Tease Me: A Stark International Security Novel

by J. Kenner

  It’s a text from Ryan, and it says—Progress report: All good. We’re wrapping up. Stay in the room. Back soon. Love you.

  I put my phone down, but before she starts the movie again, Gabby looks at me. “Do you know the worst? I don't even care about the money. I mean, Carolyn is my aunt, right? Why do all of this? We could have split it. I might have even told William to take most of it—I probably would have. I didn’t know Randall, and I’m fine financially. I mean, hindsight is twenty-twenty, but all I want is something from Randall that commemorates the fact that he thought about me. Like a memento, or even a few shares of stock in his company, you know?”

  “I get it,” I tell her. “Do you even know what kind of business Randall was in?” It occurs to me that Jeff might not have had the chance to tell her how her birth father made his fortune. A fortune she’s going to inherit.

  “I looked it up on the flight over. All sorts of tech stuff, but most recently the company was focused on cellular technology. Mobile phones and that kind of thing.”

  I nod. “Yeah, that’s what Ryan told me. Weapons and communications.” I glance at my own phone, then frown.

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure. Something…” I trail off, then shrug. “One of those thoughts you can’t quite catch.”

  She looks at me expectantly as I sit there, but then I shake my head again and make a frustrated noise.

  “Whatever it is, you’ll remember when you’re not trying.” She clicks the remote to start the movie again.

  We’re almost to the big finale when I hear the distinctive click of a key card at a hotel door. I glance toward our door but see no telltale light and no movement of the doorknob. The click, I realize, isn’t coming from this room.

  Baxter.

  He must be back already, and since he has a key to both the connecting conference room and Gabby’s room beyond that, he must be coming in through one of those entrances. I get up, already expecting him to holler for us when the security latch engages, preventing the door from opening more than a few inches. But then I remember that although I latched the penthouse door, neither Gabby nor I thought to go into the connecting rooms.

  Baxter doesn’t need me to unlatch the door, but I continue that direction anyway, hoping Ryan’s with him. I’m halfway to the conference room when I stop dead in my tracks.

  Ryan’s text to me came in with the label Husband.

  That’s the way I have his personal number in my contacts. It started as a joke, and I ended up keeping it. His work number is labeled Hunter.

  Which means that the text telling me and Gabby to stay put came from Ryan’s personal phone. But his personal phone is by the hospitality basket at the bar.

  I remember Gabby’s cloned and spoofed phone. And now Ryan’s been spoofed, too.

  And, gee, Randall’s company deals in cellular tech.

  Fuck.

  I turn to Gabby, my heart pounding, and before she can ask what the problem is, I put my finger over my lips. Then I hold out my hand and signal for her to come to me quietly.

  Her eyes widen with fear, but she complies, and as soon as she reaches me, I grab her hand and aim us both for the door.

  She’s with the program now, and we hurry silently the rest of the way. I fumble for the security lock, wishing I’d thought to turn the movie back on because the a cappella singing would mask the sound.

  I’ve just managed to get the latch free and am about to pull the door open when I hear the slightest tap from behind me. I don’t know what it is—a footstep, maybe?—but instinct kicks in and I lunge toward Gabby, knocking her sideways as a shot rings out. My head goes numb and my ears are ringing, but I still hear Gabby’s scream, mingling with the ocean-deep roar in my ears.

  At the same time, I see blood on the wall beside the door and hear my own scream fill the room.

  I whip my head around to see Gabby. She’s still standing, but she seems to be heading toward the floor. I help the process by grabbing her and tugging her down toward the tile. In the process, I realize that the blood is coming from her upper arm.

  Terror rips through me, but in that infinitesimal moment, I note that her arm isn’t spurting and figure that must be good. Surely that means an artery wasn’t hit, right? And maybe my leap onto her kept the bullet from hitting her chest.

  Everything is happening in slow motion, like a split second of time in a movie. Then time returns to normal as we hit the ground hard, and I roll on top of her whimpering, limp body.

  Shock, I think. We’re both in shock.

  At least I know that the bullet didn’t kill her. And since our assailant was only a few yards across the room and our backs were turned before I heard the footstep, I think that he must not be a professional criminal.

  And that’s when I know. That’s when it all clicks.

  Patrick. William’s son. A doctor who could supply drugs for me and for William. A kid who would have grown up around his tech-savvy uncle.

  He was about to be ousted in favor of a cousin he’d never even met. And he—and his mother—were pissed.

  I lift my head, and my rapid-fire thoughts are confirmed when I see the face of a man I’d seen only once in a photograph.

  The world is hazy as I try to push myself up. My ears are still ringing. I’m terrified, my insides shaking in a way that I can’t seem to turn off. But the thing that’s foremost in my mind? It’s that unlike in the movies, this guy shot first, without laying out his nefarious plan so that we would know what he was up to.

  But now, I realize he’s going to do it again, and there is no way in hell that I can outrun a bullet. I see him raise the gun. I see him sneer. And then I see nothing at all because I throw myself back down, my body covering Gabby’s, as if I’m some sort of magic armor that can save both of us from the power of a bullet.

  I brace myself—and then I hear the shot.

  I flinch, expecting ravaging pain, maybe even darkness, and my mind fills with Ryan and regret, because how can I go without saying good-bye?

  But there is no pain. Instead, there’s the whiz of a bullet. Close—so terrifyingly close—and a harsh crack. It takes me a moment before I realize that the bullet arrowed through drywall and embedded in the stud.

  I look over and see Ryan falling to the ground, Patrick beneath him with the gun extended.

  They hit the floor and another shot rings out, and I’m sure it’s the end. But it’s not.

  There’s no pain. No more sounds. There’s nothing except the ringing in my ears and then—as if underwater—I hear my name.

  “Jamie. Jamie. Jamie.”

  I want to move, but I can’t. What if it’s a trap? What if Patrick wants me to be facing him when he kills me? What if he wants to put a bullet through my head, clearing the way for him to drag Gabby out of here and do horrible things to her?

  What if Patrick is the last person I see alive?

  I don’t think I could stand that.

  And then I hear the sweetest sound in the world. I hear Ryan’s voice saying, “Kitten.” And in that moment I realize how I had been so stupid earlier. Because there was no way he would have said simply Love you in that text. My Ryan would have said Love you, Kitten.

  * * * *

  I must have passed out, because I wake in darkness hearing random noises. Rustling. Voices. Movement.

  “Open your eyes, Kitten.”

  Relief floods my body, and I force my eyes open to find Ryan smiling down at me. There’s another face, too. A ruddy-faced ginger-haired man who’s holding my arm, which is wrapped in a blood pressure cuff.

  “You’re okay,” Ryan says as the redhead nods his agreement and removes the cuff. “It’s over.”

  “I passed out?”

  “I can’t blame you. That bullet embedded in the wall missed your head by a fraction of an inch.”

  My stomach rolls, but I hold it together. “What about Gabby?”

  “She’ll be fine. Paramedics took her to the hospital, just to mak
e sure. Baxter went with her. But she only had a flesh wound. They’ll keep her overnight for observation, and my guys and the London cops are keeping an eye on her. But that’s just overkill,” he adds, probably in response to my alarmed expression. “Patrick’s dead, and we have Carolyn and the guy they hired in custody, telling everything he knows. Name’s John, and he’s got a rap sheet a mile long. Says he was blackmailed into doing Patrick’s dirty work. Patrick gave him the drug, but John’s the one who broke in and injected you.”

  “That’s why the facial recognition didn’t find Patrick.”

  Ryan nods. “And why he came back—this time with Patrick. They’re almost out of time and must have been panicking. And they didn’t know if we’d ID’d their guy, but Patrick went with him just in case. When we caught John downstairs, Patrick took over. He wore a hat, dark glasses, and kept his head down.”

  “What about Carolyn?”

  “Local authorities have her in custody. She says her son threatened her and was out of control. I don’t believe it, and neither do the locals. We’re ninety-nine percent sure it was just the two of them—plus John— but we’ll firm up that last one percent.”

  “And Baxter? He’s okay?”

  Ryan nods. “He was right behind me when I rushed Patrick. He got to you before I did.”

  “I’m glad he’s safe.”

  “And I’m glad you are. Christ, Kitten, if—” He shakes his head. “No ifs. You’re alive, and you’ll be fine.”

  “We both will,” I say, squeezing his hand.

  “What exactly happened? Gabby was in no condition to talk before they took her away.”

  I tell him the story, including the part about realizing he hadn’t sent the text.

  He cringes. “That does it. One phone, both numbers. By the end of the day.”

  I shake my head. “Tomorrow’s soon enough. You won’t need to text me today. You’re not leaving my side.”

  “No,” he says. “I’m definitely not.”

  I realize that everyone who had been in the room has left, and it’s just me and Ryan in the bedroom. And the moment I realize we’re alone, the dam breaks. A huge sob forces its way up my throat, and with a shudder, I wrap my arms around my husband and cling to him. “I was horribly scared,” I whisper.

  “I know,” he says, stroking my hair. “God, Kitten, I know.”

  I feel the tension in him, and I know what it means. I let him hold me a while longer, but then I have to pull back. I have to see his eyes. And he has to see mine. “It’s not your fault,” I say.

  “Isn’t it? We should have looked more deeply at Patrick.”

  “You looked. He was in Belgium. And he wasn’t the guy who injected me. Not directly.”

  He ignores me. “I should have had armed guards at your doors.”

  “Dammit, Hunter, don’t do this to yourself. You didn’t hurt me, you saved me. If you hadn’t come when you did—if you hadn’t killed—”

  His mouth crushes against mine, silencing me. The kiss is long and hard, and I respond instantly, my body firing with the need to prove that I’m alive. That he is, too. And that the only way to truly heal is together.

  “Hunter,” I murmur, breaking the kiss just long enough to breathe his name.

  He doesn’t answer, just eases me back onto the bed, then slowly strips off his clothes before doing the same with mine.

  My body is on fire, and I want him desperately, but he teases us both with the slowness of his movements. The tenderness of his touches, the sweetness of his kisses on my lips, my jaw, my breasts, my everywhere.

  I tremble beneath him, letting his ministrations wash all of the fear out of me, until every cell in my body is full of him. His love, his desire, his need. Because then there’s no room for fear, only passion. Only love.

  He takes me gently, his body strong over mine, as if he is protecting me even now as he claims me, and I arch up, craving that connection, needing to be one.

  “I couldn’t stand to lose you,” he whispers as he moves in me.

  “You can’t lose me,” I tell him as my soul spirals up, closer and closer. “We’re two halves of a whole. Don’t you know that?”

  “I do,” he says. “But tonight, I need a reminder.”

  “I’m yours,” I promise him, as he leads me right to the edge. “And I’m fine. Right now, I’m more than fine.” My voice trembles as I add the last, and after that I can’t talk anymore. We’d been moving languidly, but now passion takes over and he claims me fiercely as I scrabble for him, too, my nails digging into his back as I try to pull him into me, to finally, truly be one with him.

  His body shudders violently, and he cries out my name, and I feel the force of his explosion ricocheting through me with such intensity it pushes me over and I shatter in his arms until, at last, we are twined together, bodies slick with sweat, neither of us knowing where one ends and the other begins.

  “I love you,” he whispers. “And I will always keep you safe.”

  “I know,” I tell him, snuggling close to this man—this miracle—my heart full of the knowledge that he is mine. And, more importantly, I am his.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  One week later

  “I’m going to miss you,” I tell Gabby. She and Ryan and Baxter and I are sharing fries—well, chips—and drinking wine before Ryan and I head off to the airport. “I never thought when I started this crazy trip to seduce my husband that it would end up even crazier.” I frown, then look sideways at Ryan. “Maybe I should stop that whole seduction thing. It’s a bit risky.”

  “I eat risk for breakfast,” he says, stealing a fry off my plate. “And considering I’ve gained a sister-in-law, I have no regrets.” He and Gabby share a smile, and I know they’re both thinking of Felicia. The sister she never knew. The wife he never really had.

  After a moment, she draws in a satisfied breath, then reaches for both our hands as she smiles at Baxter, across from her. “Seriously, you guys—I was in hell when I came here. My father—the only father I knew—had just died, and under pretty scary circumstances. And then suddenly I was running—or rather, hiding—for my life.”

  I squeeze her hand. “But you’re safe now.”

  She nods. “I know. Believe me. But I still don’t get why Carolyn and Patrick waited so long. I mean, why not kill me the moment they knew about the survivor period?”

  “That’s part of why I wanted to see you today,” Ryan says. “Other than just saying good-bye, I mean.”

  “We talked to William yesterday,” Baxter adds. “Carolyn didn’t know about you at first.”

  Gabby takes another french fry as Ryan explains. “Apparently, your Uncle William got in touch with Jeff after Randall’s death. But Jeff was angry with Randall for never reaching out to you. Even so, he told William that he’d talk to you, and the decision about whether to make a claim would be yours.”

  Gabby shakes her head. “He never told me. But about a year ago we did talk about what it would be like to win the lottery. It was a very strange conversation, actually, and I told him I thought it could end up being more of a curse than most people anticipate.”

  “Maybe that’s how he justified the decision,” Baxter says. “Because somewhere he decided not to tell you.”

  “But he changed his mind,” Gabby says, looking between Ryan and Baxter. “Do you know why?”

  Ryan nods. “William called Jeff a few weeks ago and told him to reconsider. He said that Randall may have pulled away, but that he—that is, William—wanted a relationship, and that it had to start honestly.” He takes a sip of water. “But William was also ill at the time and on meds. He told me that after the conversation he got fuzzier, his health and mental acuity starting to fade.”

  “They’d altered his meds,” I say.

  Ryan nods. “Turns out that Carolyn hadn’t known about Gabby before, but she overheard the conversation. And about the time that Jeff was prepared to tell you, Carolyn and Patrick set the wheels in motion to ta
ke you out of the equation altogether.”

  “Wow,” Gabby says. “It’s only luck that I survived the car wreck. And over here, you saved me. Literally. And I won’t ever forget it.”

  “You won’t be able to forget it if I have anything to say about it,” I say.

  Her forehead creases. “What do you mean?”

  “I had a conference call with Matthew Holt last night. He totally wants to option the rights to your story. Yours too,” I say, pointing to Ryan. “And guess who’s going to work with him to produce? And maybe—fingers crossed—even star.”

  “That’s great,” Gabby says, laughing. “Weird, but great.”

  “You sure you don’t want to come back to the States and meet him? See Nikki? She’s dying to hear about all this firsthand.”

  “I’ve seen the articles about her and Damien,” Gabby retorts. “She can get to London easily enough if she wants to.”

  “True,” I concede.

  “And I want to stay here for a while and get settled. Hang out,” she adds with a glance toward Baxter. “And I want to get to know my uncle.”

  Gabby’s moving in with William, and Mr. Meeks is handling the consensual change in ownership, making them joint owners of all the property Gabby’s now inherited.

  “He’s looking forward to it,” Ryan says. “He’s especially glad to have you with him, all things considered.”

  Gabby nods, and I know we’re all thinking the same thing. It’s been hard on William knowing that his wife and son both conspired to try to kill Gabby, and in the process tried to keep William drugged up and out of commission. Having Gabby there can’t erase that pain, but it will help.

  Patrick is dead now, of course, but Carolyn and the flunky who dosed me are alive and in custody, buried under the weight of many charges, including the conspiracy to kill Marjorie Smythe. The accident had been no accident.

  “You okay?” Ryan asks, leaning close and lowering his voice.

  “Just melancholy. I’m happy to be going home, but I feel like I’m leaving Gabby all over again.”