The Dangerous Billionaire

by Jackie Ashenden

  They all knew, of course, who it was buying it.

  Cesare de Santis, their father’s bitter enemy and past owner of DS Corp, one of the country’s biggest defense companies. Oh, and Chloe’s father.

  The man who’d tried to steal Noah’s claim on the oil strike that had made the Tate fortune. A man the Tates needed to be careful of. One day, Noah had said, de Santis would try to bring them down as sure as the sky was blue.

  Well, the sky wasn’t fucking blue today and Cesare wasn’t going to touch anything Tate—and that included Chloe. Who was glaring at him and very definitely not getting away from that fucking parapet.

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?” Van growled, stalking over to her. “Get away from the edge.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if anyone’s watching this house you’ve just announced your presence to the whole damn world.”

  “What?” She frowned, but took a couple of steps away from the parapet all the same, thank Christ. “I don’t know that they.…” She stopped, her face gradually going pale. “Oh.”

  Van did not like her expression one bit. “‘Oh’? What do you mean ‘oh’?”

  She glanced at the view behind her. “I thought I saw a flash of something in the building opposite just now. I was trying to spot what it was but…”

  Foreboding turned over inside him, cold and heavy. “What kind of flash?”

  “Um, like a reflection, I think. Off glass or something.” Her brows drew together. “It couldn’t have been anything.”

  Of course it could’ve.

  Cesare de Santis was finally making his move on the Tates now that Noah was dead; both on the company and now on the family.

  This was not good. The man was hugely wealthy, hugely powerful, and as one of the biggest suppliers of weapons to the military, he had friends in very, very high places. If he wanted the Tates taken down, then he would take the Tates down.

  And, Christ, Chloe …

  Instantly Van was in military mode.

  “Get into the house,” he ordered and she must have heard the don’t-fuck-with-me note in his voice because this time she went without a protest.

  Van reached around and took out his Glock from the back of his suit pants, moving over to the edge of the roof while keeping his gun low and out of sight. He didn’t bother to look like he didn’t know what was going on—no point now if Chloe had been spotted—leaning out and scanning the building opposite. He couldn’t see anything, but as he was about to go back inside, someone came out of the door at street level and began walking away.

  It wouldn’t have looked at all suspicious if Van hadn’t been alert to the fact that the timing was pretty weird and if the guy hadn’t glanced up at the Tate building as he stepped out. But the man did and as soon as he spotted Van, he began to run.

  Van didn’t waste any time. He leapt up onto the parapet and was over the side of the building before the man on the ground had taken more than a couple of steps. Luckily Van knew the Tate building well. He knew all the entrances and exits, which windows were accessible and which were not, where all the pipes were, and even how the fucking place was wired. So he knew there was a fire escape just below the parapet and he knew he could climb down it because he’d practiced it many times, during the day and in the dark. He could fucking climb it with his eyes closed—in fact, he had.

  So it took him no time at all to launch himself down the side, reach the sidewalk, and take off after the guy. The man had maybe a minute’s lead, but obviously hadn’t trained as frequently or as well as Van because Van found himself gaining on him pretty rapidly.

  His instinct was to take out the guy’s legs with a couple of well-placed shots, but he was in broad daylight, in the middle of the city. And even though it was New York, people would probably notice. So he kept his piece down and low at his side as he ran, his focus on his target. Who was unexpectedly slowing.

  Van put on a burst of speed, but it was too late.

  A car was parked by curb up ahead, and the man pulled open the door and flung himself inside before Van could catch up. Van made a grab for the door, but the car pulled away with a screech of tires, leaving him grabbing at empty air.

  He cursed, coming to a halt, adrenaline raging inside him, suddenly aware that there were a whole lot of people standing around looking at him. Oh yeah, this was going to look good. The Tate heir running around like a madman on the streets with a fucking gun. Great. His CO was not going to enjoy him drawing attention to himself, that was for fucking sure.

  Sliding his Glock into the pocket of his jacket, he settled his clothing back into place and, ignoring the stares, managed a sedate walk back to the house as if nothing had happened.

  Chloe was standing in the entranceway with her arms folded, her chin at a belligerent angle. She looked angry, yet her face was pale. And if he wasn’t much mistaken, concern glittered in the depths of her dark eyes.

  Yeah, well, she should be concerned. By taking a tour around the rooftop terrace, she’d just alerted a very dangerous man to her presence in New York.

  “Are you okay?” she asked in cross voice. “What happened? I saw you go over the side of the building.”

  He stared at her. Why the hell was she asking about him? He was a goddamn SEAL. He was fine. It was her own personal safety she should be worried about.

  She saw you go over the side of a building, holding a gun. It might actually be you she’s worried about. Ever think of that?

  No, quite frankly he hadn’t. And it struck him weirdly, because he couldn’t remember the last time someone had worried about him.

  Certainly his father never had. The old bastard never showed anything beyond a curt nod when he approved of something or a slow shake of his head when he didn’t. Praise wasn’t something he gave out, and as for a smile, or even a pat on the back, forget it. He’d been very much of the “hard work is its own reward” school of parenting.

  Van had come to hate it, of course. Nothing had made him feel more like a figurehead, the Tate heir, than Noah’s lack of anything resembling fatherly warmth or affection. Many times all he’d wanted a simple heartfelt “Well done, son.” But he’d never gotten even that, not matter how hard he’d worked for it. In fact, the only affection he’d ever gotten had been those few hugs from Chloe.

  Back then, her open-hearted acceptance of him had been balm to his soul, but now? After the mission in Columbia where he’d lost Sofia?

  Yeah, after that he’d hardened the fuck up, and he didn’t need anyone worried about him or any of that “feelings” bullshit that went along with it these days.

  “There is a fire escape down the side,” he said brusquely, shoving away the strange sense of exposure Chloe’s worry had uncovered and filling the hole it left with anger. “Some asshole in the building opposite must have seen you, because I saw him leaving. And when he spotted me, he ran. I went after him, but I didn’t catch him unfortunately.”

  “Oh.” She unfolded her arms and shoved her hands in her pockets. That’s not so good.”

  “‘That’s not so good’?” he echoed, fucking pissed now, the adrenaline pumping through his system desperately needing an outlet. “What the fuck were you thinking? I told you not to go outside.”

  Her chin came up, her shoulders going back, squaring herself off as if defending herself against an attack. “You didn’t say anything about the roof garden. And how the hell was I supposed to know there would be some asshole watching the whole damn building?”

  He normally had no issues with keeping hold of his patience when things were going all to hell—as a commander he had to. But for some reason, today that patience felt slippery and difficult to grip, and he wasn’t sure why.

  Yes, he’d had shitty days before, plenty of them. Wasn’t one of the SEAL creeds “The only easy day was yesterday”? So all this crap going down at Tate, plus the fact that Chloe’s location had been revealed, shouldn’t have made him so angry.

  Yet he was. Suddenly
, he was goddamn furious.

  He took a couple of slow, stalking steps toward her, “The roof garden is outside, you little idiot.” He took another step. “Is this a game to you? Did you think I was kidding when I told you to stay inside? That that was some kind of test?”

  She held her ground, scowling. And like always, there was a part of him that admired her sheer guts. She was so much smaller than he was and he was obviously very angry, and yet she wasn’t backing down, a gleam of defiance in her bitter chocolate eyes. “No,” she said. “Of course it isn’t a game. I just wanted some fresh air and didn’t think anyone would see me on the damn roof.”

  A stain of color had appeared on her cheekbones, her hair a black tangle around her shoulders. She looked wild and something like free, and he was suddenly back at the ranch, almost ten years earlier, when the Navy had forced him to take some leave after what had gone down in Columbia.

  It had been a mission to bust open a sex-trafficking ring and it should have been an easy one, but for various reasons the whole thing had gotten fucked up. Van ended up having to take one of the women on the run in order to protect her. For three days they’d gone deeper and deeper into the jungle in an attempt to shake their pursuers. For three days he’d promised he’d save her, get her back to her fiancé. Only to lose her. There had been ten of the pricks and Van had killed every last one, but none of that made any difference. He hadn’t saved Sofia.

  Back home, he’d suffered nightmares and all kinds of shit, and as much as he’d hated having to take leave, going back to the ranch, spending time riding and helping out with ranch work had helped.

  One day he’d been out exercising one of the more restless stallions and he’d unexpectedly met Chloe coming down one of Shadow Peak’s trails. She’d had the same expression on her face then too, color in her sharp little cheekbones, all black hair and bright gleaming eyes.

  Seeing her had been a jolt, an electric shock. She’d been weird with him the whole time he’d been home and he’d gotten the impression she was avoiding him. It hadn’t made him feel any better about himself, he had to admit, even though she wouldn’t have known what had gone down on that mission.

  And he hadn’t known what it was, but suddenly she’d given him a grin as if she hadn’t been able to help herself—the bright, open grin from when she’d been a kid—and then spurred her horse past him, galloping off down the trail like she was riding the Kentucky Derby. He’d watched her for a second, the pain of his failure with Sofia still sharp enough to draw blood, and all of a sudden racing Chloe home had seemed like just the distraction he craved. So he had, urging his own horse after her, racing her all the way back to the house.

  You don’t want to race her right now. You want to do something much worse.

  Ah, fuck.

  She was only a couple of steps away. All it would take was for him to take those steps, close the distance, take her chin in his hand the way he’d done the day before and tip her head back …

  Kiss her. Taste her. Pick her up and take her upstairs …

  No, shit, what the fuck was he thinking? Noah had charged him with protecting her, and Van was pretty sure that protecting her meant not touching her. Ever. He was the Tate heir, for God’s sake. And, Christ, if the old bastard knew what Van was thinking right now, he’d kill him.

  Getting himself under control—which took far more effort than it should have—Van reached into his back pocket and grabbed his phone. “Yeah, well, someone did see you on the damn roof. Which means that Cesare de Santis knows you’re here.”

  She shifted on her feet, looking both angry and defensive. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know this was going to happen.”

  But Van was in no mood for apologies. “Whether you did or not, we need to get out of here right now.”

  “We have to leave? Why?”

  Ignoring her, he typed a two-word text to his brothers that read Leo’s. Now. Then he pushed send and pinned her with a look. “Go get your stuff, we have to move.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Chloe’s first instinct was to tell Van where he could stick his goddamn orders, but his eyes had gone from hazel to pure green with anger, so she knew that being stubborn now was probably not the best course of action. Not after she’d clearly screwed up by stepping out onto that terrace.

  Guilt twisted inside her, which she hated, so she reached for anger instead, opening her mouth to demand he tell her where they were going at least.

  But he forestalled her with a curt, “Now, Chloe.”

  She wanted to argue, but the look on his face was downright terrifying in its contained fury, and since pissing off an already angry stallion was never a good idea, she turned for the stairs and did as she was told.

  Getting her stuff together didn’t take long, mainly because she didn’t have much stuff to get together, and she was back downstairs within ten minutes to find Van already waiting for her.

  He was in that dark gray suit again, with a white shirt, except this time the shirt was buttoned up and he had a forest green silk tie around his neck that made his eyes look greener than they actually were.

  God, he was hot. She really couldn’t deny that he was, not anymore.

  She’d gotten the shock of her life as she’d watched him go over the side of the building, and she’d almost run to the parapet to see if he was okay, only stopping herself at the last minute. She didn’t want to make her mistake any worse and besides, he was some kind of military superhero. He’d be okay.

  Yet she found herself worrying all the same.

  She’d dashed downstairs, reaching the door to go outside, only remembering at the last second yet again that she wasn’t supposed to. So she’d paced around in the entryway instead, going over and over what she would do if he didn’t come back. Not that she could come up with anything other than the fact that if he didn’t, she would be alone. Really and truly alone.

  The thought had made her go completely and utterly cold, which she’d hated. She hated, too, the realization that losing Van would mean losing the one person in the world she was closest to.

  How is he close when you haven’t seen him for eight years?

  Yeah, and she didn’t like that thought either. Not what it said about her and her life or what it said about her relationship with Van. Anyway, hadn’t she dedicated those last eight years to not caring?

  In fact, the thought had pissed her off so much that when the front door had banged opened and he’d come in, his expression taut with anger, his eyes glittering like emeralds, all she’d been able to do was scowl at him, trying to ignore the way her heart had given a kick of sheer relief.

  And then he’d gone and ruined it by getting angry at her, not that he hadn’t had good reason, it had to be said, but still. How was she to know what she should and shouldn’t be doing? That there’d be some asshole in a nearby building watching the house?

  Chloe gripped tight to the strap of her bag as she came down the rest of the stairs. “I still don’t see why we actually have to leave,” she said flatly. “I thought I was supposed to be safe here. And where the hell are we going anyway?”

  The black bag she’d seen earlier up in Van’s room was sitting beside him, and now he bent and picked it up, flinging it over his shoulder. “Later. Right now we need to get out of here. De Santis will know that we know you’ve been spotted, which means he’ll be desperate to get some guys here before I can get you somewhere safer.”

  “What’s he going to do? Kidnap me or something?”

  “Ask me any more questions and we’ll find out.” He turned toward the door. “Come on. We need to go before they get here.”

  “But, what if—”

  “Out,” Van ordered, holding open the door. “The quicker we leave, the more time we’ll have to lose them.”

  Biting her lip, Chloe did as she was told, going down the front steps and onto the sidewalk. Van followed at her heels, moving over to the plain, black sedan he’d picked her up in a couple of d
ays earlier.

  They both got in and a minute or so later Van had pulled into the traffic, heading downtown.

  Chloe stared out the window, realizing with a jolt that she was finally out of the house and actually in New York City, passing by the famous landmarks, watching the crowds of people on the sidewalk. Then they were on a much wider road with lots of lanes, the river on one side, a wall of buildings on the other.

  “Keep your head down.” Van’s deep voice held that same note of authority. “There’s unlikely to be anyone watching now, but no point in making it easy for them.”

  Chloe’s jaw tightened. “I can’t even look out the window?”

  “No. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes anyway.”

  “Be where?”

  But he didn’t answer, pulling out from behind the slow truck he was tailing and putting his foot down. The car gathering speed as it moved sleek and fast through the traffic.

  Okay, he was pissed at her—she got that loud and clear. And sure, he had something to be pissed about. If she’d really thought about it, she might not have gone out on the terrace. Then again, she truly hadn’t expected the whole damn house would be watched.

  A cold thread wound through her as the reality of the danger settled in her gut.

  She’d never really believed all her father’s dire predictions about the threat his old enemy presented, mainly because nothing had ever happened to her. Yes, she’d been protected on the ranch and since she’d never ventured far from it, there hadn’t been any opportunity for anything to happen. Still, she’d always thought Noah was overstating the danger.

  Apparently he hadn’t been.

  “I thought I was safe with you,” she said, breaking the silence in the car. “I mean, that’s the whole reason you brought me here, right?”

  “You are safe with me.” Van glanced into the rearview mirror as he changed lanes. “I’m being cautious. I don’t want you anywhere de Santis even knows about until I’ve got a plan for how to deal with him.”

  “You don’t have a plan?” The cold thread that she refused to call fear pulled a little tighter inside her. “So what the hell have you been doing the past few days then?”