. The only color was the blue of his eyes.

  “Cameron,” he said. His voice was unnaturally deep and phlegmy. Ricks’s face glistened with sweat. A huge sneeze convulsed him, his entire body curving around the white handkerchief. “It’s —” He sneezed again and wheezed. “It’s over. Got the job done.”

  A convulsive cough gripped him, long and hacking. Tears streamed from his eyes as he clasped the handkerchief to his face.

  Elle came to stand by Bennett’s side, a hand on his shoulder.

  It took all of Bennett’s considerable self control not to place his hand over hers. In his head, they were a couple, no doubt about it. He didn’t want to hide that. If anything, he wanted to shout it out to the world, immensely proud.

  But Ricks was a client, and an old-school client at that. He’d find out soon enough that Elle and Bennett were together. No point beating him over the head with it now, when he was in
turmoil.

  “Mr. Ricks?”

  A thunderous sneeze. Clifford Ricks nodded over his huge handkerchief, wheezed, and waved at someone off-screen. A man stepped forward. Early forties, dressed in a short-sleeved white shirt, tie, blue and gold shoulder epaulets. He nodded to Ricks, who waved at the screen.

  The man murmured something to Ricks and helped him out of the seat with a solicitous hand to his elbow. They waited while Ricks and the man disappeared behind a door. When the man came back he stood in front of the screen, hands clasped in front of him in a modified parade rest.

  He nodded. “I’m Captain Alain Durand,” he said, with a slight accent. “Skipper of the Get Rich Quick III. Mr. Ricks is very ill with flu and requires bed rest.”

  Elle leaned forward, frowning. “For heaven’s sake, can’t you get him to a doctor? Or have a doctor brought on board?”

  Captain Durand frowned back. “Mr. Ricks is, as you might be aware, ma’am, very strong minded and has refused all medical assistance, beyond some paracetamol that I found in a first aid kit. The chef has prepared numerous hot soups but he hasn’t taken more than a couple of spoonfuls. He refuses all help until you are brought on board to him, miss. There is no reasoning with him.”

  Polite speak for Clifford Ricks was a stubborn son of a bitch. Which Bennett already knew.

  Elle’s hand tightened on Bennett’s shoulder. “He wants me?”

  The skipper gave a brief nod. “Yes, ma’am. Won’t hear about calling a doctor until you are on board. I have been empowered to tell Mr. Bennett Cameron that ‘the situation is resolved’ and that the ‘contract is terminated’. Those exact words.” His eyes changed line of sight. “Are you Mr. Cameron, sir?”

  “Yes.” Bennett nodded. Not liking any of this but helpless to change anything.

  “What is your present location, sir?”

  “London,” Bennett said curtly. Trying to think of a reason why Elle shouldn’t go to her father, and failing.

  “Excellent,” the captain said, without smiling. “We are currently in the English Channel and can be at the mouth of the Thames in twenty minutes.”

  The captain leaned forward, typing on a keyboard Bennett couldn’t see. He straightened, looking straight at the camera of the monitor. “I have booked a berth at Canary Wharf. We will be there in two hours. Mr. Ricks would be very grateful if Dr. Castle could be escorted to the coordinates that are appearing on your monitor now at her earliest convenience.”

  He stood at attention, staring ahead with no expression whatsoever. In a bar along the bottom of the monitor were coordinates. Bennett recognized them as being London area coordinates and they no doubt corresponded to the exact berth Ricks, or rather his captain, had booked at Canary Wharf.

  There was really only one answer. Much as he hated it.

  “Of course.” He wanted to say more but his throat had suddenly seized. He glanced up at Elle.

  “I’ll be there,” she said, looking straight into the monitor. She had her cellphone in hand. “I have my father’s number. I’ll call when we’re there.”

  The man nodded, reached out and closed the connection.

  Silence.

  Long, awful silence.

  Elle put her hand on his shoulder and he reached up to cover her hand with his. Warm and soft. He had to let her hand go, but … he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t. He couldn’t get his body to move.

  Bennett was always thinking in chess terms. Three, four, even five moves ahead. Always in the moment, but calculating what came next. It was a gift and it had saved his ass countless times and it was what made him an excellent businessman. But now, he was frozen in the moment, in the here and now.

  For the first time in his adult life he couldn’t cast his mind forward. All he was able to think of was cuddling on the couch with Elle, watching some fun movie with her, laughing at her snark. He could critique weaponry, she’d have something to say about the irrationality of the plot.

  They’d have pizzas or burgers or some other ungodly junk food and they’d have fun. They’d kiss and at the end of the movie they’d go into the bedroom — their bedroom now — and make love. And he’d slide ever closer to falling for this bright and beautiful woman.

  Strike that.

  He’d already fallen, plop, collapsing right onto the ground in front of her very pretty feet. Stick a fork in him because he was done.

  So thinking forward to a time when he wasn’t with Elle felt … insane. Why would he do that? He didn’t want to move at all. Everything he needed and everything he wanted was right here.

  He’d thought they’d have time to linger in their cozy comfortable den. Eating, having sex, solving BMC problems, having sex, working out, having fun, having sex. Days and days of it. God, yes.

  He didn’t miss the outside world, not at all. The outside world was full of greedy, violent and stupid fucks. Inside he was with the sharpest person he’d ever met, who was gorgeous and incredibly easy to get on with. And nice. Always trying to do the right thing. A class act. He felt better just being around her.

  It occurred to Bennett like a thunderbolt that he was … happy. It was a hard word to associate with himself. He didn’t do happy. He did content, yeah, when things were going well at work. But happy? Laugh out loud, blood fizzing in your veins, sloppy silly smile on your face happy?

  Nuh-uh.

  He was a serious man with serious emotions yet here he was, crazily head over heels for the smartest person he’d ever met and who made him laugh. While being hot as hell.

  In training, they’d had psych lectures and one really forbidding-looking lady had lectured them on brain biochemistry, so he knew what was happening. Bennett’s serotonin uptake inhibitors had crapped out. Dopamine flooded his veins. It was all chemistry.

  But it wasn’t. Not really. It was magic, and it was this woman.

  He felt as stiff as a statue, unable to move. He opened his mouth but words wouldn’t come. His mouth wouldn’t form them.

  She must have felt something of what was going on inside him because she tugged gently at her hand, trying to free it. “Bennett,” she said softly. “We need to —”

  “No.” The word came out guttural and raw. As if coming from his guts instead of his throat. He tightened his grasp on her hand.

  Elle frowned. “What?”

  Bennett turned in his chair until he was facing her, holding her in the vee of his legs, arms around her waist. He knew perfectly well what he had to do. The contract with Ricks was over, he was to deliver the principal to the client. Something he’d done hundreds of times before.

  Only before, he was mostly more than happy to turn the principal over, intact and sometimes pissed at having been in confinement. Principals were usually rich and spoiled. They wanted to survive whatever threatened them, sure, but they also wanted to continue with their lives like before, totally unused to any sort of deprivation. No restaurants, no going outdoors, no traveling, no clubbing. They were usually really happy to see the back of him, because he was no fun at all, just as he was usually happy to see the back of them.

  Life was hard. Life was hard and dangerous and mostly unpleasant. He and his men knew that, down to the bone. Rich people forgot that, if they ever knew it. More often than not, he and his men were blamed for the curtailment of their pleasures, even if that was what saved their lives.

  But right now? Right now he wanted to hold Elle in his arms forever. Not let her go, even if her father wanted to see her.

  He could understand that Ricks wanted to see her, sort of. Elle had been in danger and Ricks wanted to see first hand that she was ok. That was the prerogative of a father, even if Ricks had been a really crappy father.

  But Bennett wanted to keep her here, with him, where he knew she was safe. And where he knew she was happy.

  He tightened his grasp. She bent her head over his, murmuring something. He shifted his head and heard, “I want to stay with you.”

  Fuck yeah.

  He surged
up and carried her to the bedroom.

  Elle was shocked. This was supposed to be their evening. Their first evening as a couple. They hadn’t said the words, but she was worldly enough to see that Bennett felt it as sharply as she did. There was a bond between them. They were together.

  She’d meant it when she said all she wanted was an evening with him, sitting on the couch, munching popcorn, watching a mindless movie. Nothing more than that and nothing less.

  She’d never had that. Had never lived with a man. However short the time with Bennett had been, she knew she never wanted to go back to the way things had been. She wanted to live with Bennett for as long as their relationship lasted.

  They’d fallen fast, but they weren’t children. She knew her mind and her heart and he did too.

  That’s why her father’s call felt like … like a gunshot wound that hit both of them. Like a grievous injury. Like someone had sliced them open and left them bleeding.

  Elle closed her eyes and held on to Bennett as if she were drowning, as if she’d die if she let him go. He was shaking slightly, this man who’d faced a thousand dangers.

  It was dark in the bedroom. Neither of them wanted to turn the lights on. She sure didn’t want that because she didn’t want him to see her stricken face.

  He put her down and kissed her, desperation in his touch.

  She felt desperate, too.

  Elle scrambled to touch him everywhere, as if she’d die if she didn’t touch him. They fell on the bed, hands frantically clutching. She ran her hands up under his sweater because she craved the touch of his hot hard muscles. Could this be the last time they had this?

  No!

  She rejected that thought with every cell in her body. Her father wanted to see her, fine. She’d stay a day, maybe two, with him, reassure him then pick up her life. Which now included Bennett Cameron.