Escapade: Her Billionaire - London (Her Billionare)

by Lisa Marie Rice

  She was shaking so hard it felt like her brains rattled in her head. His hands gripped her shoulders. “Look at me.”

  She did. She was terrified and freezing and very close to panic. He didn’t look scared at all. He looked pissed but not scared.

  “We’re going to have to pass under the yacht and come up on the other side. Otherwise we’re sitting ducks.”

  The words just bounced off her head. She stared at him blankly.

  The big white moon of light came closer.

  “Do you trust me?” Bennett asked.

  That she understood. She nodded, shaking.

  “Take deep breaths. As deep as you can. And don’t fight me. Let me do all the work.”

  All she really understood was to take deep breaths, so she did.

  One, two, three.

  At the fourth he nodded at her and took them under.

  Bennett felt a massive sense of foreboding on the trip from Sparrow Square to Canary Wharf. As if the darkness of the world had dropped on his shoulders like an anvil, snuffing out hope and light.

  Which was very unlike him. Bennett never felt a sense of foreboding. And he shouldn’t now, either. He was on the work clock, delivering Elle to her father, and while working he never suffered from nerves or strange emotions.

  He had instincts, that was true, and good ones. But he could always analyze what he was feeling, and figure out why. A shadow where it shouldn’t be, a missing phone call, a lamp out of place — he’d noticed those in the past and instantly realized that trouble was brewing. He was fast and he was smart and he wasn’t taken by surprise.

  So what the hell was this feeling of dark oppression?

  Fuck.

  He looked often at Elle during the trip but she kept her face resolutely turned away from him, looking out the window though there wasn’t anything to see but a gray wall of rain. Still, he could read her emotions easily enough.

  She didn’t want to go back to her father.

  Which was fine, because he didn’t want her to go back to her father, either. He wanted her safe and snug and within touching distance. He wanted to continue their routine of swimming, eating, solving puzzles for him, watching TV and having fabulous sex. That worked for him. It really worked for him. They were just settling into it when the call came and interrupted everything.

  Maybe that was why he felt so unsettled, so anxious. Anxious. Bennett didn’t do anxious, either. He was a binary sort of guy. Either things were fine, so relax, or things weren’t fine and you fixed it.

  There wasn’t any fixing of this. Clifford Ricks had hired him to keep his daughter safe, which he had, and now the contract was over and Ricks wanted to see his daughter, which he had every right to do.

  And it wasn’t as if Bennett wasn’t going to see Elle ever again. They’d made plans, concrete plans which he’d gone over repeatedly with her, to get together just as soon as Ricks was ready to let her go. Elle had all his numbers, even — especially — the ones that weren’t a matter of public record. She knew he’d come for her wherever she was, whenever she could leave.

  He’d made that clear to her. Really clear. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t going to personally accept any contracts at all until he heard from Elle.

  So this was all temporary. As soon as they could, they’d be back together again and damned if he was going to let her go. They were going to have a long talk and figure out how to be in each other’s lives.

  Bennett could relocate if he had to. He didn’t have to live in London, he could live where she did, in Boston. It wasn’t a bad place.

  Though, secretly, he was hoping she’d accept a job offer from him. She liked working on real world problems and by God, his company could offer her an endless stream of them. He’d pay her whatever she asked. As a matter of fact, if things went on like this, the company might actually become joint property.

  But no talking about that now. She was already spooked, and to tell the truth, he was a little spooked himself about the turn his thoughts were taking.

  Serious stuff.

  So he was a little worked up when they finally made it to Canary Wharf. He entered the marina and parked close to the berth where Ricks’s yacht was moored.

  Christ, it was a big gaudy thing. Five decks, all of them lit up like a shopping mall. A living testament to Ricks’s wealth. In the darkness, in the pounding rain, it was the brightest thing in sight, glowing like an alien spaceship.

  Bennett was looking at well over fifty million dollars right there. Good thing that Elle wasn’t attracted to vast amounts of money. In fact, she seemed immune to money’s attractions. Which was great because no matter how rich Bennett got — and he was doing really well — gaudy ostentation wasn’t his scene.

  They sat for a moment in the car, in silence.

  Finally, Elle sighed. Turned to him. Her face was pale, sad. “I have to go.”

  He nodded, clenching his jaws so he wouldn’t say what he wanted to say. Don’t go. For the love of God, don’t go. Stay with me. We have something really special.

  “Are you coming in with me?” she asked.

  Bennett was unbuckling his seat belt and shot her a look of astonishment.

  Of course he was going with her. Christ.

  She smiled.

  He got out his super big umbrella from the trunk, grateful that once he made sure she was covered, he had some coverage too.

  The rain came down so hard it made the umbrella thrum with noise. He had to raise his voice. “Let’s go!”

  The yacht was even more garish inside. If Ricks could have had furniture made of gold and gold-threaded pillows, he would have. As it was, it looked like a movie set. Elle had already entered the salon and Bennett hesitated on the threshold. That awful feeling — of doom and danger and general crappiness he’d been feeling in the car — doubled.

  But he’d already figured out what it was.

  He didn’t want to leave Elle here.

  He had to, though. If life had taught him anything, it was that some things were hard to do, but you did them anyway. Suck it up.

  Ricks was really sick, coughing and wheezing into a large handkerchief, just like when they’d Skyped. His bright blue eyes were reddened and his white hair was sweat soaked. Poor miserable fuck. First threatened, then his daughter threatened, having to come up with ten million dollars almost overnight … And now the flu.

  Ricks nodded at him from across the giant salon and Bennett nodded back. Elle walked across the vast expanse to her father. They left the salon and Bennett felt like Elle had disappeared off the face of the earth. He stood there like a dork, feeling lost.

  “Sir.” It was the first mate, looking at him impatiently. “We’re about ready to sail.”

  In other words — stop standing around with your thumb up your ass and get off the ship.

  Yeah. Except Bennett felt like someone had nailed his boots to the expensive tiles.

  The first mate watched him steadily, waiting. Bennett heard Elle’s voice faintly, a door opening, and her voice was cut off. Gone.

  Time to go.

  Reluctantly, he turned around and made it across the deck under the pouring rain, off the yacht and back to his car. He sat there, hands clutching the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, but he didn’t turn the engine on.

  Fuck, that feeling of foreboding wasn’t gone. It lay in his chest like a freaking stone. What the hell was wrong with him?

  The yacht was slowly pulling away from the berth, pointing downriver, east. The apartment was behind him, to the west.

  East. Follow Elle for a while. West. Go back to the apartment and wait.

  East? West?

  Feeling like an asshole, Bennett switched on the engine, climbed up the embankment and turned east, going really slow to follow the yacht as it slowly pulled out of the berth.

  What was he doing? Fuck if he knew. He only knew he had to do this. Was he thinking he’d catch one last sight of Elle? Maybe. Though there was preci
ous little to see through the wall of water.

  Bennett’s thoughts were bouncing around in his head but his hands were steady as he rolled slowly along the embankment, following the yacht. There was no one to be seen except for the captain barely visible high up on the bridge. No Ricks, and most importantly, no Elle.

  Bennett was wasting his time. Canary Wharf was a little peninsula and soon he was going to have to travel north to round the small bay and catch up with the yacht when the road met the river. He was going to waste half an hour, maybe more, just to keep the damned yacht in sight for a few moments, though there was absolutely nothing to see.

  Hold on a minute.

  Bennett leaned over the steering wheel and upped the tempo of the windshield wipers to get a better view of the bridge. The man on the bridge was short and stocky, dark-haired. No captain’s cap. The captain was gone, someone else in his place on the bridge.

  That wasn’t right. The Get Rich Quick III was a large yacht, sailing in conditions of intense rainfall and low visibility on a heavily-trafficked river in the middle of a big city. The captain does not leave the bridge under those conditions, ever.

  Had Ricks become suddenly fatally ill?

  Was Elle dealing with a medical emergency?

  Bennett speeded up, wanting to round the inlet and meet the yacht on the other side, try to figure out what was going on.

  His cell rang, then stopped. Elle calling him then interrupting the call.

  And then a lot of things made sense when he saw Elle dash out into the wall of water pounding the main deck, vault the railing and plunge straight into the freezing river.

  He split into two.

  The man in him was shocked, despairing. The love of his life was in desperate danger and had plunged into even greater danger. The river was treacherous and she would be battling the currents caused by the yacht and she’d be dragged down just as soon as that down coat became soaked.

  The operator in him was already calculating distances and angles and scenarios as he braked, flung open the driver’s side door, shucked off his coat in an instant and headed for the low wall separating the road from the river at a dead run.

  Years of training and combat allowed him to fix the point where Elle had gone under, something that would have been impossible on the open sea. But with city landmarks on both sides of the river and the yacht rising five stories above the surface, he knew where she was.

  Even calculating the turning ship and the river’s current, Bennett knew where she was. He knew because it was burned in his brain and seared onto his heart. Because he was diving down to get Elle and he wasn’t coming back without her.

  In the SEALs they’d trained to swim for speed and for endurance. Now was for speed. He was swimming as fast as a human could move in water with hard kicks of his legs and strong strokes. When he reached where she’d gone down, he swam two extra strokes in the current, breathed deeply and jackknifed down.

  He’d been timed under water at two minutes, but he’d been still in the water, not diving. But it wasn’t how long he could hold his breath under water, it was how long Elle could. Civilians could rarely hold their breath for over a minute. And there was a panic factor, too. If you panicked under water, you died fast.

  Bennett was counting on two things. Elle was a swimmer. This was the furthest thing from a calm swimming pool possible, but she was familiar with water.

  And most importantly of all, she had to know he was coming for her.

  He jackknifed and dove.

  Utter darkness, only a foot under the surface. The sky was black and the far-off shorelines weren’t lit up enough for the light to penetrate.

  But Elle was here, and he was finding her.

  Bennett quartered the vast depth under him, turning 90° in turn, perfectly oriented. He knew where the yacht was and he knew where the shore was.

  Now all he needed was Elle.

  He kicked and dove deeper, deeper yet, scanning the darkness. Nothing.

  Seventy five seconds.

  He dove deeper.

  Eighty seconds…

  There!

  Beneath his feet, slightly to the left. Something light colored, moving.

  Elle.

  He swam there with powerful strokes, grabbed her under the arms, kicking for the surface just as fast as he could.

  At ninety seconds, they crested the surface of the river, just as Elle took in a deep gasping breath that would have drowned her under water.

  She was disoriented, looking around wildly, flailing, coughing instead of breathing.

  “Breathe in, honey,” Bennett said. He had to get that freaking coat off her but first she had to breathe. Breathing regularly in and of itself was a calming act. She had to get calm before they could do anything else.

  She looked at him, nodded, started breathing in a more regular rhythm. Good. Step one. Step two, get rid of the fucking coat that was like a cement jacket. He looked her in the eyes. “We have to get this coat off you, sweetheart.” He took his boot knife, slit the coat off her and watched it float away, a lighter shade on the darkness of the river.

  Shouts from the yacht carried over the drumming of the hard rain on the river. Bennett held Elle as he watched men scurry like ants on the deck. One of the deck hands lifted something …

  A bullet sang in the river. Another.

  “They’re — they’re shooting!” Elle said, teeth chattering.

  Suddenly a loud clack! sounded over the din of the rain and the yacht’s engine and a huge yellow moon appeared about fifty meters upriver. A spotlight. A spotlight would catch them for sure. The spotlight wavered, moving backward and forward as the operator learned the mechanism and then it steadied and began a controlled sweep.

  The coat caught the light and a shooter’s attention and they shot the shit out of it. From a distance, through the curtain of rain, it looked like a body.

  A man’s deep voice shouted something in Russian. Bennett’s Russian was good enough to understand — don’t shoot! The Russian in charge was telling his men to hold fire.

  They needed Elle alive and they didn’t know he was in the water too.

  The no shoot command would buy them some time.

  Then something else zipped into the water and Bennett knew they had to get out of Dodge fast. A harpoon. The fuckers were trying to harpoon Elle! Sink a spear in her flesh and reel her in like a fish.

  Not gonna happen.

  The big yellow moon was coming closer, closer …

  Elle was shivering violently. He had to get her out of the water quick, he had no intention of saving her from bullets and a harpoon only to lose her to hypothermia.

  He held her shoulders. “Look at me, honey.”

  Her teeth were clattering, her gaze unfocused. He shook her, hard. “Look at me.”

  He’d commanded men in battle and he knew how to put command in his voice. She focused on him, blue eyes shining as they reflected the spotlight coming closer.

  There was only one thing to do. The men on the yacht had a spotlight and he couldn’t swim them both out of its reach fast enough. They couldn’t swim away, they had to swim under. “We’re going to have to pass under the yacht and come up on the other side.” He could see the yellow beam out of the corner of his eye. “Otherwise we’re sitting ducks.”

  She was looking at him blankly.

  The moon was coming closer. Soon it would catch them.

  Bennett chose the only other words that could work. He made his voice cold and crisp. “Do you trust me?”

  That got through. She nodded. Good.

  “Take deep breaths. As deep as you can. And don’t fight me. Let me do all the work.”

  He could feel her exhaling against his face. At the fourth breath he nodded at her and dove, taking them under.

  Jesus, the water was murky. Right now, the spotlight that was illuminating the area they’d just dived from was their friend instead of their mortal enemy, casting a sickly yellow glow that filtered down.
Bennett oriented himself, saw the darker than dark bulk of the hull of the yacht and swam toward it, angling down down down. The draft was well over fifteen feet and he had to take Elle several feet below that, under it and surface on the other side of the yacht.

  It had to be done.

  Kicking strongly, Bennett held her, the woman he loved.

  That had become apparent to him in a brutally intense flash the instant he realized she was in danger.

  He loved her.

  He was not going to lose her.

  She was freezing cold, frightened, suffering. But she wasn’t panicking. He’d told her not to fight him and she wasn’t. She was helping as much as she could, even though to her, this was dangerous to the point of insanity.

  It wasn’t. Bennett had done far more dangerous things underwater than this and had no doubt that he’d come up the other side exactly as planned. But if she had panicked and had fought him — that would have been harder to pull off. Being underwater was dangerous. Even with the fanciest high-tech scuba equipment available, one miscalculation and you were dead.

  But she wasn’t fighting him and she was being as valiant as he knew she would be. So smart and so courageous.

  Fuck. He was not going to lose her.

  He sped up his kicks, gauged when he could start angling up and swam as powerfully as he could. They surfaced in the rain, the lights from the yacht showing that they were not too far from shore.

  The rain helped. It was so dense and so noisy that their surfacing went completely unnoticed. There was no one on their side of the yacht, everyone leaning over the railing on the other side.

  The sound of a man’s shout rose over the din of the rain and the yacht’s engines. They were desperately looking for Elle. But by God they weren’t going to get her.

  Now it was a question of time. Elle wasn’t going to drown but she risked hypothermia.

  Bennett brought her close to him, put his lips to her ear. “Can you swim to shore?”

  She nodded, teeth chattering. He kissed her briefly. “Go.”

  Swimming on her own would warm her muscles. Bennett kept exact pace with her, stroke for stroke. They reached the embankment which was raised. Bennett rose out of the water, climbing a stanchion. Once on shore, dripping river water, he reached down and lifted Elle out.