Fully Loaded

by Samantha Keith

  She went to the window. Earlier, she’d been too tired and ragged to check out the view. She parted the curtains to see Lake Geneva’s crystalline waters picking up the afternoon sun. This was the first time in the last week that the sun had pushed the clouds far enough apart to shine through. They still lingered on the horizon, the gray cotton ready to wipe away the glittering day at any moment. But for now, she took it in. One day, she’d come back to Geneva strictly to vacation. But today, she wasn’t on vacation.

  She picked up her encrypted phone from the nightstand. The clock read 4:00 p.m. No wonder she was so confused—she’d slept almost ten hours. One missed text. Only two people had her new number: Brock and Sven.

  Part of her wished it were Sven. She hadn’t heard from him since he sent that text that had woken her up. She’d called numerous times and finally left a voicemail with the number of her encrypted phone before she passed out. But the text from the United States number filled a much deeper need inside her.

  Hey. I spoke to Leland. He and his wife are traveling for the next couple of months. I’ve attached their address. The property manager will leave a key in the mailbox, so you can let yourself in this afternoon. I already contacted the manager and arranged for some food and necessities to tide you over. I’ll be in touch later today—Brock

  She sighed with relief.

  That’s so kind. Thank you for your help.

  Her thumb hovered over the Send icon. He’d gone out of his way to ensure her comfort and safety. Her words fell flat. Gratitude pulsed through her heart, yanking at all the sensitive areas that always brought her back to Brock and his big heart. A sliver of anger boiled over the gratitude. Yeah, he’d been kind and caring. Until the opportunity to cut her out of a deal had come up and he’d run with it, leaving her trampled heart in the dust.

  No. Her message was more than enough. Curt. Civil. Maybe when she got her feet under her she’d send him a fruit basket. She almost smiled at that image. That would royally piss him off. She hit Send and made her way to the bathroom. After she showered and got dressed in one of the three spare outfits she had in her go bag, she packed her essentials and checked out.

  Not wanting to risk someone seeing her vehicle, she’d used the valet service so her car was parked underground. She closed her wool sweater around her—the one thing she hadn’t packed was a coat—and scanned the back seat of the car as it approached. Empty. She accepted the key from the young Swiss woman and handed her a tip. Then she climbed into the driver’s seat, plugged the address Brock had given her into her GPS, and pulled away.

  Sven had hooked her up with the car when she arrived. The Mercedes C-Class was a comforting touch of home. Fifteen minutes later she pulled up to the large home overlooking the lake. She fished the key out of the mailbox and unlocked the door. Warm air caressed her skin, chasing away the chill. Her feet met a pale blue woven area rug laid over marble tile. She kicked off her shoes and tilted her head back, taking in the exposed wood beams. A thrill raced through her. Brock hadn’t said she’d be staying in a lakefront mansion. Serena would lose her shit over a house like this. As one of San Diego’s top realtors, her sister had always had a special appreciation for unique properties.

  Dani roamed the sprawling single-story home, reveling in each of the five bedrooms. She stopped in the master and dropped her bag next to the linen-covered king-sized bed. God, if only she had someone to share this with.

  Someone like Brock.

  She bunched her fingers in her hair and growled. No. She didn’t need anyone, let alone Brock. But damn, he’d been good in bed. Her phone chimed and she dove for the vegan leather bag. She fumbled through the contents until her hand closed around the unfamiliar device. She read the number and bounced on her toes, swiping the screen.

  “Sven! What the hell?”

  “I’m sorry for the frantic text last night. People are onto us—is this a safe line?” Rumbling and clanking sounded in the background.

  “Yes, it’s encrypted,” she said, waving his question away. She’d already said that in her voicemail. He wasn’t as cautious as he needed to be on a good day, so his unease made the hairs on her arms spring to attention. “I was almost killed last night. Where are you?”

  “On a train. Look, there’s no easy way to say this. We’re involved in something dangerous.”

  The lining of her empty stomach wrenched and bile heated her esophagus. Her senses dimmed as she clenched the phone. Of course it was dangerous. The need to climb out her window and shoot a man had told her that. But the shake in Sven’s voice suggested something much darker.

  “What are we talking about, Sven? What do you know?”

  “I can’t say, too many people around. I’ll be in Geneva tomorrow morning. I’ll text you tonight and we’ll arrange a spot to meet.”

  “Sven,” she snapped. She’d kill him for withholding shit from her. “You have to tell me something.” Seconds ticked by. She pulled the phone away from her ear—still connected. She opened her mouth to speak, but his mumble stopped her.

  “Bioterrorism.”

  Cells smashed together behind her eyes and her knees buckled. She dropped into the settee at the foot of the bed and curled her hand around the smooth milky-colored upholstery. “What are you talking about?” Her lungs constricted, cutting off the flow of blood to her brain.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. Stay safe.”

  The line went dead.

  CHAPTER 3

  Brock’s mouth watered as a server slid a burger and fries under his nose. He mumbled a thank-you and dug in. He’d caught a flight at six that morning and had gotten only four hours of sleep after getting home from Tasha’s bar. He’d managed to sneak in a little sleep on the plane from Newark to Lisbon, Portugal, between nightmares of Dani falling out her window. He’d called Leland after Dani had hung up the previous night, and his cousin had eagerly offered his villa in Cologny for Dani and him to use.

  Little did Dani know he was on his way there. He’d leave Lisbon in an hour after his short layover and land in Geneva just after 2:00 a.m. He hadn’t figured out how he’d explain his presence, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, stay in California when this shit was going down.

  He hated that he couldn’t stay away from her when she was in trouble, especially knowing he wouldn’t be welcomed. The memory of her cold, terrified body slamming against his chest when he’d released her from the kidnappers flashed through his mind. She put on a tough front. Always had. Keeping people at arm’s length was her specialty and he was no exception. At least now.

  Back in the day, she’d loved him as much as he’d loved her. She’d been more carefree, fun, happy . . . then he’d cut her out of a deal. He forced a bite down his throat and chased it with water. He hadn’t intended to ruin things between them, and never in a million years had he thought she’d be that pissed with him for doing a job without her. Yeah, he’d made more money. But he’d also offered her a chunk to appease her. He’d been wrong to do it. They’d always been a team, but cockiness—and a desire to protect her—had gotten to him.

  Maybe that’s why he’d jumped into action this time. Guilt. And because, despite her resistance to asking for help and showing vulnerability, she’d called him. She hadn’t asked for help, but she needed him. History proved that her moments of distress showed her deepest emotions.

  Ring, ring, ring

  His phone lit up next to his glass of water, and he reluctantly lowered the thick, juicy piece of meat sandwiched between the softest, cheesiest bun he’d ever tasted to look at the number.

  Milo. More guilt. Dani had specifically told him not to say anything to Serena, and he’d never go against her wishes, but he couldn’t keep this from Milo. What Milo did with the information was up to him.

  “Thanks for calling,” he said, as he shoved a fry into his mouth. After over sixteen hours of traveling, his body didn’t know if it was digesting breakfast or dinner, but he didn’t care.

  “What’s goi
ng on? Your text said it was urgent.”

  “You’re not going to like this, and it’s going to upset Serena, so you might want to make sure she’s not within earshot.”

  “She’s outside doing yoga.” Trepidation built in his friend’s voice. “Tell me.” It wasn’t a request but an order. Anything that might hurt Serena put Milo in a bad way.

  “It’s Dani. She called me from Geneva. Someone’s after her.”

  “What are you talking about? She’s there on vacation.”

  Brock snorted. “Do you know her at all, dude?”

  “Ah, fuck. I swear to god I don’t know how she’s lived this long.”

  Brock didn’t bother agreeing. He knew more about Dani’s reckless job choices than anyone. Now that Milo and Serena were on the straight and narrow, they had less tolerance for Dani’s lifestyle. And his. Truth be told, he was getting sick of it, too. He no longer treaded on the dangerous side of the tracks but stuck to a steady income to which he had few ties.

  “I’m not letting Serena go there ten weeks pregnant. The stress of the situations Dani gets into is something I don’t want her or my unborn child anywhere near. And you can tell Dani I said that.” The bite to his voice chomped into Brock’s last, exhausted nerve.

  “Dani gave me specific instructions not to tell Serena, so why don’t you hold your temper?”

  Milo hissed out a long, low breath. “Sorry, man. I just know Serena would be on the next plane if she knew.”

  “Well, you can tell her I’m on it for her.”

  “You’re on your way to Geneva?” Milo’s voice fell with disbelief.

  Brock cleared his throat. Heat crawled up his neck. God, did he sound pathetic? He rubbed his earlobe between his thumb and forefinger. “Yeah, well. She swore me to secrecy and I knew she needed help.” He closed his eyes. Yup, it didn’t get more hung-up sounding than that.

  “If you run into any trouble, give Rhett a call.”

  “The FBI agent?” The question was moot. He’d met Rhett a few times, most recently after Dani’s kidnapping. Brock had been in no state to make friends at that point, but Rhett had seemed like a straight shooter and had helped Milo on more than one occasion.

  “Yeah, he’s a good guy. If there’s anything he can do from his end, I’m sure he will. I’ll text you his number.”

  “All right, thanks.”

  “No problem. Keep me posted. For now, I won’t tell Serena, but she’ll be pissed when she finds out.”

  Brock almost snickered. Serena would probably tear him a new asshole for keeping this from her, but it was the best option. At least Milo was in the loop—if things turned south, they’d have someone to call.

  As he boarded his flight, he thought about calling Dani to give her a heads-up he was on his way. He grimaced. Nah, he didn’t need a head start on a fight. By the time he got to the villa it’d be after 3:00 a.m. and she’d be asleep.

  Asleep half-naked. He used to love tumbling into the sheets and snuggling up to her warm, luscious ass. He groaned and adjusted his pants before buckling his seatbelt. Getting cozy with Dani wasn’t going to happen. Even if he put it out there, she’d shoot it down faster than a Korean missile.

  Nope. Sex with Dani was out of the question.

  * * *

  Dani stared at the whishing fan on the ceiling. Each rotation flicked a shadow over the box of moonlight shining through the window. Every bone in her body ached with exhaustion, yet she couldn’t sleep. She’d put the fan on in hopes the sound would drown out all the noises her imagination conjured.

  Bioterrorism.

  Good god. Of all the things she’d been involved with in her life, this topped the charts. Stealing diamonds and cash from criminals paled in comparison against being an international terrorist. Maybe Serena was right—maybe it was time for her to get out and make an honest living. If she survived long enough to make it back to California, she just might do that.

  She flipped the covers back and turned the lamp on. The flash drive was burning a hole in her yoga pants. That’s what was keeping her awake—the urge to discover its contents. She pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d been given direct orders not to open the files or copy them. Lord, if she’d known when she wandered into Ubrigg’s office pretending to be a member of the press that she was making herself an accomplice in an act of bioterrorism, she would have been shaking. Actually, she wouldn’t have accepted the job in the first place.

  But, two days ago, she’d sauntered into his building with a fake badge, snuck down the hall when the receptionist disappeared, and loitered at the coffee station until Ubrigg left for his 10:00 a.m. meeting right on schedule. She’d slipped into his office, used the password Sven had provided, and copied all twelve files from the folder SUB99.

  And all that had circled around her half-functioning brain that morning was the thought that it had been the easiest two hundred and fifty grand she’d ever made. Man had she been wrong.

  She stood and made her way to the kitchen, keeping the lights off. The moonlight filtering in through the picture window in the open-concept living room was enough. If she made the space too bright, she’d never get to sleep. She switched on the dim undermount cabinet lights, grabbed a ceramic mug from the cabinet, and turned the kettle on. She prepared a cup of tea and added some raw honey from the pantry before wandering to the window overlooking Lake Geneva.

  Her gaze drifted from the water’s shimmering ripples to the office off the living room. The manager had left a note giving her permission to use the computer. It would take only minutes to peel open the files and figure out what the hell she was involved in.

  She closed her eyes and pivoted back to the window. No.

  If she were smart, she’d call the authorities and turn herself in. But doing so would land her ass in a European prison. She thought back to the international cases she’d heard about in the news. Sometimes innocent people were jailed for years. Her best bet was to get the hell out of Switzerland. Maybe if she mailed the device to police headquarters she could—

  A shadow flickered in the reflection of the glass. The hairs on the back of her neck jolted to life and her body turned to stone. Her fingers choked the mug’s smooth handle.

  She was paranoid. Overtired.

  Thinking she heard the gentle whisper of leather on hardwood, she whipped around. Tea splashed over the edge of the mug, burning her knuckles.

  She drank in one erratic breath after another as she scanned the living room’s shadows. Nothing. She turned in a semicircle and drifted toward the kitchen. Was she losing it? Paranoid, definitely, but had she gone insane too?

  A black-covered arm and white latex glove swept in front of her face. She let out a scream and yanked her feet from the floor to run. The arm jerked back, and something slithered around her throat. Her head snapped back and a gurgle of air and saliva popped through her lips. Paralyzing pain seared her throat. Her knees buckled under the force of her attacker’s pull, but the wall of his stomach stopped her from hitting the floor. Panic burned through her, leaving ice in its wake. Hot breath puffed against her ear, but the words didn’t penetrate the fog closing in around her.

  She fisted her hands around the rope at her neck, desperately squeezing her fingers between the abrasive material and her jugular. She sucked in air wildly, but only a scant amount reached her lungs.

  “Give me the fucking data!” His words beat against her eardrum. He twisted the rope, making her fingers numb.

  Her cheeks warmed and the veins in her neck and temples threatened to burst. Her body jerked, desperate for oxygen.

  “You’ve got one chance,” he barked. Spit hit the skin near her ear and she cringed. He loosened the rope and all the blood that had been trapped above her shoulders rushed back to her heart. She dropped her hands on the back of the couch for support and greedily gulped in air.

  “Go,” he commanded.

  She had to do something. Even if she gave him the device, he’d kill her. And whose hands wo
uld the information be placed in? She steeled her spine and forced her eyes to search for a weapon within reach. Nothing but a tall glass lamp on the end table—two feet out of reach.

  He shifted behind her and the rope returned to her neck but he didn’t pull.

  “Time’s up.”

  Her heart rampaged against her breastbone. Her brain cells worked rapidly. The rope retracted on her larynx.

  She pressed her foot into the couch’s frame and threw her weight backward into her assailant. The rope went slack. Then she hooked her palms around the cord and lifted it over her head.

  Diving, she clamped her hands around the base of the lamp and raised it in the air. Its weight pulled on her triceps, straining the muscles. As the attacker dove for her waist, she brought the lamp down on his head. His shoulders jerked and he grunted but didn’t go down. She jabbed her knee into his groin and he folded forward, barking out a cough.

  She whirled around and bolted for the door. Weight smacked into her lower back. Her chin bounced off the tile floor and stars danced in front of her eyes. The brush of a rubber glove against her jaw brought her focus back to the darkness. The rope returned to her neck and he yanked backward, drawing her into a contorted cobra position. Tears stung her eyes. She kicked her heels up and they connected with the backs of his thighs. She pressed her palms into the unrelenting tile, stretching her spine as far back as possible to allow more breath into her airways. He tightened the cord. The blood left her arms and they shook under her weight. An ebony vignette clouded the edges of her vision. Her body spasmed. The tendons in her neck and face swelled beneath her skin.

  Please, God, don’t let me die here. Not without seeing Brock one more time . . .

  Darkness flickered over her lids and her back muscles gave in as her last breath was choked from her lungs.