Trial by Fire

by Tricia Andersen

  “You have a meeting at Panda Publications tomorrow morning,” Gordon chided as he opened the back door of the Hummer for him.

  “Well aware,” Sloan countered as he slid in. He settled himself in the back seat and began checking his email as Gordon climbed in behind the wheel.

  “It’s three in the morning. I know you’ll oversleep.”

  “Ask me if I care.”

  “Sloan.”

  Sloan dropped his smartphone in his lap. “Panda is nothing more than a hobby. They want to fire me? Let them. What they pay me is pocket change compared to my art and my investments. Besides, Aubrey wouldn’t think of it. She adores me.”

  He heard the older man exhale exasperatedly as he pulled into traffic. Sloan chuckled as he went back to his email.

  Of course, Gordon was right. He slept too late. It didn’t mean he was going to hurry. He dressed methodically and then had a cup of coffee. A half hour before he was to be at Panda, he stepped out of his penthouse and shut the door. With the traffic the way it was, he wouldn’t get there in time. Gordon was visibly furious when he stepped out of the building.

  Sloan strode through the cubicles behind the scurrying receptionist. He grinned. He knew the eyes of the entire staff were on him. They always were every time he graced them with his presence. He nodded his thanks to the girl as he reached for the doorknob. She giggled as she rushed off to her desk. He pushed the door open silently.

  “When he is on my and Panda Publication’s dime, he does.”

  Ah. Must be my cue. “You wouldn’t be talking about me, would you, Aubrey?” he crooned before pressing a kiss to his publisher’s cheek. The slight smile she gave told him he had charmed her as usual. Then he looked up to greet his new partner in this project. Another matronly librarian, I’m sure.

  His breath caught in his throat. His pulse picked up a notch. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. He could only stare into the most beautiful hazel eyes he had ever seen. He had never seen a woman so perfect. The women he usually encountered lived with one purpose—to seduce. They didn’t want him. They wanted his fame and money. He thought all of them were like that. But not this one. This one was innocent and true. Or at least she seemed that way at first glance.

  He snapped himself back. He had to look like a dolt to her.

  He forced a slow smile on his face. There. At least try to look intelligent. Sloan took the beautiful woman’s hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. “Good morning. My name is Sloan. And you are?”

  “Abbey,” she squeaked. Her cheeks tinged pink. The color made her lovelier, if that was even possible. Sloan fought the urge to kiss her reddening face.

  “You’re the author of this fabulous book?”

  “And you are?” she demanded.

  Aubrey pointed to the empty seat across the table from Abbey. Sloan had never obeyed anyone that fast in all his life. He sank into his chair without taking his eyes off the little author. “Sloan is your illustrator,” Aubrey announced.

  Aubrey started to break down the details of the contract. Sloan’s gaze raked over Abbey. Her curves were breathtaking. Her long, brown hair looked soft as silk. He wanted to knot his fingers in it as he kissed her. What would she taste like? What would her body feel like against his when they made love? Did she like French toast? He would make it for her when they woke up in the morning.

  Sloan was struck by the thought of her sleeping in his bed. He never let any woman sleep in his bed. He didn’t even bring women into his home. Ever. Moreover, he didn’t want this one to spend one night there. He wanted her to spend forever there.

  He gazed into her eyes again. He could see her cuddled against him with his hand on her rounded stomach, knowing the baby she carried was his.

  He was startled as Abbey suddenly stood. “I can’t do this.” She fled from the room like a frightened doe. Aubrey, muttering under her breath, shut the file and followed. Sloan slowly stood and stepped toward the door, ignoring the murmurs of the voices behind him. He wasn’t about to let the woman of his dreams escape. He’d lie, cheat, and steal to keep her.

  Sloan looked up as his cell door opened. He shook the memory from his brain. Abbey hadn’t come to him yet. He needed to face facts, that she might never come. He rose and offered his wrists to be cuffed, sighing as the guard roughly grabbed hold to lead him to the visitation room.

  He looked, puzzled, at Logan seated alone at one of the metal tables. The lawyer’s briefcase sat propped against the leg. One lone folder lay in front of him. Sloan dropped into the empty chair. “Where’s Ashleigh?”

  “We need to have this meeting alone, Sloan,” Logan answered quietly.

  Sloan glared at Logan uneasily. “What’s wrong, Logan?”

  “I’ve spoken to Liam and Gordon. We’re in agreement. I can’t win this case. We believe it’s in the best interest of Sloan Enterprises if you sign over the assets of the company to Abbey immediately, giving her the majority stake in the company.”

  “You found her.”

  Logan remained silent.

  Sloan shook his head. “You’ve all written me off. I’m just a commodity. I might as well be dead to all of you.”

  “Sloan, please. Don’t make this worse than it is.”

  Sloan growled at his lawyer.

  Logan opened the file and slid it in front of Sloan. “Everything is self-explanatory.”

  Sloan snarled once more before he looked down at the paperwork. His eyes widened. There were no contracts. Instead, there was a hotel room service menu with a bright yellow sticky note plastered to it. Sloan slowly read the scrawl on the scrap of paper.

  Abbey has been in Belfast this whole time looking for whoever framed you. She knows it’s Fitzgerald. She’s about to meet with Ulrich in Amsterdam to prove it.

  Sloan’s heart slammed in his chest. Abbey was here in Belfast. But she wasn’t sitting in the courtroom, weeping quietly. She was lying, cheating, and scheming her way to the truth, just like he would.

  He rushed to his feet, nearly lunging across the table. “You have to stop her.”

  Logan rose and leaned close, nearly touching noses with his boss. “I promise you I’ll try,” he muttered low, so that no one could hear him. His voice rose again. “Just sign the form, Sloan.”

  Sloan looked down at the pen, then stepped back and sat again. He stared at the note once more before writing.

  Stop, luv. Please. Go home.

  He shut the file and set the pen on top of it. Shoving it all back to Logan, he stood again. “Please.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thank you.” Sloan motioned for the guard, not looking back at Logan as he was led to his lonely cell. His mind wandered. He had thought that Abbey no longer loved him. That couldn’t be further from the truth. She didn’t abandon him. She was rescuing him.

  »»•««

  Logan strode down the street toward the small outdoor café, avoiding the stares of those he passed. People had been staring from the moment he had stepped into that courtroom. Yes, he knew he was American. Yes, he was the lawyer on the evening news every night sitting as the defense’s second council. No, he didn’t need a reminder of who he was defending. He knew very well whom.

  He stepped inside, glancing around at the sparse patrons seated both inside and out of the restaurant. Most of them chatted together. One woman in a simple white dress and a large white sunhat sat alone, engrossed in her newspaper. The hostess scurried to greet him. “May I help you?”

  Logan pointed to the empty table next to the woman. “Could I sit there, please?”

  The hostess scanned him head to toe with a scowl.

  Yep, she recognizes me. Fantastic.

  “Of course, sir. Follow me.”

  She led him to the table, setting the menu down in the empty place. He settled in his chair and then smiled at the woman reading the paper. His eyes rested on the large diamond ring on her finger. “Why is a beautiful woman like you dining alone?”

/>   The woman lowered her paper, revealing waves of long blonde hair and large sunglasses hiding her eyes. But Logan wasn’t fooled. He’d know her anywhere. He had proposed to her. However, she hadn’t scoured half the United Kingdom for him.

  She smiled sweetly. “My husband is tied up at the moment. I’m left to my own devices.”

  Logan groaned. The puns were a little much. “If I were your husband, I wouldn’t let such a lovely creature out of my sight. I would make sure she was at home.”

  The woman rolled up her newspaper and attempted to hit him with it. “The nerve! Flirting with a married woman!”

  “No disrespect, ma’am. But Belfast is a dangerous city.”

  The woman slid her sunglasses down her nose and smirked. Logan’s fear that he was talking to a perfect stranger disappeared as Abbey’s mischievous hazel eyes met his. “I’m well aware. I’m a big girl.”

  “With all the danger, I would believe your husband wouldn’t want you here. You should be home. Not here. And certainly not in more devious places.”

  “I’m not leaving without him.” Abbey slid her sunglasses back over her eyes and went back to reading the paper. Logan shook his head and then picked up his menu. He reached inside his suit coat. Then he slipped the sticky note inside and closed it.

  “I see you don’t have a menu. Would you like to use mine?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You really should take a look at the shepherd’s pie. It sounds amazing.”

  Abbey took the menu from him in exasperation and opened it. She tugged her glasses from her face as they locked on the page. Slipping her fingers underneath, she loosened the note and then discreetly pulled a pen from her purse.

  Abbey shot a glance at Logan before she quickly scribbled on the small piece of paper. Then she pressed the note back where it started and handed it to him. “I’m so sorry. I have to go. My plane is about to leave.”

  Logan watched as Abbey disappeared among the crowd on the busy street. Then he opened the menu. Beneath Sloan’s scrawl, there was a response.

  I’m so sorry. I love you so much. I can’t stop until you’re safe. Please forgive me.

  Logan exhaled as he ripped the note off the page and stuffed it into his pocket. As hungry as he was, he wasn’t in the mood to eat. He stood, dropped a few bills on the table, and strode down the sidewalk to his rental ear.

  It baffled Logan why it took nearly an hour to get through security at the prison. The guards seemed puzzled to see him again. With a smirk, he lifted the folder in his hand. “Missed a signature. I’ll be in and out.”

  He was escorted to the same metal table he had sat at earlier that day. Shuffling his papers, he pulled a few free and stuffed them in the manila folder. He rummaged through his pocket for the sticky note and slapped it inside.

  Logan glanced around the long, bare room. The pale blue walls were dotted with barred windows. A dozen metal tables were scattered around, each with a couple of chairs. An old television was mounted in the corner of the room. Logan hated this area. He hated this whole place. He couldn’t wait to get back to Minneapolis.

  He jolted as the door slammed open. Sloan shuttled between the two guards toward him. He was shoved roughly into the chair opposite of Logan. The lawyer could see the anxious look in the Irishman’s ice-blue eyes.

  “I suppose you have more documents for me to sign?” Sloan rumbled.

  “I do.” Logan shoved the folder in front of Sloan. He watched as Sloan ripped it open, his eyes searching desperately. They locked onto the note and then closed slowly.

  “Please keep her safe,” Sloan begged.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes,” Logan promised.

  “Do Robert, Bartholomew, Liam, and Gordon know?”

  “Gordon is responsible. He told the rest of us.”

  “Thank you.” Sloan stared down at his bound hands. “She’s my everything, Logan.”

  “I know. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”

  “Thank you.” Sloan motioned to the guards to return him to his cell. Not that they’d gone very far. By the smirks on their faces, they’d heard enough. Sloan would soon spend his life in a Northern Ireland prison.

  Logan stood and made his way to the door. He fought back his own smile. Let them think what they wanted. It couldn’t be further from the truth. Sloan wasn’t about to be sentenced to life. He was about to be freed.

  »»•««

  She had never seen anything like it. Never. Abbey scurried to keep up with her stepfather. When he said they were going to Amsterdam, she didn’t remember the city’s reputation. Now she was hurrying down the sidewalk bathed in a red neon glow. Nearly naked women adorned the windows.

  Of course the meeting with Fitzgerald’s associate would be in a sex club. Why would she expect anything else? She could feel the warm love of Tom Morrison fade away. The cold, domineering image of Sloan O’Riley took his place. This seems like a place he’d frequent. All I know is I’m ready to go home. She nudged closer to him as they weaved through the raucous crowd.

  Gordon stopped at the door and opened it for her. She glanced up at the colorful sign above. “And this is?”

  “A sex club. Stay close to me.”

  “There won’t be a problem there. Mom is going to freak out if she ever finds out.”

  “Truthfully? That’s my biggest worry. Let’s keep it between us. All right?”

  “Definitely.”

  Gordon paid their admission and then guided her through the dark club. Abbey kept her eyes focused ahead of her. What was happening on stage was disturbing enough. “Sloan likes this stuff?”

  “Not particularly. But no one questions black market deals when this is going on around them.”

  “Good point.”

  “Simon McKenna.”

  They stopped short at the sound of the name. A round, bald man spread out across the booth. At first glance he seemed slimy to Abbey. A petite redhead was curled up next to him.

  “Ulrich. Good to see you,” Gordon greeted.

  “Is it.” Ulrich nodded to Abbey. “Didn’t think the old ball and chain would agree to you coming with an escort.”

  “She’s not an escort, you imbecile. I’d like you to meet Abigail Morrison. And when we free her husband she can go back to her better known surname. O’Riley.”

  Ulrich cocked his head at her. “That’s too bad. You’re a beauty.”

  “Thanks.” Abbey dropped into the chair Gordon pulled out for her. “What do you know about Fitzgerald?”

  “Get to the point, don’t you, beautiful?”

  “I don’t have a whole lot of time. The trial is almost over. So did Fitzgerald set the bomb?”

  Ulrich sat back and crossed his arms. The leering look on his face gave Abbey the creeps. “Yes, he did.”

  “How do you know? I need facts.”

  “He told me so. Do you think your husband is the only one I do business with? I work with who pays me more at the time. And at the time Tom Morrison was flat broke.”

  Abbey reached in her back pocket and pulled free her checkbook. She slapped it on the table. “That may be true. But Sloan O’Riley is as loaded as hell. So talk.”

  “Two million.”

  “If I give you the money, you’ll give me reliable information to nail Fitzgerald to the wall.”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine.” She opened the checkbook.

  Ulrich laughed. “You don’t know how this works. Do you?”

  Abbey frowned. “I’m sorry?”

  “Abigail, put the checkbook away,” Gordon chided.

  “I’m not taking your check to the bank,” Ulrich scoffed. “That will raise questions I don’t want to answer.”

  Abbey glared at the redhead as she giggled. The girl silenced immediately. “Then enlighten me. How do I pay you, you bastard?”

  Ulrich chuckled. Gordon handed her his phone. “It’s Logan.”

  “I don’t have time to talk to him.”

&n
bsp; “Aye, you do.”

  Abbey took the phone from him and put it to her ear. She shouted over the club noise. “Yeah, Logan?”

  “Are you sure you want to do this? Two million is a lot.”

  “What?”

  “I have the transfer ready to go to Ulrich. You have to give me the command. I don’t trust the asshole.”

  “Do it. We need this information.”

  “I agree with that. But there has to be another way.”

  “We’re out of time.”

  “Fine. I authorized the transfer. Good luck, Abs.”

  “You too, Logan. Stall. I’ll hurry.”

  “Good. Bye.” She hung up the phone and handed it back to her stepfather. She turned to Ulrich. “Check. You’re paid.”

  He stared at her for a long moment before he pulled out his phone. His thumb breezed over the screen. After a minute a satisfied smile graced his lips. “Very good.”

  “Now it’s your turn, Ulrich.”

  He laughed at her. With a growl, Abbey stood and slammed her fists on the table. “I said talk.”

  Ulrich’s smirk faded. “Your husband would be proud. You are just like him.”

  “You’re wasting my time.”

  “Fitzgerald didn’t act alone. His partner left the blood trail while he set the bomb.”

  “Who was his partner? What’s his name and where can I find him?”

  “It was some lowlife named Blake Cox. Blake is still a drug runner. I think he’s still in London. You’re in luck, beautiful. He has a reputation of keeping souvenirs of his big jobs. You might find an item or two from the marketplace bombing.”

  “Fantastic.” Abbey crossed her arms over her chest. “Thanks for your help.”

  “It was a pleasure doing business with you.” Ulrich’s eyes wandered over her. “If you ever would like to do business with me again, let me know. I would be more than happy to partner with you.”

  “Yeah. Don’t count on it.”

  She stood, noticing Gordon rising with her. Quickly they wove their way through the quickly filling club. She felt his hand on her hip as he guided her away from a drunken bachelor party. “What’s your plan, lass?”