Anything He Wants: Castaway #3

by Sara Fawkes

  “On this, I’m afraid I must insist.” Marie turned back to me. “Ms. Delacourt, for whatever reason a potential terrorist has chosen to reveal himself to you. You’ve seen his face, and are therefore a liability.”

  Chills spread through me, but I frowned.

  “But he didn’t seem to care that I saw him. In fact, he made himself as memorable as possible: why?”

  “We’d like to know the same, which is why for now you’ll be protected. And Mr.

  Hamilton?” When Jeremiah glanced at the Interpol agent, she added, “No more heroics this time. I’ve read your file, I know exactly what happened with you and your men in New York. Any armed “guards” we see on British soil will immediately be detained and we’ll separate you and Ms. Delacourt.”

  If the woman’s threat had any effect on Jeremiah, he hid it well. He didn’t answer however, just held the door open for me as we exited the small room. I was happy to leave, but didn’t like the idea that we’d have an escort.

  “I have reservations at the Carlton Tower...”

  “Too public. My men will take you somewhere safe outside the city.”

  I wondered if she was doing that for our safety, or for the safety of any innocent bystanders. As far as we knew, the bombing in Dubai had been meant for the Hamilton brothers but had missed both, instead im-pacting guests of the hotel. Guilt skewered me and I glanced up at Jeremiah, but he was as unreadable as ever.

  There were so many questions I needed to know, but it all boiled down to one: why?

  Why was Jeremiah being targeted? Why was the billionaire helping me? And why was I being brought into the whole mess?

  If I’d hoped to be riding in separate vehicles, I was sorely mistaken. We walked for a while before heading outside into the chill London air. A black car was waiting for us, and as we drew closer I realized it was a very different sort of cab. For a girl who’d grown used to the cabbies of New York City, the boxy vehicle was definitely outside my norm.

  “This is your safest transport?”

  Jeremiah’s displeasure was obvious, but Marie just shrugged. “This will blend in with the rest of the city and hopefully throw off any others trying to track you.”

  The biting wind was leeching through my clothing, and I ducked into the vehicle. It was as spacious as it looked from the outside and I scooted to the far side of the vehicle.

  The car rocked slightly as Jeremiah stepped inside and paused, peering around the enclosed space. I stared out the window, re-fusing to look at him, but saw him pause for a moment before taking the seat furthest from me diagonally.

  It was hypocritical of me, but the fact that he stayed far away from me hurt.

  The drive out of town was a silent affair. I couldn’t even enjoy the sights because his presence overshadowed everything. It would have been the perfect chance to ask my questions, except I was afraid of what I’d hear.

  There was no escape in that moving cab; I’d be trapped, forced to deal with whatever he said.

  I was too much of a coward, so kept my silence.

  It wasn’t until we got out into the British countryside that I started noticing our surroundings more. I had no idea how far we’d be going, but the scenes grew more pastoral and rustic as the cab ate up the miles. The sun poked through the dreary clouds only a few times before sinking below the horizon.

  Even in the fading light, I could see the green hills dotted with white sheep. As we drove further I felt a small smile lift one corner of my mouth. I’d been to London as a child, but never around the country itself. Stonework homes straight out of medieval times were interspersed with modern buildings and vehicles, creating a fascinating dichotomy.

  “I thought you would like to know, Amyrah is okay.”

  My heart skipped at his words, and a burden I’d been carrying was lifted from my heart. I laid my head against the glass in relief, not trusting myself to speak for a moment. “How did it happen?” I finally asked “I don’t know, my plane was already in the air when my men sent me the news.” He paused, then added in a softer tone, “I don’t think Rashid made it.”

  My eyes fluttered closed, sadness for Amyrah’s loss weighing on my mind. “Why is this happening?” I whispered.

  I thought the question had been lost in the rumble of the cab’s noise, but Jeremiah still answered after a moment of silence. “I don’t know.”

  “Why does he hate you so much that he’d kill innocent people?” I looked away from the window back to Jeremiah.

  “I think we’re only an excuse for him, a way for him to kill people and lay the blame at another’s feet.”

  “It’s like Archangel all over again,” I mumbled, remembering the assassin who’d been sent after Jeremiah. I’d foiled his plans, and barely survived my two encounters. Fear settled around me again. “I saw his face, now he’s going to...”

  I couldn’t finish. A chill prickled my skin, permeating down to my bones, then there was a rustle of clothes and Jeremiah was beside me. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

  “Why?” I looked him square in the eye, too drained to feel shame or sorrow over the rift between us. “What am I to you any-more?” What was I ever to you?

  “Because...” Jeremiah reached for me, then I saw his hand clench into a fist.

  “Because...”

  I laid my fingers on his lips. “Never mind,” I said softly, rubbing my thumb over his chin. Light stubble had already made it rough, and I dropped my hand to my lap and leaned into him. “Just hold me. Please.”

  His arms almost immediately went around me and I curled against his body, reveling in the feeling of being held.

  Chapter 13

  It was close to the middle of the night when we finally stopped in front of a stone house.

  Rain had started to drizzle on the car at some point, but I’d been curled on the seat, passed out with my head in Jeremiah’s lap. As I came back to consciousness, I noticed he laid his jacket over me. I appreciated the warmth and nuzzled his leg as our driver got out and went into the large house.

  Jeremiah’s crotch was just above my face.

  My brain still sleep befuddled, I reached out and stroked the bulge through the trousers. I felt his thigh muscles clench beneath me as Jeremiah let out a quick breath, but otherwise he didn’t move. Under my hand he quickly grew, and I massaged his hard length with the heel of my hand.

  Fingers clamped down on my wrist like a vise, holding me in place. I turned my head up to see Jeremiah staring down at me, his green eyes glinting in the faint light. Shame coursed through me and I rolled upright, trying to scoot away, but Jeremiah kept his hold on my wrist. “Let me go.”

  “Lucy...”

  Beside me, the door opened, letting in a rush of chill air. I turned to see one of the agents, and felt the grip around my wrist lessen. Tearing my hand free, I quickly exited the car, moving sideways as Jeremiah followed. He didn’t approach me however, and I realized when I saw his white shirt that I still wore his coat.

  “This way,” one of the other guards said, his British accent thick, and I followed him around the entrance as our cab drove away.

  A fog had seeped over the countryside, and the air remained wet and chilled. Despite myself, I burrowed into the coat, wrapping it around me to block out the cold. It smelled of Jeremiah, who trailed behind me, and my hands clenched around the thick fabric.

  As we moved around the house, I realized it wasn’t actually a home but a bed and breakfast. The open lot that I assumed was meant for parking was deserted; we seemed to be the only guests.

  “We stay here for the night and move again tomorrow,” the young blonde agent told us, stopping in front of a green door. He knocked three times, then the door opened and another heavyset agent with dark hair stepped out. The other agent nodded, and the younger agent motioned us toward the door. “Through here.”

  The entryway led into a short hallway with rooms on either side. “These are your rooms for the night.”

  I turned t
he knob to the one closest to me and peeked inside. A small lamp was already lit, highlighting the floral wallpaper lining the walls. It was quaint, enough room for a queen bed and a dresser. The bathroom was at the end of the hall, apparently to be shared between our rooms.

  “Get some sleep, we’ll be heading out at first light.”

  “Where are we going?” Jeremiah asked. I turned back to see the frown on his brow.

  “We were never told our destination.”

  “For now that’s privileged information, but tonight I can promise you’ll stay safe.”

  He looked at each of us in turn, nodding his head. “Ms. Delacourt, Mr. Hamilton.” Then he stepped back and closed the door, leaving us alone in the hallway.

  My fingers curled around the doorway to the room I'd chosen. To say I was nervous was an understatement, but it felt rude to just close the door without saying goodnight.

  All I wanted to do was run away “Lucy, we should talk...”

  “No.” I held up a hand, shaking my head as I backed into my room. “There's nothing more to talk about.” I bit my tongue to keep from saying anything else. I could apologize every day from now to eternity, and it wouldn't erase what I'd done. The CEO of Hamilton Industries never struck me as the forgiving kind, and I knew I wouldn't survive any punishment he intended to mete out.

  One thick hand wedged itself between the door and frame. Against my better judgment, I peeked outside. Jeremiah stared down at me through that narrow sliver, more emotion than I'd seen all day contorting his face.

  The knuckles on his hand were white from his grip on the frame. “Lucy,” he started, but didn't seem to know what to say any more than me. His stare was intense, almost pleading, but Jeremiah Hamilton didn't beg.

  Everyone knew this.

  Frustration welled up inside of me.

  “What do we have to talk about?” I asked, my hand gripping the door handle tight. “You made your feelings clear in Dubai and I can't...” I took a shaky breath. “More happened on that ship you don't know about, but it doesn't matter. As you so eloquently put it, I f...fucked Lucas.” I stumbled over the word, my knees trembling. “And I can't take that back.”

  This time, Jeremiah didn't flinch. “I should have kept you safe.”

  “Bullshit. This wasn't your fault.” Exhaus-tion spread through me like a wave; I was too tired to argue any more. I closed my eyes, shutting his overwhelming presence out as best I could. “Good night, Jeremiah.”

  “Lucy...”

  The one word was as broken a plea as I'd ever heard. I hid behind the door as tears pricked my eyes and I covered my mouth with one hand, unable to speak. Jeremiah’s hand left the doorframe, and it took everything in me to put it shut those meager few inches.

  Once more, I was alone.

  And my heart had fallen to pieces all over again.

  I couldn't sleep, too plagued by grief and worry. The safety net I’d had in Jeremiah was all but gone; there was no comfort to be had now. All I did was toss and turn all night until the sky outside grew light.

  The small clock beside my bed barely registered five in the morning when there came a sharp knock on my door and the agent’s voice said, “We need to head out.”

  Groaning against the pillow, I rolled over and onto my feet. Rubbing the sleep, or lack thereof, from my eyes, I smoothed out my rumpled clothing and stumbled to the door. I hated that I was still in these clothes, and hoped I'd get some new ones soon. A shower also sounded lovely, but I didn't want to run into Jeremiah so bathroom breaks were quick.

  I poked my head out the door and, seeing it was empty, stepped out into the hall. Unsure whether Jeremiah was still inside his room or not, I hurried out to the main part of the bed and breakfast. The low light of dawn shone through one window, and a few lamps were on inside the bigger room. Along one wall was a tray of pastries and packets of jam. Considering how rushed everyone seemed, I doubted there would be time for breakfast, so grabbed a couple scones and muffins for a quick snack.

  There was a shuffle on the far end of the room and I saw the two agents from yester-day enter the room. The older man stepped forward. "Are you two ready to go?"

  I started to nod, then watched in confusion as the younger blond agent picked up a decorative bottle and slammed it behind the other man's head. The older agent went down, crumpling in a heap on the ground.

  The blond man stepped over his partner, his face screwed up in regret.

  My confusion turned to horror as he un-strapped his sidearm and pulled it free. "I'm so sorry about this," he told me, screwing on a long silencer, then raised the gun and pointed it at me.

  A month ago, I would have died at that moment. My feet would have been rooted to the ground in shock, my brain unable to believe this could be happening. I would have stood my ground, and been shot to death by the agent.

  It was amazing the difference a very scary month made in a girl's reaction times. I'd probably need therapy after this.

  "Jeremiah," I screamed, dropping the pastries and bolting for the still-open hallway door toward our rooms. I heard the un-mistakable pop of the weapon as I cleared the door, and a gauge appeared in the wall behind me, dangerously close to my shoulder. I shut the door and raced for my room, the agent in hot pursuit.

  There was no escape from my room except the window and the door, and that second option wasn't really a choice.

  However, the small room afforded me nothing in the way of protection; if he started shooting through the door, he’d be certain to hit me. “Jeremiah,” I wailed, kneeling into the far corner as something slammed against my door.

  There was the sound of scuffling outside, then grunting noises from at least two indi-viduals. I heard two more bullets splinter through the walls, then a truncated cry.

  Worried for Jeremiah’s safety, I crept forward and pulled the door open a crack.

  Jeremiah’s head snapped toward me.

  “Stay inside, I don't know how many others there are.”

  I took a shaky breath when I saw the gun in his hand and not the agent’s. The blond man was on the floor, both hands in the air and a grimace of pain on his face. “He knocked out his partner,” I said, chills coursing through me at the sight of my assailant groaning on the floor. I hid behind the door, knowing it was a futile gesture if another gunman showed up. "Why did he attack us?”

  “I don't know, and I don't care.”

  “He took my family.”

  I looked back down at the agent who was struggling upright. He paused when he saw his gun in Jeremiah's hand, the muzzle trained at the agent’s head. One of his arms was cradled against his chest, but he looked desperate. “He said that I needed to...”

  “We needed to die and your family would be released?”

  The guilt on the other man’s face answered Jeremiah’s gruff question. The billionaire glared down at the man at his feet, then lifted the gun. “We’re leaving,” he said, and beckoned to me.

  “No!”

  There was a shuffle on the floor, and Jeremiah lowered the gun back to the other agent and calmly pulled the trigger. The agent gasped, and dropped the smaller weapon he had in his hand. It clunked against the ground as the agent panted, holding his leg with his one good hand.

  “Give me your phone. Now.”

  It took several seconds but the agent sifted through his pockets then lifted up a bloody object, hands trembling. Jeremiah took the cellphone from the agent, then held his hand out to me. “Come on.”

  I wasn't sure it was safe yet but didn't want to stay here, so I took his hand and stepped carefully over the prone agent. “I'm sorry about your family,” I murmured as Jeremiah ushered me out and toward the exit.

  Before we went out the main door, Jeremiah leaned down and checked the pulse of the older gent still slumped on the floor. “He's alive,” he told me, then rummaged through the man’s pockets for the car keys and dragged me outside.

  It felt weird getting into the passenger seat on what my brain thoug
ht of as the driver’s side. “Where are we going?” I asked as Jeremiah started up the black cab car.

  “Don't know, but we can't stay here.”

  We’d barely gotten on the road when the cellphone in Jeremiah’s pocket rang. We shared a look, then he answered the call, setting it on speakerphone.

  “Status on the cargo?”

  Marie’s accented voice was easily recog-nizeable, but for whatever reason her words gave me chills. She wasn't in on this deal, was she?

  “Still alive,” Jeremiah growled, “This cargo is going to find its own way home.”

  There was a pause, and I could almost see the woman asking people around her to trace the call. “What have you done with my men?”

  “Your agent was compromised and attacked us first, said a mysterious “he” had his family. I think we all know who he meant.”

  “Mr. Hamilton, just stay where you are.

  We will come and sort this out...”

  "No." Jeremiah's answer was short and sweet. "We tried it your way, now it's my turn."

  "Mr. Hamilton, if you try to bring your militia over here and start an international incident..."

  "This already is international, Ms. Gautier, or have you forgotten Dubai? If I find anything, I'll let your office know immediately. Goodbye.”

  He shut off the speakerphone first but I could hear the strident tones of the Interpol agent before he ended the call. He rolled down the window and chucked the phone out, then sped up down the narrow road.

  "We need to find another vehicle and a phone."

  "The red boxes are public phones I think; maybe the next town will have one."

  "What else happened on that ship?"

  His question surprised me. I glared at him. "You want to talk about this now?"

  "Yes."

  I sighed and stared out the window.

  "Your brother saved my life. Twice.” I reached up and touched the nick on my throat. The wound hadn’t even finished heal-ing. “Once from another gunrunner who, um, wanted a go, and then from a saboteur with a knife to my throat."

  We were silent for a while before he spoke again. "Is that why you slept with him?"