by N. J. Croft
“Will your friends be all right?”
Luke glanced at her, a startled expression on his face. “They’ll be fine.”
“Are we going to the police?”
“Not yet. Callum will contact them and hand the men over, but I want you away from here. They can take your statement tomorrow.”
That sounded like an excellent plan. She supposed she should contact Detective Mitchell, but she had no wish to spend the night at the police station or to relive the evening. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
She cast Luke a sideways glance. He had saved her life tonight. Those men would have tortured and killed her. She remembered the fury on his face, the casual ease with which he held the gun as though it was an extension of his arm. That he appeared so at home in this shocking new world should have terrified her. Instead, it made her feel safe.
“Why did you come tonight?” she asked.
“David had given me your home and cell numbers when he’d called. I couldn’t get through to you on the phone and got suspicious. Luckily Callum was already with me—we were checking out David’s place—and we came straight over here.”
“When I first saw them outside, I tried to call the police. I couldn’t connect. The landline, my cell, even the internet wasn’t working.”
“They must have put some sort of signal block around the house.”
“I didn’t know that was possible.”
“It’s possible, but it requires specialized equipment. Which means they came well prepared. I think we can presume they’re not your average thugs hunting for easy pickings.”
She wasn’t ready to pursue that line of thought just yet. “So why did you call? Not that I’m not grateful, but I wasn’t very helpful this morning.”
“I found a report when I was going through David’s paperwork. I thought it might relate to you.”
She latched on to that. “A lab report? David was getting my medication analyzed.”
“Why would he need to do that?”
“We couldn’t find my records. I told you this morning—I have this illness, it’s genetic. My father managed my treatment, and when he died, I asked David to look into it for me.”
“Go on.”
“I had these pills, but they were blank, no markings, nothing. David didn’t know what they were, so he sent them off to the lab for analysis. It was one of the things we were going to talk about last night.”
Except David was dead.
“Your father was a doctor?”
“Yes. He worked in research when he was younger, but the last few years he’s been happy working with patients and treating me. It used to annoy me; he’d go on and on about how careful I needed to be. How I had to look after myself. How I wasn’t like ‘normal’ people. He would drive me insane.” She bit her lip, tasting blood as she reopened the cut. She was rambling; she never spoke about her illness. Not to anyone but her father. “Now I’d give anything to have him back. Since he died everything seems to be falling apart.” She turned her head and peered out at the passing landscape. “I can’t believe everything that has happened over the last couple of weeks. My father dying…David…tonight.”
“You still don’t believe they’re related?”
She hated to admit it, but there had to be a connection. “I don’t see how any of this can be related to my father, but those men tonight knew about David. I still have no idea why or what they wanted with me.”
Except Descartes.
She knew she should bring it up but needed to think things through first.
“Well, we’ll go over it later. We’ll find something. It could be a mistake, something else David was working on and you just ended up in the middle.”
“I can’t believe David could have been doing anything illegal or even bad. He was such an honorable man.”
“I agree. Now why don’t you rest? We can talk later.”
Jenna closed her eyes and laid her head back against the seat, but she couldn’t sleep. The pain was excruciating, and her mind was racing, so she stared straight ahead. They were on the motorway, heading toward London. The road was quiet, and Luke drove fast, his hands relaxed on the wheel.
Though she’d told him she’d be okay, now she wasn’t so sure. Nausea washed through her, and she burned hot until a shiver shook her body. She peeked at her hand where it lay curled on her lap, and winced.
Luke must have sensed the movement, because he glanced toward her, and in the dim glow from the road lights, she saw him frown. A minute later, he signaled and pulled onto the hard shoulder.
Without speaking, he stopped the car and climbed out. She twisted her head to watch him as he walked around to the back of the vehicle and rummaged in the trunk. When he resumed his seat, he held a small brown bottle of pills. He shook two out onto his hand and held them out to her.
“They’re only painkillers,” he said when she hesitated.
“I’m on medication.”
“These shouldn’t affect you adversely. Take them—you’ll feel better.” His voice was rough with impatience. Jenna looked a moment longer then picked up the pills and swallowed them with the last of the water.
They set off again. Within a few minutes, the pain started to dull until soon it was no more than a low throbbing ache, still present but bearable, and she dozed.
As they drove down a ramp into an underground parking area, she awoke. Luke pulled up in front of a set of solid steel doors. He hit the button to open the driver’s window, leaned out, and pressed his thumb to a panel. The doors slid open, and he drove through and pulled into a parking space.
He climbed out, came around to the passenger side, and opened her door. “Come on. We’ll get your hand seen to, and afterward, you can sleep.”
The warmth of the car was soothing, and she knew if she moved she would start to think all over again. She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to think.
“Jenna?”
She sighed and looked up. “I’m coming.”
She swung her legs around and climbed out. Her head swam with the movement, and she steadied herself against the car, but she realized she could hardly feel her finger, merely a faint throb at the end of her arm.
“Where are we?” The parking area was large with only a few vehicles, mainly black SUVs.
“My company headquarters in London. You should be safe here until we work out who those men were and what they wanted with you.”
Jenna found her legs were shaky, but she could walk. With his hand on her upper arm, he led her toward an elevator. Inside, Luke pressed the button for the top floor.
The doors opened directly into an apartment. She followed Luke down a hallway that led into a large modern kitchen, where he gestured to one of the steel chairs around the table. “Sit.”
Jenna sat and watched him move around the room, obviously familiar with his surroundings. He fetched a large ceramic bowl from the cabinet beside the sink and ran the tap, feeling the temperature of the water. After filling the bowl, he brought it across and placed it on the table in front of her. “Soak your hand in here while I go get the medical kit.”
“Don’t I need a doctor?”
“I’m a trained paramedic. I can set a finger.”
No doubt he could; he was so competent. She placed her hand in the bowl, careful not to knock the injured finger. The warm water was soothing, and she leaned forward, resting her forehead on the cool metal surface of the table.
Something touched her arm, and she jumped, biting back a small scream. Her eyes flew open, and she sat bolt upright as fear shot through her.
“Sorry,” Luke murmured.
“I must have dozed off. I was dreaming—”
Her mind came back from the bad place, and she shook her head to get rid of the lingering shadows.
“That’s the drugs.” Luke sank into th
e seat next to her and placed an impressive array of medical supplies on the table beside him. He picked up her injured hand from the bowl and patted the skin dry with a paper towel. His touch gentle and sure, he turned her hand palm up and studied her finger.
It looked horrible to Jenna, twisted up at an odd angle, the skin dark and shiny, the knuckle swollen.
“The break is clean,” Luke said. “But I’m going to have to straighten the finger, and it’s going to hurt. Do you want that injection now?”
Jenna swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “No. Thank you, but I can hardly feel it.”
“Okay.”
Focusing over his left shoulder, every muscle in her body rigid with tension, still she wasn’t ready for the agony that shot from her finger directly to her brain and then to every other part of her body. She managed to bite back the scream, but beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, and black dots danced before her eyes.
“Here, bend forward.” Luke placed a hand between her shoulder blades and pressed her down gently. Her breath was coming short and fast, and she sucked air into her lungs, holding it in until the darkness receded and she could force her muscles to relax. After a minute, she was able to sit up.
Luke was watching her. “That’s the worst bit over with.”
“Finish it.”
He tore open a packet, emptied a small wooden stick onto his palm, and measured it against the length of her finger before snapping off the excess.
“I’m going to splint it and attach it to the next finger. The splint will hold it in place, which should stop the pain.”
As he placed the splint on the broken finger, she bit down on her lip. He squeezed it against the next finger, then wrapped white tape tight around both, fastened it off, and sat back. “Done. How does it feel?”
With an enormous sigh, she released the air from her lungs. “Like I’ve been hit with a hammer.” But in fact, her hand felt much better. She lifted it up and held it in front of her face. “Very neat.”
“It will take a while to heal, probably six to eight weeks.”
She forced a smile, the first in a long time. “I’m just glad I’m going to have six weeks. I was sure I was going to die tonight. Thank you.”
He pushed himself up and crossed to the fridge, rummaging for a moment. “Here’s an ice pack. Hold it against your hand. It will help with the swelling.”
Taking it from him, she did as she was told, pressing the ice to her knuckle. The pain receded to be replaced by blissful numbness, and she leaned back in her chair. “That feels wonderful.”
“Good. Come on, I’ll show you to your room. You can clean up and get some sleep.”
Jenna glanced down at herself and grimaced. Her shirt was stained dark with blood. Some of it was hers from her split lip, but more of it was from the man she had stabbed.
When she pulled herself up the room whirled around her. Somehow, she managed to follow Luke out of the kitchen and down the hallway. Pushing open a door, he gestured for her to enter. “Try to sleep, and we’ll talk in the morning.”
Jenna swayed as she passed him. Putting her hand out for balance, she encountered the hard heat of his chest. Swearing softly, he closed his eyes for a second. Then he picked her up, carried her into the bedroom, and placed her down on the bed.
“Come on, Jenna, just a few more minutes and you can sleep.”
“I’m fine, really I am. Just everything keeps spinning.”
He straightened. Was he leaving? She didn’t want to be alone, and she had to swallow the urge to ask him to stay. Instead, he disappeared through another door and came back seconds later, carrying a black terry cloth robe and a washcloth. He crouched in front of her and wiped her face with the damp cloth.
Jenna closed her eyes and gave herself up to his touch. She was floating, suspended in time, aware only of his closeness, his hands gentle as he stripped her clothes.
When she was naked, he wrapped the robe around her shoulders. “Sleep.”
Exhaustion rolled over her and she lay down on top of the blanket. She would rest a little while, then get up and shower. Curling herself into a ball, her hand held against her chest, she was vaguely aware of Luke moving around the room, picking up her clothes. His presence reassured her, and she closed her eyes.
But behind her lids, she saw the blond man who had snapped her finger. He came toward her, his eyes mocking, and the same sense of helplessness washed over her.
That had been the worst thing, even worse than the pain. The feeling that she had been powerless, that they could do what they liked to her, and she could do nothing to stop them.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, soaking the pillow, but she couldn’t seem to stop. The mattress depressed as Luke sat down beside her. He didn’t speak, just leaned back against the wall and pulled her into his arms. Sighing, she burrowed her face against his chest, and finally drifted into sleep to the throb of his heart.
…
Luke stifled his unease, aware of the woman in his arms. Shit, he shouldn’t be here; he should be keeping his distance from her. Not lying in bed, holding her.
He tried to live his life by a set of rules, but he’d redefined those rules so many times, always pushing the boundaries a little bit further.
One of those rules was never to sleep with someone he might need to sacrifice later on. So far, he’d never been tempted. But something about Jenna tugged at emotions he’d thought long dead.
He didn’t know what her role was in this, but he knew she was involved up to her gorgeous neck. Strangely, he also believed her—whatever tied her to Descartes, she was unaware of it.
He needed to work out what her connection was. In fact, what he should be doing was getting up off this bed and digging up any information he could find. The doctor was a false lead. His only link to the case was Jenna.
It all came back to Jenna.
Tomorrow he would talk to her. Go over every detail of the last few weeks until something jumped out at him.
She whimpered, and he tightened his arms around her, promising himself he would get up soon. Instead, he closed his eyes and slept.
Chapter Fifteen
Jenna felt like shit.
Her head throbbed, and there was something burning hot and pulsating at the end of her arm. The light in the room was dim, but she could see daylight seeping through the heavy blinds.
She had a memory of Luke holding her through the long night, comforting her when she half woke, soothing her back into a troubled sleep. She’d never spent the whole night with a man before. And she’d never been in bed with a man and not had sex.
He was gone now but had left a glass of water and two pills—identical to the painkillers she’d taken yesterday—on the table by the bed. After swallowing them down with a gulp of water, she leaned against the wall behind her and waited for something to happen.
Relief came quickly. Her head cleared, and the throbbing eased until she could get up and face the day.
She slipped out of bed and crossed the room to stand in front of a full-length mirror. Holding up her bandaged hand, she touched the swollen skin of her cheek and the split lip. Apart from the bruises, she looked like herself, and it surprised her, because she felt changed. Last night she’d been more terrified than she’d ever been in her entire life, but she’d also sensed an inner strength she’d never realized she possessed.
In the bathroom, she ran the shower until it steamed. Even standing awkwardly with her bandaged hand held out of the spray, the hot water felt wonderful, and she stayed under the jet for a long time, washing away the stench of pain and fear.
Finally, she stepped out and blotted her skin dry. She had no clothes to put on—no way was she wearing her blood-stained clothing from yesterday. Instead, she pulled the robe back on and wandered out into the hallway in search of Luke.
She’d d
ecided to tell him everything—which was actually very little—and hope he could make some sense out of it. Though she suspected there was more to his story than he was telling, she had to trust someone, and right now, he appeared to be her only option.
As long as she didn’t fool herself that Luke was doing this for her. He wanted revenge for David’s death, and logic told her she was a means of getting to the people responsible.
The sound of voices drifted out from the kitchen, and she paused before pushing the door open.
Luke sat at the table, and her eyes were drawn to him. He cast her an almost wary glance, then his lips curved into a slow smile.
Someone coughed and she dragged her gaze away. The second man from last night, Callum, leaned against the counter sipping a mug of coffee. She’d barely noticed him yesterday; now she studied him curiously. He was around her height, with a wiry frame that vibrated with energy. She’d met men like him before at the gym. They were deceptively strong and almost always ex-military. His blond hair was cut close to his skull, his face hard, with pale eyes that stared back at her coldly. For a moment, he reminded her of the men who had broken into her father’s house last night, and she pressed her injured hand to her stomach as a shiver ran through her.
“How are you?” Luke asked.
Shrugging, she stepped into the room. “Okay, I guess. Thanks for the pills.”
He pushed out his chair and rose to his feet. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
He poured a cup from the machine on the counter and placed it on the table next to his. As she sat down, her stomach rumbled, and she glanced up in embarrassment. “I don’t suppose there’s anything to eat.”
“What would you like?”
“Anything. I just realized I haven’t eaten since this time yesterday.”
Luke placed croissants and butter on the table in front of her, and Jenna dove in, only slowing down on the third croissant. She glanced up to find them watching her, Luke with that small smile on his lips.
“This is Callum.” He waved a hand toward the man who stood silent. His face was blank as he nodded to Jenna.