Jane Harvey-Berrick Saving The Billionaire

by Harvey-Berrick, Jane

  “It would be a nice gesture.”

  “I don’t know, Rachel. I’d feel like I was working if Anderson was there.”

  “Well, what if we invited Lance, Doug, John and Mr. Mason, too?”

  “Ah, hell. I see those fuckers 24/7 as it is!”

  “Well, just think about it. We could have a nice dinner somewhere in town. A private room. There would still only be seventeen or eighteen of us.”

  I do the math and realize she’s already decided how it’s going to be. Yeah well, the only job the groom has is to show up in a spiffy suit. I can do that. I’ll give my woman whatever she wants.

  “Where do you want to go for honeymoon, baby?”

  I don’t care where we go, as long as it’s somewhere with a king size bed and room service. I have standards.

  “What do you want, Justin?”

  “You. Naked. With ice cream. Location is unimportant.” Maybe chocolate. Women like chocolate. Melted chocolate. Plus, it’s dirrrrty.

  She laughs.

  “I see! Well, I think we can do that. But it’ll have to be somewhere warm…”

  “Or somewhere cold with very good heating.”

  Rachel ignores that.

  “What about Hawaii? I’ve always wanted to go there.”

  “Yeah, Hawaii would be good. You’d like it.”

  Rachel looks disappointed.

  “Have you already been there?”

  “I was stationed at Kaneohe Bay for six months, but I promise, you’ll love it.”

  “Well, it was just a suggestion. I’ll look into the cost of flights.”

  “No need. Anderson says we can use the jet.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Oh, guess I forgot to mention that.

  “Yeah, the boss said we could go by AndersonForce One.”

  Rachel gets this wistful, goofy look on her face.

  “Oh, he’s such a good man. I’m so glad we’re inviting him to our wedding.”

  Yeah, I know I have no choice in this. Rachel is batting 400 and it’s game over.

  “Well, Ms. Smith, I’m looking forward to calling you Mrs. Trainer.”

  She hesitates, and suddenly I’m not so sure, and it’s a real fucking kick in the gut. She cocks her head to one side.

  “Do you want to? I mean, you want me to use your name?”

  “Fuck, yes!”

  “Then I will.”

  “You will?”

  “I said so, Justin, and I meant it.”

  I’m a lucky sonofabitch. But now I have another question.

  “How come you never went back to being Rachel Lucas? You don’t have to tell me...”

  She rarely talks about her late husband, and I don’t like to ask. Which tends to a lead to a whole lot of questions neither of us want to address.

  “I don’t mind telling you,” she says softly. “When Brian died, his name was the only thing I had to hold onto. If I changed my name back, well, it would be as if he’d never existed. I know that doesn’t make much sense…”

  I hate it when she’s upset. I’m such a fucking dumbass for bringing this up.

  “It makes perfect sense, baby.”

  I HEAD BACK to my office and read through the background checks on five potential new employees at DMA Tower to distract me. I reject one, a woman with gambling debts. She can do the job, no doubt, but her history shows she’s a weak link that the company doesn’t need; she could be bribed. Even as I reject her, I know I’m crushing someone’s hopes for the future.

  My cell rings and Mason’s ID is on the screen.

  “Trainer, I have an update on Kranz.”

  My old C.O. gets right to the point.

  “I’m thinking he’s getting help from someone because we can’t trace him through his credit cards.”

  Fuck, just what we don’t need. It’s Aston Van Sant all over again—we never did find out who’d been helping him, although I’m thinking the Manhattan de Sade is in the frame for both.

  “I’ll get Anderson. He’ll want to know.”

  I find the boss and put the phone on speaker while Mason explains the situation.

  “Fuck.” Anderson swears softly. “What is Landon planning?”

  There’s silence, because none of us has an answer.

  “Surveillance on my family? And the Alvarez’s and Ms. Quinlan?”

  “As agreed, Mr. Anderson. But it would be easier if they were aware not to communicate with Mr. Landon.”

  “I … I’ll tell them something…”

  “And if they’d be prepared to restrict their movements further. Your parents have extended their vacation in Florida, and I have a team watching them 24/7.”

  “Thank you, Mason.”

  “Sir, should we inform the police?”

  “No. No police.”

  He stalks out of the room.

  “Will Abigail Anderson cooperate?” Mason asks me.

  “Doubtful, because as far as she’s concerned, Landon is an old family friend and completely trustworthy. Just make it harder for her to evade us. New faces, keep swapping the teams. Change the shift patterns, nothing regular.”

  “Okay, Trainer. Status update report will be emailed within the hour.”

  I hang up and am surprised to find that Anderson has returned to my office.

  “There’s something I wanted to ask you, Trainer.”

  “Sir?”

  “You’re aware that the remodeling at the Farm will be completed this month?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mrs. Anderson and I plan to spend more time there, although of course we’ll keep Wolf Point. But I was hoping that you and Ms. Smith will make the move with us. You would have your own separate cottage, as well as keeping your suite here.”

  He pauses.

  Of course, I’d considered what his marriage to Maria would mean for our working arrangement, and I was wondering how he’d want to play this.

  “You would have space to bring your daughter, if you wanted to. I’m aware,” he pauses again, a slight smile on his face, “I’m aware that you have reservations when it comes to Lilly staying here. That wouldn’t apply at the new house.”

  We both know he’s referring to his frequent and overt displays of let-it-all-hang-loose-fuckery that I’ve walked in on more times than I care to remember.

  “I hope you’ll think it over.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll discuss it with Ra— with Ms. Smith.”

  He nods and leaves the room.

  Ladies and gentlemen, meet the new improved, recently upgraded Devon Miguel Anderson.

  A few minutes later, the Andersons disappear to their bedroom and I finish up in my office.

  I pull open my desk drawer and stare for the thousandth time at what it contains.

  I look up to see Rachel smiling at me.

  “Time for you to turn off that darn computer, come to bed, Justin.”

  I stand up slowly, my face serious, and take her hands in mine.

  “Rachel, I love you for so many reasons. Your smile, your kindness, the goodness that shines through you. You give me hope in a fucked up world and I want to spend the rest of my life bugging the hell out of you just to see the challenge flashing in your eyes. I want you to be my wife and wear my ring, because it’s either that or a giant sign following you around telling every other bastard to fuck off.”

  And I open the small box and hold it out to her in the palm of my hand as I drop to one knee.

  “Marry me.”

  She takes a long, shuddering breath and opens the ring box.

  “Oh, Justin, it’s beautiful!”

  The ring is platinum with nine diamonds in a channel setting, and it looks fucking perfect as I slip it onto the fourth finger of her left hand.

  She pulls on my arms to bring me nearer and she smiles. Her skin is warm under my fingers and I’m desperate to kiss her.

  “Did you practice that speech?”

  “I practiced a speech, but not that one. I’m mor
e an in-the-moment kind of guy.”

  “I noticed.”

  And she kisses me sweetly, warmly, sensually. It’s so much, but not enough. I press her into my body and feel her heat against me.

  “Bedroom,” she breathes into my skin. “One minute.”

  Thirty seconds later, I follow.

  Chapter 29

  Reality Bites

  KRANZ IS OUT there somewhere, and now Landon has disappeared.

  Mason fired the two guys who were supposed to be following him. He’s not saying it, but my guess is they were probably bribed to look the other way because Mason doesn’t hire idiots. But that doesn’t help with locating the old bastard since he’s dumped his cell and car that we were tracking, and hasn’t used any of the credit cards we have associated with him.

  My guess is that he felt the hot breath of Devon Anderson on the back of his neck and decided to head for somewhere that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the US.

  He must know that fucking with a billionaire comes with severe consequences: I figure he’s crazy, not stupid, but who really knows?

  So I can’t really blame Anderson for acting like he has a broomstick up his ass. Doesn’t mean to say I like it either. About Anderson. I’ve never had a broomstick up my ass, although the boss may have…

  Evans is on duty along with Reynolds, while Banner continues to watch Abigail Anderson—poor bastard.

  Mason had suggested that a female operative might make Mrs. Anderson might feel less watched. I don’t want to work with anyone I don’t already know at this point. I’ve got nothing against female CPOs; it’s not like we’d have to swap knitting recipes.

  At least Maria understands that we have a job to do. Unlike Abigail I-wish-her-brain-was-as-fast-as-her-mouth Anderson. She’s still trying to give her team the slip. Her game-playing is giving Mason more gray hairs than a badger at a fur convention.

  Dolores is being watched, too, and spotted her tracker within ten minutes. That surprised me, but then I learned that her father was Army, so she’s grown up understanding which rules need to be followed. I was intrigued to hear her view on guns was the complete opposite of Maria’s. The right to bear arms is in the Constitution and I can’t see that changing anytime soon. If the powers that be could make sure that only the good guys had guns, I’d be all for gun control. There is nothing more fucking scary than an untrained person with a weapon.

  This evening, we’re at another of Anderson’s tedious dinners. I don’t know how the guy can stand them. He looks at them as part of his job, and he certainly works the room well. He knows what to say, who to say it to, and when. It’s like watching an actor at the top of his profession take the stage, enthralling the audience.

  I’m the only one here who knows him well enough to see that he’s more on edge than usual, the reason being obvious. Even though she has protection, it’s the fear factor of having left Maria at home in a city where Landon is out for blood.

  The first sign of trouble is when I get a text from Reynolds who’s guarding Maria tonight. And Dolores.

  Situation controlled at Wolf Point.

  All clients safe.

  Suggest immediate return.

  “News?” asks Anderson.

  “A situation has occurred at Wolf Point. It’s been contained but Reynolds wants us back.”

  He swears colorfully. I’m more a black-and-white guy myself.

  He tries to call Maria. Either her phone is off or she’s deliberately not answering.

  He wanted her to have as normal a life as possible. But she’s his wife and there immensely valuable in her own right. Neither of them wanted to acknowledge that. And now he’s paying the price. He’ll have a heart attack before he’s thirty-two if he doesn’t learn to chill the fuck out.

  Not that I blame him. If it was Rachel … well, I do know how it feels. I remember when Van Sant had her—the panic, the furious impotence of not being there. Thank God she’s at Allison’s.

  I call Reynolds.

  “We’re on our way back. Report.”

  I don’t put the phone on speaker since I’d rather hear the news first and concentrate on that before I have to relay it to Anderson and hear all his fucking bad language.

  “T, we’ve had a situation at Wolf Point. Mrs. Anderson and Ms. Quinlan had gone for drinks after work, as you know. Evans told them to wait inside the bar while he brought was the car around, but it seems they’d stepped outside. Kranz approached them from behind, knocked Ms. Quinlan to the ground and grabbed Mrs. Anderson. But Evans took him down and he’s in police custody. Mrs. Anderson is unharmed and Ms. Quinlan has a bruised cheek and a sprained wrist from falling, but no other injuries. They’re both shocked and have been checked out by paramedics.”

  “Was Kranz armed?”

  “No, but…”

  I have a very bad feeling in my gut as I wait for him to finish.

  “Evans reported seeing a black Audi driving fast from the area. He thinks it could have been an attempt to kidnap Mrs. Anderson.”

  “Did you get a number plate?”

  “No.”

  “Was it Landon?”

  “Couldn’t say.”

  “From now on, we work in teams of two at all times. Tell Mason.”

  “On it, T.”

  Holy fucking shit. I don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to work out that Kranz and Landon are psychotic batshit bastards.

  And now I have to volunteer this information to Anderson. I’ve always thought that a volunteer is a man who didn’t understand the question. This isn’t going to go well.

  Anderson’s fury fills his face. It’s his second worst fear come true, that someone would try to take Maria from him.

  His worst fear is that they would succeed.

  RACHEL IS KEEPING Evans, Reynolds and five police officers supplied with coffee. Evans has a friend on the force, so he’s managed to get a spot for Banner to go with the forensic team back to Kranz’s apartment. No report has come in yet. The wait is making everyone tense.

  I have a job to do, but I need to hold my woman in my arms.

  “I’m fine,” she says softly, for the millionth time, trying to reassure me. “I was never in any danger. It all happened a couple of miles away. I’m okay. Maria’s okay.”

  But it was close. All the work, all the protocols I’ve put in place, the best security that money can buy, and a fucker with a right hook manages to get through it all.

  “Hey,” she says, quietly. “Whatever you’re thinking, it didn’t happen. We’re all fine. John stopped him…”

  “He shouldn’t have had to, Rachel. All this security … it wasn’t enough. It’s never going to be enough.”

  I feel her hand on my back, stroking me, soothing me.

  We hear the boss’s footsteps at the same time, and she pulls away.

  “You have a job to do, Justin,” she reminds me, her voice calm and quiet.

  Anderson hesitates in the doorway, and I’m sure the look I given him is blacker than his dark heart.

  “I’m glad to see you’re well, Ms. Smith,” he says, his voice subdued.

  “I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Anderson. How is Mrs. Anderson?”

  “Sleeping,” he replies, the pain behind his words clear.

  His voice is strained and his eyes are burning, with fear, with anger, with a deep, intense rage. That I understand.

  “And Ms. Quinlan?”

  “Escorted home to pick up some clothes, then she and her mother and sister were taken to a hotel. Mason has a team in place to watching them 24/7.”

  I nod at Rachel, and a small smile catches around the edges of her mouth. She tries again, then knots her fingers together as she walks away.

  Anderson clears his throat.

  “Trainer, I…”

  As I stare at him, it’s clear that he’s lost for words. And I have nothing to say to him either.

  Your fault. I fucked up, too.

  Your fault. My fault.

  He look
s as shaken and lost as I feel, although I’m trying to keep it under control.

  Anderson nods slowly. He sinks into a chair and his head drops into his hands.

  I know what he’s thinking, because I’m thinking it, too: How do I keep her safe? It’s never going to stop.

  “May I ask how Ms. Quinlan is doing?”

  He grimaces.

  “Poor Dolores: in the wrong place at the wrong time. But frankly, if she hadn’t taken the punch…”

  Yeah, Maria would be in the back of Kranz’s SUV going God knows where.

  “He must have been following them. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get to her once they were at Wolf Point. Goddammnit!”

  He thumps the table with his fist.

  My brain is reeling from the clusterfuck of swirling thoughts. It’s hard to catch any one of them and focus.

  I dig my nails into the palm of my hands and the small bite of pain brings a brief moment of clarity. And it gives me an idea. The King of Pain should like this one.

  “Sir, Banner will be reporting from the forensic team at Kranz’s house in about ninety minutes. May I suggest we go and kick the shit out of the equipment in the gym?”

  His head snaps up and a look of grim determination replaces the hopeless fury.

  “Yes.”

  I change into my sweats and together we take the stairs to the gym, then spend twenty minutes beating the crap out of the punch bag until our arms are too heavy to move, then running on the treadmill for fifty minutes. We’d both prefer running outside, but until we know the status on Landon or any other possible accomplices, the great outdoors is off limits. How the hell did that sick psycho end up ruling our lives?

  When my lungs feel like they’re bursting and I’m starting to get black spots before my eyes, I power down to a loping jog. Anderson is still burning, but his rage has lost some of his heat, and he looks focused and in control again. Before he met Maria, he would have summoned one of his fuck buddies, then beat the breath out of himself.

  Control is an illusion, of course, because if the last few hours has taught me anything, it’s that life is a game of chance. Tonight the dice rolled against Kranz. But it could have been Anderson that lost.