Hearts In Peril (Billionaire Romance)

by Kaylee Baldwin

  She laughed again, but it sounded weaker than the first time.

  Still, it was a sound he could spend the rest of his life needling out of her. And since he was on a roll, he continued, “I love your laugh.”

  “Stop, Dean.” She placed a hand over his mouth, her own still turned up with amusement. “I like you, too. Let’s leave it there for now, okay?”

  She was right. Now wasn’t the time for love confessions. He needed to wait until he got reservations at a nice restaurant, her favorite restaurant. Which he didn’t know yet, but he would. They had all the time in the world to get to know each other once this was over.

  She helped him sip his tea and then drank her own. They both reached the bottoms of their cups quickly. Dean had never been so thirsty in his life. He sat back against the pillows and closed his eyes.

  “When are we leaving?” he asked, his words sounding distant to his own ears.

  “As soon as Bria’s husband comes back with the car.” Her words blurred together. He cracked an eye open, and saw her head sway. Both mugs dropped from her grip and shattered on the ground.

  “You’re tired,” he said.

  “I feel funny.” She blinked a few times, opening her eyes wide each time, but still her head came to rest near his on the pillow. Close enough to kiss.

  His words moved the wisps of hair near her ear. “You okay?”

  “No.” Her hand found his.

  The bedroom door opened, and Bria bustled in with a broom and a dustpan. She looked behind her before she swept up the broken cups.

  “Help,” Dean croaked. Riley’s eyes closed. His chest surged with panic.

  Bria paused to place her hand over Riley’s and Dean’s clasped hands. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I had to do it.”

  And with that, she left the room with her dustpan full of broken cups. Dean fought the smothering darkness for as long as he could before it finally enveloped him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ◆◆◆

  Riley awoke to bouncing at her back and a splitting headache. She groaned and tried to sit up, but found that her hands and feet were tied together. Her eyes sprang open and her gaze darted around to get her bearings. The sky was dark, and millions of stars shone brightly above her. Leaves and branches whipped overhead, and with every new bump, she bounced against the metal floor of the truck. Someone groaned beside her, and she turned to see Dean, also tied up. He wasn’t quite conscious yet—probably because he’d had the combination of the pain pills and whatever Bria had put in their tea.

  Riley tried to recall those last waking moments to figure out what had happened. Bria had made tea for them and encouraged Riley to take it to Dean before it cooled. Riley had noticed a strange taste, but assumed it was from a Filipino herb she was unfamiliar with. Plus, she’d been distracted with thoughts of Dean. His drug-induced confessions of love. The way he’d watched her as she walked around the room, heightening her awareness of every movement she made. His sculpted chest, firm hands, and the tender touch of his fingers had taken her breath away.

  She closed her eyes for a moment to regain her equilibrium. Now was not the time to fall for someone. She needed to save all of her still-foggy brain power for figuring a way out of this mess. Dean needed help soon, and if Bria had handed them over to the terrorists as Riley feared, then they were in big trouble.

  Dean’s wound had reopened, and fresh blood stained his white shirt. She used the inside of her arm to feel his head. Burning hot. How long had they been out before the men had come and gotten them? She glanced around for Rodel. He must have been drugged too.

  But he wasn’t in the truck with Dean and Riley. What if he had been shot and left behind? Or … A dark feeling swept over her. Rodel wouldn’t have betrayed them.

  How else would they have known where you were? Rodel had led them straight to this house he’d insisted was safe, and they’d been caught. And he wasn’t here with them. Perhaps he was getting a cut of the money. Or maybe he didn’t like Americans. Either way, it looked like he’d betrayed them. Panic welled up in her, thick and suffocating. Anything could happen to them. No one knew where they were. She hadn’t spoken to her family in months, other than the weekly email she sent to her mom to check in. Who knew how long they’d be kept before someone realized they were missing.

  Dean would be missed eventually. He was the valuable one, while she was along for the ride. Collateral. Easily dispensable. Her breathing turned harsher.

  Dean groaned and flinched like he was being hit and then curled into a ball. She needed to calm down. For Dean. Without her, he might die. She inhaled deeply through her nose, counted to five, and then let out the breath from her mouth. Panic was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Dean couldn’t save them; if anyone was going to get them out of this situation, it had to be her.

  She didn’t know how long they drove, but it felt like hours before they finally stopped. Men got out of the truck, laughing and talking loudly. She pretended to be asleep when they came around the back. One of them lifted her, and she focused on being dead weight. Someone else lifted Dean, and he moaned when his arm was jostled.

  The men paused and spoke in low voices before walking again. Riley risked opening her eyes to peek at the building. It appeared industrial. A tall cement box with metal pipes running up the walls. She’d never seen this building before. The chances of her recognizing their location had been slim, but she’d hoped.

  They entered, and the lights flashed on behind them as they walked down a hall and into an empty room. The man carrying her unceremoniously dropped Riley onto the hard floor, and she couldn’t hold back the whoosh of air that expelled from her lungs at the impact. The men closed the door behind her, leaving her alone. Through the small window in her room, light from the rising sun illuminated the dark corners of her prison.

  From beyond the door, a few men conferred in low, heated tones. A commanding voice spoke above the rest, stopping all conversation. The door flew open, and Riley shut her eyes. She heard the heavy sound of footsteps on the cement before they stopped beside her. She used every bit of acting talent she possessed to pretend she was still passed out, but was certain her racing heartbeat was loud enough to give her away.

  His voice close—he must have been crouching down beside her—he barked something at the men. She cracked one eye open in time to see them carry Dean’s limp body out the door before it closed and locked with a definitive click.

  She opened both of her eyes and sat up slowly.

  From behind her, someone cleared his throat. Her heart stopped in her chest.

  The man wore a suit and had a scar that bisected his eyebrow, went through his milky eye, and ended high on his cheekbone. When he smiled, she felt the coldness of it all the way to her bones.

  “You’re awake,” he said in accented English. “Good. We have many things to discuss, Dr. Rogers.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ◆◆◆

  Dean flinched away from the icy water that splashed against his face.

  A man shouted at him in a language he didn’t understand before a brutal slap across his cheek sent his head rearing to the side.

  He squinted in the bright sunlight shining through the cloudy window in the small cement room. Three men with guns surrounded him. He tried to scramble away from them, but his hands and feet were tied to the chair.

  A short, stocky man stepped forward. A cotton shirt stretched over his thick belly, and when he spit, a stream of brown tobacco juice puddled onto the ground near Dean. “You make video.”

  “Where’s Dr. Rogers?” Dean coiled away from the pungent smell of the man’s chewing tobacco. His grinning mouth showed the lack of a few front teeth, but the gleaming gun at his belt belied any temptation on Dean’s part to think of the man as jolly despite his big belly.

  Dean twisted his head to take in the rest of the room but didn’t see Riley anywhere. His head screamed with pain. The last thing he remembered was Riley sitting with him on the
bed. Had she managed to escape capture?

  “Make video.” The big-bellied man motioned for the grinning man to leave the room, and he came back a moment later with a piece of paper and a smartphone.

  Dean closed his eyes against the noise and bright lights. “I’m not making a video until I know where I am.”

  Without warning, he was pulled up by his arms. Pain ripped through his right shoulder, and he couldn’t stifle the cry that tore from his mouth. He looked into the dark eyes of the third man, the muscled one who had been by the door. The enforcer, apparently. Dean sometimes took bodyguards with him when he was going to events in neighborhoods that required such precautions. This was the exact kind of guy he’d have hired. Strong, quick, and someone who looked like they were just asking for a reason to fight.

  Warmth trickled down his arm. He didn’t have to glance down at it to know it was blood. His breathing matched the harshness of the man who held him. The men in the room spoke to each other in a language Dean didn’t know, their words a deep, staccato beat. In the end, they all turned to the big-bellied man. His mouth flattened into an angry line. He twisted his finger upward, and Dean was thrust into a metal chair. They handed him the ransom demand written in poor English with sloppy handwriting. He skimmed through the words.

  “I’m not reading this.”

  The cock of the grinning man’s gun and the cold press of the muzzle to his forehead halted his argument. Sweat beaded at his temples. He hoped more than anything that Riley had managed to escape this. She could continue on to the plane, make it home safely, and hopefully direct someone there to help him. Who was to say they would let him leave alive once they got the money from his family?

  “Listen,” he said desperately. “I have five thousand dollars in my backpack. You can have it if you just let me go. You won’t even have to tell anyone. Just split it between the three of you.”

  A greedy gleam shone in one of the men’s eyes. Had he understood Dean?

  “Please. My backpack is probably in the truck.” Or was it? His memory was muddled. He remembered seeing it half-kicked under the pallet at Bria’s house. Dismay washed over him with the realization that it was probably still there.

  The man with the gun slammed it into the back of his head, making the world tilt. He leaned over his legs and threw up on the concrete.

  The door opened, and the air became charged with tension as a man with a scar across his face walked in. His expression was calm, amused almost. Smoke drifted from the cigarette he held between his fingers, and it didn’t take long to fill the room. He said something to the grinning man, who immediately withdrew his gun from Dean’s head.

  “I’m sorry about this,” the scarred man said, his accent thick but his English clear. He took another puff of his cigarette, and with a tilt of his head motioned everyone out of the room, leaving only him and Dean.

  The man leaned against the wall, relaxed. “Idiots, every last one of them.”

  “Where am I?” Dean asked again.

  The man shook his head. “I can’t tell you. But I promise your stay here will be short as long as you cooperate.”

  “My family can’t liquidate a quarter of a billion dollars on a whim.”

  The man’s eyebrows rose, the scarred one not moving quite as high. “If they want you back alive, they’ll figure it out.” His tone chilled the room.

  “It’s not possible,” Dean insisted.

  “Well, I hope for your sake—and Dr. Rogers’s—that it is.”

  Dean’s heart stopped. Riley was there. “Where is she?”

  “Sleeping.” The way the man’s mouth twisted when he said it set Dean on edge.

  “If you’ve hurt her—” Dean wrestled against his ties, but his strength was so weak, it didn’t take long before he had to give up.

  “We’re both going to ignore that embarrassing threat.” The scarred man threw his cigarette on the floor and ground the end with his heel. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a toothpick to chew on. “We don’t have any reason to hurt her. As long as you do what we tell you.”

  “I need to see her,” Dean said. What if they’d already hurt her?

  “Video first. And then I’ll let you see Dr. Rogers.” He flipped the bottom of his shirt up, revealing a gun. Dean’s shoulders stiffened at the implied threat.

  The scarred man rapped on the door, and the three original men came back in. They stood in a semicircle around Dean. One of them held the paper up behind the camera so he could read it. Before he could speak, the enforcer stepped forward and punched him in the face, nearly causing the chair to fall back. Pain ripped through Dean’s eye, and he could feel the immediate swelling and a trickle of blood flowing down his cheek. Dean blinked, his vision blurry, and sent the force of his anger in a glare toward the scarred man.

  “We have to let them know the stakes,” the scarred man said mildly. He motioned for Dean to begin. When he didn’t speak right away, the enforcer stepped forward as though to deliver another punch.

  Dean began to speak for the camera, his voice wooden. “I have been taken by terrorists in the Philippines. They require two hundred and fifty million dollars to free me and Dr. Riley Rogers. Please send quickly. The deadline is two days or else we will die.”

  The scarred man frowned once the camera was off. “You could have been a little livelier, but this will have to do. Send it to the media. They’ll know what to do with it.”

  Dean’s heart dropped. He’d hoped to make it out of this a little poorer, but still alive, with no one but his family knowing what had happened. The likelihood of all of those possibilities seemed slim.

  The men started to leave, but Dean stopped them with a shout. “Wait! You said you’d let me see Dr. Rogers.”

  The scarred man paused. “So I did.” He motioned for the enforcer to untie Dean and pick him up and then gave him some terse instructions. Dean sucked in a breath as he was carried roughly down the hall. The ground rolled past his head—cement with patches of dirt—before another door opened, and he was dropped on the ground. He moaned when the back of his head connected with the wall.

  The door closed again. Dean glanced around the room, his vision swimming. He spotted Riley in the corner crumpled in a ball. All thoughts of his pain gone, he scooted as fast as he could to get to her side. Fury filled him—swift and strong. If they had hurt her, he was going to make them all pay. Her body was limp when he rolled her onto her back, her breathing deep and regular. He scanned her body for bruises or torn clothes, but she appeared unharmed.

  On the inside of her arm, a needle prick marred her silky skin. They’d drugged her.

  He made quick work of untying the ropes wrapped around her raw wrists and then threw them to the corner. He rested his weary body beside hers and pulled her into his arms. Her cool body curled into his, and he gave in to the urge to kiss the top of her head.

  He had to think of a way to get them out of this and keep her safe. The ransom was up to his family, and there was nothing he could do to aid on that end. But he’d do everything in his power to make sure no more harm came to Riley. Lying there beside him, her vulnerability struck him. Her dark eyelashes swept over her pale cheeks. Her full lips were light pink and opened slightly as she breathed. Her pulse fluttered in her neck like a hummingbird’s wings.

  There had to be a way to get her out of there alive.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ◆◆◆

  Riley awoke to puffs of warm air blowing against her face. Her head felt like it was going to split in two. It took a moment for her vision to focus in the dim room. A little light shone in from the outside window—part moonlight, and part artificial lights. Dean’s face was inches from hers, and he held her hand in his. He rested his head on his good arm, his breathing calm and deep. Relief washed through her at his presence. She’d imagined many different scenarios in the time after he was taken from her—and most of them ended with Dean’s death.

  She studied his long eyelashes,
nestled within his black, swollen eye. Her heart ached for the pain he must have gone through—was still going through. The moonlight cast his skin in a bluish tone, probably aided by his paleness. The edge of his jaw and cheek rested in the crook of his elbow. He winced in his sleep, and she gave in to the urge to run her hand along his whiskered cheek, finding comfort in having him so close. He relaxed with a sigh. His eyes fluttered open, and they stared at each other for a moment.

  “Hi,” he whispered.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you.” She pulled her hand from his face to tuck it under her own, but didn’t move away from where she lay beside him.

  “I’m glad you did.” Even in the darkness, the intensity of his stare burned through her. “How are you feeling?”

  “I should be asking you that question.” She gathered all of her energy and reluctantly sat up. The room spun. But she needed to check Dean’s wound to make sure it wasn’t any worse. Although she had no idea what she could do if it was.

  Dean took her hand and tugged her back down beside him.

  “Dean,” she protested.

  “Humor me,” he said.

  She hesitated, but lay back beside him, another inch closer this time. “I’m okay.”

  “What did they do to you?”

  She didn’t know exactly. The last thing she remembered was the scarred man coming into the room and injecting her with a syringe. “They must have given me some sort of sedative.”

  “You’ve been out for hours,” he said in a husky voice. He reached out and cupped her cheek, not removing his hand.

  “The effects of what they gave me are wearing off.” Her mind was feeling less cloudy by the minute. But the sedative, combined with whatever they’d put in her tea, was doing a number on her head and memory. Her memories of walking with Dean and Rodel were clear, but once she woke up in the truck, everything got a little fuzzier around the edges.