The Marked Star

by Vicki Hinze

  His arm stung. “What did I do?”

  “Pulled one of your stupid exercises on me to check safety procedures.” She swiped her hair back. “How could you do that, Nick? Cut and run on me, and then four years later just grab me like that? You scared me to death. I didn’t know what was going on.”

  “You still don’t.” He stared at her. When she drew back and stilled mid-swing, he added, “I didn’t do anything.”

  Skepticism flashed across her face, through her eyes. “Then what is this all about? Why am I here? Why are you?” She challenged him, studied Sam, Joe, and then Tim. Finally, she pivoted her gaze back to Nick and let it settle. “You shouldn’t have cut and run on me. All your work…for what? Nothing. I could have been killed, and you weren’t there.”

  Nick frowned and held it so she wouldn’t miss it. “My job was to give you the tools to protect yourself. I did. It’s up to you to use them. I’m not your keeper, Elle.”

  “I don’t need a keeper. But I thought you were my…“ Her voice faltered, faded and she lost patience with it. “Oh, never mind. Just never mind.” She let him feel her annoyance. “I need a phone.” She dangled her fingertips clearly expecting someone to put one in her hand.

  No one moved.

  When the woman recovered, she recovered. “Who do you want to call?” Nick let her back away, then crossed his chest with his arms.

  “Neil St. James,” she said. “My European tour manager. I’m going to fire him.”

  “Why?”

  “For hiring a bodyguard who let those apes snatch me off the street and—oh, my stars. I don’t know what they did to me. I don’t remember it. I do remember waking up in that stupid box.” She laid a glare on it that should have the cardboard bursting into flames or disintegrating to ash. “Where exactly am I?” She glanced at the stacks of boxes, the mops and pails standing in the corner. The tall metal shelving packed with smaller boxes. “This—this doesn’t feel like London. Everything seems too new.”

  Nothing in London felt new? Nick debated telling her and compromised. “You’re in Florida.”

  “Florida?” She gasped, opened her mouth to say something, but didn't utter a sound. Her knees folded, she slowly dropped, and sat down on the concrete floor. “I—I need…a glass of water.”

  Nick motioned to Joe. He was better with women. Maybe he could get past this awkwardness and get some answers from her.

  Joe snagged a bottle from Tim’s back pocket. “Here you go.” He broke the seal, then passed Elle the bottle. “Careful now. I removed the cap.”

  “Thank you.” She looked up at him, decided he was safe, and put valiant effort into a wobbly smile.

  Joe was anything but safe, yet women innately trusted him. None of the guys had ever pinpointed why. Some things just are what they are. Woman magnet. Tolerable for the times it had come in handy. Nick hoped this would be one of them.

  Joe smiled back at her. “So you were in London when they snatched you off the street, eh?”

  She looked to Nick. “Can I speak openly to these men you haven’t yet introduced?”

  He nodded. “Trust them with your life.”

  “Do you trust them with yours?”

  “All the time.”

  She stared at Nick a long moment, absorbed that, then looked back at Joe. “I was.” She took a swallow of water. Her hands shook. “Everything happened so fast. It’s confusing. I had this funny feeling about these three guys. They were following me on the sidewalk, so I stopped to look back at them.”

  “That happens a lot, I expect,” Joe said. “Price of fame.”

  “It does. Paparazzi and well-meaning fans, but this time it felt… I don’t know.”

  “Different?” he suggested.

  “Yes.” Her gaze slid to Nick. “Dark. Somehow malevolent.”

  “Were they fans?” Nick asked, clearly certain from what she’d just said that they hadn’t been.

  “No. Well, I don’t think so. They were big guys, like him—“ she motioned at Sam “—and they’d been in front of me, but somehow they ended up behind me. Near the corner, they closed in. They weren’t actually looking at me, but I know they were watching me. I felt that, too.”

  NINA. “So these three thugs snatched you?” Nick asked, trying to move this along.

  “No, Nick. I didn’t see who snatched me. I was still looking at the three guys. They seemed intense, you know? I turned to stare them down and someone smacked into my back. Huge man with arms like this—“ She cupped her hands into a wide circle. “He shoved a cloth over my face. It smelled foul. Chemicals of some kind. Then he swung me up off my feet and threw me into a van.” She paused to take in a steadying breath. “I never actually saw him. In the van, somebody shoved a scratchy sack over my head. It felt like burlap—same raunchy chemical smell.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “No. It wasn’t just the one guy in the van. I heard them talking.”

  CIA, Nick surmised. “How many voices did you hear?”

  “Three speakers. Two altos and a tenor.” She looked over at him. “There could have been more of them but, if so, they were silent.

  The singer. Of course, she’d slot voices in musical tones. Nick almost smiled. “When was that?”

  “Right after the concert.”

  “In London?” Nick signaled Sam to run a computer check on it, and he stepped away.

  “Yes. Royal Albert Hall.” She looked up at Nick. “I’m not sure of the time, but it was late. Around midnight.” She glanced at Joe and her expression lost some of its intensity. “I often walk after performances. It helps me settle down. You know, the adrenaline rush.”

  “That’s a good way to work through it.”

  “I enjoy it—normally.”

  “What day was the concert?” Nick asked, glanced at Sam for confirmation.

  He motioned with two fingers.

  That this wasn’t that same day occurred to Elle. Panic flitted across her face, settled in her eyes. “Excuse me?”

  Joe softened his expression and his voice, then repeated Nick’s question. “What day was your concert in London, Elle?”

  “Thursday.” She swallowed another pull of water, laid an uncertain look on Nick that touched protective instincts inside him. “Today isn’t Thursday, is it?”

  He nodded that it wasn’t. “It’s Saturday.”

  “Saturday?” She repeated, anxious and struggling to contain it. “They grabbed me two days ago?” From her expression, she tried but couldn’t wrap her mind around that. “How can that be possible?”

  “Why is it not possible?” Nick asked, careful to keep his tone level and calm. “You said you were out of it while in the box. So you really can’t know how much time elapsed. Getting you from London back to the States—”

  “The cloth and sack over my head. It wasn’t just those chemicals. They drugged me.”

  Of course they had drugged her. “Why do you think so?”

  She frowned at Nick. “Well, I don’t remember a thing about the van beyond getting into it and hearing a little talk. Wait. There was a prick—I remember a prick in my thigh. It burned like fire. Then nothing. Nothing at all until I woke up in the box. How else would you explain it?”

  “I’ll get the testing kit,” Tim mumbled. “There’s one in my car.”

  “I can’t explain it yet.” Nick nodded for Tim to go. “Something happened, Elle, but we don’t yet know what.”

  She thought about that a second. “No, I guess we don’t.” Dropping her gaze to the floor, she attempted to shield how much this incident and mental disconnect troubled her.

  It was a futile effort. The men standing with Nick were all highly trained to recognize trouble, to read it, and to deal with it.

  Nick stepped out of his comfort zone to reassure her. The last thing he needed was for Elle to go postal. He’d seen that happen once before and he wasn’t eager to repeat the experience. “Whatever happened, you don’t seem to be harmed from it. Do you need
a doctor?”

  She paused, her mouth dropped open. Clearly, she hadn’t considered a physical assault until that moment. It would be atypical, but not alien for NINA operatives. “Elle? Did they hurt you?” He tensed.

  “No.” She looked Nick straight in the eye. “No, I’m fine.”

  He let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d held. Sweet relief flooded him. “Then you’re okay?”

  “I am. Really.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  Joe shot him a thumbs up, silently praising his effort. It had always been much easier for Nick to see the dark side than to stretch and try to grasp the light.

  Elle wasn’t impressed. She parked a hand on her hip. “I’ve lost two days of my life, Nick Sloan. Two days. I have no idea what happened to me, who manhandled me on the street, kidnapped and drugged me, and you say I’m okay and not harmed because I wasn’t molested?” She crossed her chest with her arms. “Unbelievable. Time hasn’t helped you one bit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re still the same old Nick.”

  His temper flared. “Well, who else would I be?”

  “Wrong tactic, bro,” Joe whispered a warning. “Gentle.”

  Tim obviously agreed and stepped in. “Elle, we’ll get this all sorted out, okay? But we need your help to do it.” When she nodded, acknowledging him, he went on. “When you were put in the van, where was your bodyguard?”

  “Well, isn’t that just the million dollar question? I have no idea—which is why I want a phone to fire him and Neil.” She looked Tim right in the eye. “Normally, he’s two steps away in the shadows and, if I turn unexpectedly, I’m tripping over him. He had to have been there somewhere. I just don’t recall seeing him. Where he was right then, who knows?”

  “Does he have a name?” Sam asked, his laptop on a box in front of him.

  “Charles something,” she said. “He’s new. My regular guard, Frank, refused to leave the States—not that I’d have let him. His wife’s expecting any day now. So Neil hired this Charles guy to replace Frank in Europe. Neil will know Charles’s last name.”

  Had Charles been a NINA plant? Had he cut and run? Been bought off? Threatened? Removed? Agitated that he might have been, Nick claimed her attention. “So you remember nothing at all but being in the van?”

  She cut a glance his way. “Not exactly. I remember waking up in the box.” She shifted to look at it. “It wouldn’t open.”

  “It’s not a regular box.”

  “That explains that.”

  In his mind, he saw her pushing at its sides, shoving with her feet and getting nowhere. “Why would two groups of men want to grab you off the street, Elle?”

  “I don’t know. The only person who pulls these kinds of stunts to prove I need protecting is you.” She stopped as if something had occurred to her, then leveled an uncompromising and unapologetic look on him, her green eyes sharp, clear and penetrating. “If you really had nothing to do with this, then why am I here—with you?”

  Nick looked at the team, who silently deferred to him since he knew Elle. He hesitated, unsure what he should disclose. Elle was a musical protégé. Brains and talent from her father. Grounded and pragmatic like her mother. Yet she was her own woman, and that made her a wildcard he didn’t dare to trust. “We don’t honestly know.”

  His response surprised her. It surprised the team, too.

  She dropped her gaze to her hand. Her eyes widened and she gasped. “Oh, no. It’s gone.” Upset, she twisted to search the box.

  “What’s gone?” Nick asked. “What are you looking for?”

  “My ring.” She frowned. “It should be easy to spot. It’s an amethyst the size of a small walnut.”

  “Are you sure you had it on when you were abducted?” he asked.

  “Positive.” She glanced back at Nick over her shoulder. “It’s an antique my dad gave me to celebrate the European tour. I’ve never taken it off.”

  The light dawned. “Big stone, eh?”

  “Special stone—and big, in a gold setting. A gorgeous antique,” she said, sitting back on her haunches. “It’s not here.” Disappointment rippled through her tone and she blinked fast and hard.

  NINA. Nick shot a look at the guys, and saw the worry he felt reflect back at him in their gazes. They all had reached the same conclusion.

  NINA was after the ring. The CIA had snatched her to get it before NINA could. Which meant NINA would come after her, and its operatives would keeping coming after her until they got her and it.

  Indefinitely.

  Chapter Four

  Someone jerked the Receiving Room’s hallway door open.

  Peggy Crane, the director of Crossroads Crisis Center, ducked her head in. “What’s keeping you guys?” She quizzed the team of men the size of small mountains as if they were school kids, not at all intimidated by them. “Lisa’s upset. She thinks she’s somehow offended you and you’re boycotting the reception and not dancing with her like you did Tim’s Mandy at her wedding because of it. You’re shunning her.” Peggy frowned her disapproval. “I know that’s not so, but if you boys put the bride in tears because you’re lollygagging and—“ Her gaze lighted on Elle. “You’re…Elle?”

  Elle smiled at her. “Hello.”

  Peggy glanced from her to the guys. “What’s going on here?”

  Nick cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Elle’s a friend of mine,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t dispute him. “I—we wanted to surprise Mark and Lisa. Elle graciously agreed to come to the wedding and sing for them.”

  Elle glanced at him with confused daggers, but she didn’t dispute him.

  Peggy smiled, then looked at Elle’s clothes and her smile faded. “You always look so elegant but you wore jeans and a wrinkled shirt to a wedding?”

  “I left my tour in a hurry,” Elle said, her face flushing. “My luggage hasn’t arrived. That’s why we’re here. We’re waiting for it.”

  “Mmm.” Peggy didn’t buy it but, to her credit, she didn’t question Elle. “Well, then. Let me see what I can do.” Without a backward glance she disappeared through the propped-open door and then closed it behind her.

  “Thank you.” Nick turned to Elle. “I appreciate your—“

  “Discretion?”

  He nodded.

  “So who got married?” she asked.

  “Mark Taylor.”

  “The CEO of your firm,” she said, revealing she knew more about them than Nick realized. “And who are all of you—Sam, the Country music loving, Alabama redneck aside?” She swept the team with her gaze.

  “Joe.”

  “Tim.”

  “Me,” Nick said, “you know.”

  “No last names,” she noted. “Your colleagues, I take it.”

  Nick nodded.

  Elle pinned him with an unwavering gaze. “Who was that woman, and why did you lie to her?”

  “Peggy Crane. She’s the director at the crisis center where the bride works.” He met Elle’s gaze and held it. “And I didn’t lie really, I just didn’t disclose anything else because I don’t want to put anyone here in unnecessary jeopardy.”

  “Uh-huh.” Elle stewed on that a long minute. “Does that include me?”

  He hiked his chin. “It does.”

  “Okay, then.”

  Vintage Elle. He’d liked that accepting part of her four years ago, and he appreciated it now. She asked no uncomfortable questions he didn’t want to answer. Just accessed the situation, accepted what he offered, and moved on. Smart woman.

  Peggy returned carrying a hanger draped with plastic. “It’s Lisa’s going away outfit.”

  “You took the bride’s clothes?” Elle frowned. “I can’t wear her going away outfit, Peggy.”

  Nick rolled his eyes. “You don’t have a lot of choice.”

  Elle frowned at him. “Lisa probably spent weeks picking this out. “It’s special, Nick.”

  “Well, it’s that or your rumpled shi
rt and jeans.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake.” Elle frowned at him. “Go get me a tablecloth and something I can use as a tie or scarf.”

  The guys looked at him as if they questioned her sanity.

  “Would you move?” Elle shook herself and told Peggy, “A drapery tie will work.”

  “You’re going to wear drapes?” Nick asked her.

  “Hey, it’s like Scarlett in Gone with the Wind.“ Sam guffawed. “Yeah, baby. The South’s rising again.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Sam.” Elle laughed, soft and tinkling. “No drapes, just the tie.”

  “Well, it ain’t that big a leap from drapes to a tablecloth. Maybe you’re half Southern. At least, honorary Southern.”

  “I’m humbled to be honorary.” Elle managed a little laugh.

  Its familiar tinkle chimed in Nick’s ears. He’d always associated her laughter with a tinkle, and she laughed often. It grated at him. It wasn’t the sound. It was that he liked the sound. Warm and pleasant, it floated over his skin and kind of seeped in and spread through him. He liked the sensation, and he vehemently disliked liking it.

  Peggy again returned, holding a white tablecloth and a peach rope tieback in her hand. “I hope the color’s okay. I looked for something dark—for contrast—but everything is peach today. Lisa loves peach and cream.”

  “Peach works great,” Elle said. “Goes with my hair.”

  It kind of clashed. Her hair was reddish-blonde. Long and curly. It framed her face and made her eyes seem enormous. Elle wasn’t classically beautiful, but throw all her distinct features together and she looked beautiful. She looked stunning. Even at eighteen she had commanded a room. People watched her move; she intrigued them. It wasn’t anything she deliberately did; it was that star quality, that x-factor people talk about. Some claimed it was mystical. Nick never bought into that. It wasn’t mystical at all. It was just Elle. She, not that star stuff, for reasons he had never been able to explain, left him breathless.

  Joe stepped closer. “She adapts well.”

  “Yeah,” Nick agreed. “She’s hardheaded but flexible.”

  “Seems pretty reasonable to me.” Joe looked at Nick.