Burned

by Roberts, Emma

  No, I hadn’t wanted to perform the dirty, low-down trick. He didn’t deserve a lying girlfriend on top of all the other injustices he was suffering.

  I didn’t get the chance to collect my thoughts or make my excuses. Logan tossed the phone to me. I caught it on reflex, turning the screen off before still more damage could be done. He didn’t need to know exactly how much I’d been charged with conning him out of.

  “Save it, Blakely,” he said, pulling his shirt on with enough force to pop off two of the buttons. His jacket went on next and he shoved the tie into his pocket haphazardly.

  “Who are you working with?” he asked. “Is it Owen? Did that weasel recruit you? Because this is low, even for him. Getting my ex to... God, I was so stupid. Of course, he would.”

  Alright, he’d officially lost me. I had no idea who Owen was or why he’d want me to con Logan. But the look of utter contempt on his face had tears flooding my eyes.

  He lashed out suddenly, his fist impacting the shelf, prompting another rain of janitorial supplies.

  “I can’t believe I fucking fell for it,” he muttered, disgust thick in his voice.

  “Logan–” I tried for a third time. “You have to listen to me.” He’d probably hate me for the rest of time. I probably deserved that, for going along with this. But surely he couldn’t turn me away when he learned that it wasn’t only my neck on the chopping block. He’d had a savior complex about women since his mother’s death at the hands of a mugger. He wouldn’t let thirteen other women be killed, just because I’d fucked up.

  The words withered and died on my tongue as his glare found me.

  “Enough. Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any.” He stormed out of the tiny closet, slamming the door so hard the bare bulb swung in place above me.

  The desire to collapse in a pile of gloves was overwhelming. But if I let him go, who knew if I’d ever catch up to him again.

  I dressed as quickly as I could, not bothering to put on my blonde wig or zip my dress. At this point, the disguise was secondary. If I had no client, there was no need for a disguise. I had a feeling my arrangement with Logan had been terminated permanently. It didn’t matter. I needed to find him. I’d tell him everything. If God was kind, he’d give me the money. And if not...

  Well, I’d burn that bridge when I came to it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Logan

  If Owen Mason or any of his cronies had been within arm’s reach, I would have strangled them. Unbridled rage threatened to pop my head off like a cork and I was itching for a fight.

  As there was no easy target for my rage, I’d been stalking the halls of the Hyatt for the past ten minutes, repeating to myself all the reasons that destruction of private property was probably a bad idea. I’d sent at least three of the janitorial staff scurrying for the hills, and a security camera was probably trailing me.

  I didn’t care. Anger spun my head in vicious circles, repeating the same information over and over in a useless, irritating litany.

  Just minutes ago, I’d been willing to lay everything on the line for Mina. Having her back in my life had been the only spot of clarity I’d been able to cling to in the raging dumpster fire my life had become since being discharged. Our relationship may not have been pretty or sane, but at least I’d known I could count on Mina to be a constant presence in my life. The fact that she hadn’t ever pulled her punches or tried to kiss my ass had been novel and refreshing.

  But she’d faked it. Not just her sudden reappearance, but every single moment leading up to this point. She’d played me like a well-tuned piano, anticipating my every move. She’d been planning to con me, like I was the easiest fucking mark in the world.

  The worst part? I was.

  I’d let nostalgia and fucking desperation cloud my judgment where she’d been concerned. I knew fucking better than to trust anyone. If I’d pressed her for more details, her story would have fallen to pieces in two seconds, and I would have seen it for the bullshit it was. I should have seen it. Should have known from the moment she’d turned up at the Ritz-Carlton uninvited and thrown herself into my arms like nothing had ever changed.

  I should have known the moment she’d taken her dress off in the cabin, baring herself to me. She’d been staunchly opposed to sleeping with me up to that point. What had changed?

  She must have realized that sleeping with me was the best way to distract me from what she was doing. And sucker that I’d been, I’d gone along with it.

  She hadn’t appeared to know Owen Mason’s name, but that didn’t mean a thing. She’d already proved she was worthy of an Oscar Nomination. She could still be in league with Mason.

  I shoved a hand into my pocket and withdrew my cell phone. Well, she wasn’t going to get away with it. If the come-to-Jesus meeting we were about to have didn’t blister her hide, I would. I’d give her the fucking spanking of her life and then demand the truth before dumping her sorry ass back in the Heights for good.

  My cell phone creaked dangerously in my palm, unused to the level of rage being exerted by its owner. Her number was at the top of my speed dial. I pushed the call button and waited, the chime of the phone scraping across my nerves like a serrated knife. It rang at least four times before clicking off and going to voicemail.

  “Hello, this is Mina Blakely,” the voice droned in a cheerful but patently rehearsed tone. “I’m sorry I can’t—”

  I ended the call before I could hear the rest, growling in frustration. If there was one thing she wasn’t, it was sorry. I paced the hall again, muttering.

  Finally, I came to a halt. If she thought ignoring my call would ward me off… I punched the icon for her number again and called once more. Again, I got her voicemail.

  By the time I’d repeated the action, my anger had begun to cool. Concern swept in in its wake. I knew this wasn’t normal. During our spats years ago, Mina had let her phone go to voicemail a grand total of one time before picking up. This trip aside, she wasn’t a very passive-aggressive woman. Certainly much less so than Katherine or Phoebe. Mina had always preferred a more direct approach.

  Foreboding danced along my spine, sending shivers up every vertebra. She’d never detailed the threats leveled against her. And since learning the truth less than an hour ago, I’d written them off as so much bullshit. But...what if at least part of her story had been the truth?

  I dialed a new number, staring in tense silence at the decorative vase perched on a table at the end of the hall. This time it was Cassius Tennesley who picked up, mid-laugh. The lapping of the waves just beyond him calmed me just a little. He was at least in a position to answer my questions.

  “Mr. Farraday!” he exclaimed, boozy exuberance raising the volume of his voice. “What can I help you with, my boy?”

  “Min–” I broke off, correcting myself with difficulty. “My fiancée, Phoebe. I seem to have lost track of her. I was wondering if she’d returned to her room on the yacht? If you could get ahold of her, I’d appreciate it. I need to speak to her.”

  Tennesley hummed thoughtfully and there was a muffled conversation held just outside of the range of the phone’s speaker. When he brought the phone up to his mouth again a few minutes later, my patience had stretched thin.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Farraday, your fiancée doesn’t appear to be on board. Perhaps she took Mr. Dennison up on his offer? She could be staying at the hotel tonight.”

  The thought of Mina with the repugnant man who’d been pawing at her all evening made my vision go red for a few seconds. I wrestled the irrational jealousy into submission with difficulty.

  “Thank you, Mr. Tennesley, that was all I needed.” I hung up before he had a chance to start a new topic of conversation.

  It took me longer to phone the front desk. I hadn’t planned to stay at the Hyatt, so I hadn’t bothered to save any contact information.

  By the time the phone rang through, my anger had mostly cooled. I was sure it would be back the second I found
her safe in a room upstairs but until then…

  “My name is Logan Farraday,” I barked into the phone in reply to the droll greeting the desk clerk trotted out. “My fiancée, Phoebe Mason, was very drunk and I seem to have lost track of her. I’m concerned. Can you please confirm for me whether or not she checked into a room here?”

  The desk clerk, a young man with an unpleasantly reedy voice, was blessedly silent for a few minutes as he searched.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but our records don’t show any Masons staying in the Hyatt tonight.”

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. Mina couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to use her real name, could she? Whoever was blackmailing her was tech savvy and would probably have an alert system rigged to her name.

  “She may be staying with a friend. Try Mina Blakely, please.”

  More heavy breathing. More clacking.

  “Sorry sir, but there doesn’t appear to be any Blakelys at the Hyatt either.”

  Fuck fuck fuck.

  If she wasn’t here and she wasn’t on the yacht, where the hell was she? There were any number of reasonable explanations for her delay to the Benetti. But somehow, I didn’t think Mina would be acting reasonably right about now.

  For a few minutes, I roamed the hotel, glancing out the front doors and checking the parking lot, the bathrooms, the conference room, the gym. The hotel was massive. If she’d gone up a floor or two, I’d never find her.

  Thankfully, I had a contingency plan.

  I leaned against the wall, dialing yet another number. I wasn’t even sure he’d answer, given my long absence from the armed forces and my less than cordial parting with my unit. But he picked up after only two rings.

  Jack MacDonald’s voice sounded like gravel thrown into a blender, the result of almost having his throat cut in Vietnam. He was an old buzzard, but remarkably good at keeping up with new technology. It was probably the reason he’d retained a position for so long, even though he’d never see combat again. He’d made himself invaluable, too useful to the higher-ups to throw away like so much garbage.

  “What the ever-living fuck are you doing calling me at this hour?” he growled into the receiver.

  “I need your help, Jack.”

  There was a beat of silence as he processed my words. He knew me. Had known me since I was just a punk kid, joining up at twenty-two. He knew I didn’t ask for help, that I didn’t often need it. The quiet plea in my voice was more proof than he’d ever need as to how serious the situation was.

  “Fine. What do you need, son?”

  I breathed out a sigh of relief. “I need you to track someone. I’m on a protective detail.” I filled him in with the basics.

  “Tell me you have more to go on than her phone.” In the background, I could hear his heavy footfalls going down the stairs. His wife didn’t approve of his side business and had relegated him and his equipment to the basement of their home long ago. “You know that’s the first thing a kidnapper is going to discard.”

  The thought of Mina being abducted right out from under my nose punched me in the stomach and I had to press a palm to the wall to steady myself.

  “I placed a tracker in her necklace,” I managed to choke out. The jewelry had been more than just a Hail-Mary apology gift. It had served the more practical purpose of allowing me to keep track of her. Mina would surely murder me if she knew.

  Jack grunted his approval. His computers took an agonizing amount of time to boot up and then another few minutes to enter the information for Mina’s phone and necklace into the system.

  “The phone is stationary,” Jack reported. “Outside in the parking lot. The necklace is in the same position, though it’s moving some. You should probably go check that.”

  A punch of fear had me taking off at a dead sprint, avoiding a group of tourists who had to scatter in every direction to avoid me. I hurtled through the main lobby and toward the wide set of double doors, leaping around an empty luggage trolley being guided by a startled young bellhop.

  The feeling of foreboding grew stronger as I shot through the door. Something wasn’t right. In fact, I’d bet every damn unwanted cent I owned that something was very wrong.

  If I was mistaken, there would be apologies all around. If not...well, I didn’t want to think about that. I had to find her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mina

  It was official. I was adrift without a plan.

  Outside, in the parking lot—I’d made my way out the back entrance and around to the front—unshed tears formed a knot in my airway, restricting my breathing. As a result, I was dizzy, on edge, and ready to scream at the next person who asked if I was okay. Rumpled, my dress unzipped, I’d stumbled through one of the nicest hotels in Morocco. Anyone with eyes should have been able to see that I was not okay.

  I held back hysterical laughter at just how badly things had spiraled in the last half hour. Surely only an idiot could muck things up so badly in that short amount of time.

  Was this a malicious act on the part of my blackmailer, seeing how far I could be pushed before I went completely crazy and threw myself off the roof of the nearest building? Even that wasn’t an option. Because then, the blackmail was likely to be transferred to Heather in my stead, and what chance did she have of tricking Logan Farraday into ponying up the cash?

  Swearing under my breath, I staggered toward the road, kicking off my heels. I’d only put the damn things on to navigate my way through the Hyatt. The last thing I needed was to be stopped by some busybody staff member for violating their “no shoes, no shirt, no service” policy.

  It was just past midnight. I’d never visited Casablanca before and couldn’t be sure of their cab policy. Could I get a ride back to the docks at this time of night?

  As I was contemplating the bustling traffic, someone approached me from behind. Turning slightly, I caught sight of Antony Dennison in his light green Dormeuil suit.

  He sauntered my way in the company of three men who looked very much like bodyguards. I hadn’t seen any of these men at the dinner table, but it was the mark of good security that they’d remained unobtrusive. It made sense that someone with as much influence and money as Dennison would keep a few security guards on retainer. There were plenty of unsavory elements just waiting to mug a wealthy man and drain his considerable bank accounts.

  “Well hello there, love,” Dennison purred, his British accent even more pronounced as he slipped into the casual tone. “I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed to be having a bit of a row with Mr. Farraday. I thought you might need help.”

  My brow furrowed. What was he still doing here? The dinner was over and most of the other attendees had appeared to have gone to their rooms when I passed the dining room. What was Dennison doing out so late? Surely he hadn’t decided to wait for me? I’d gotten the vaguest whiff of interest from him, but I’d chalked it up to the dress and my attempts to be charming. Now I could have sworn he was leering at me.

  Dennison’s eyes swept slowly from my bare feet to the crown of my head and lingered there.

  “I like what you’ve done with your hair,” he drawled, contempt dripping from his voice. “Last minute dye-job?”

  A shiver of panic ran its way down my spine and I once again cursed myself for my own stupidity. I’d left the wig in the custodial closet along with my ripped panties and shattered dignity. I could have smacked myself for being so careless.

  I was once again struck by the sense of eerie familiarity I’d felt with Mr. Dennison and tried to find the source of my disquiet. He hadn’t made any overt threats toward me thus far, and yet...

  I strained my memory, searching for the exact time and date I’d heard his name before. It was hard to concentrate through the prickling sense of panic that had me backing up several steps toward the road.

  A memory flashed before my eyes at the exact moment that Antony spoke.

  “You know, it’s fortunate you turned up here, Miss
Blakely,” he said, taking another sidling step closer. His bodyguards pressed in on every side, blocking my escape.

  My heart adopted a gallop that Seabiscuit would have been proud of.

  “I d-don’t know what you’re talking about Mr. D-Dennison.”

  Subtle, Blakely, real subtle. Why don’t you just scream “I’m a filthy liar” instead?

  His smirk grew even more pronounced and his handsome face seemed just as unpleasant to me now as it had been the day we’d met. I should have booted him out of my office the moment I laid eyes on him. A girl had to trust her gut.

  Because now I remembered exactly where I’d met this man. Six years ago, almost to the day, I’d assigned one of my first girls, Clara, to act as Antony Dennison’s lover on a cruise. The details had been sketchy, and I hadn’t entirely bought his lonely bachelor schtick then. But our business had only just begun to stand on its own shaky legs. So I’d swallowed back my reservations and assigned a Hustler to his job. Clara had come back unscathed and unruffled, so I’d chalked it up to nerves. I regretted that now.

  The recognition must have flickered across my face because his smirk blossomed into a grin worthy of a Bond villain.

  I nearly bolted into traffic, ready to take my chances with the cars speeding along the highway.

  “Ah, now you remember.”

  I whipped the mace I’d purchased at the mall out of my purse in a lightning-fast movement, aiming the spray at his eyes. One of his bodyguards seized my wrist in a bone-crushing grip and twisted, the spray staining his second-rate suit as the can went clattering harmlessly to the pavement.

  “Get her to the car, Gordon,” Dennison instructed, switching abruptly from jovial to bored. “And see to it she doesn’t scream.”

  I twisted like a fish on the line, trying in vain to escape the grip of my captor. I might as well have been battering against a brick wall, for all the good it did me. Gordon’s other hand shot out, sausage-like fingers wrapping around my windpipe, choking off the scream before it could exit my throat.