Billionaire Romance Box Set: The Billionaire's Legacy: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Box Set

by Sarah J. Brooks

  Cassie

  When I saw the air marshal again, I thought for a moment that he was coming to my seat to apologize, to check in to see if I needed anything, or to let me know that I’d helped them and he was grateful (that last one might have been a bit more fantasy than anything else, but, what’s the harm?). I didn’t expect that he was going to show me his badge.

  “Ms. Young,” he said.

  “Yes, that’s me,” I said, feeling my face sort itself into a questioning expression that matched the tone of my voice. Something wasn’t right.

  “I need to see your passport for a moment.”

  I took it out of my purse and handed it to him. He glanced at it, then took out his cell phone. For a moment, it looked like he was comparing my passport to something on the phone, then he put the phone away. “I’m really sorry to do this to you, especially after what just happened, but I’m going to need you to come with me.” He was still holding my passport. I reached for it, but he pulled it away.

  “I’m not with that bat shit crazy woman,” I protested. “I’d never seen her before, not even here before we boarded the flight.”

  “It has nothing to do with that situation. I don’t want to have to handcuff you, so please just come with me and we’ll get what I’m sure is a misunderstanding sorted out and get you onto the next plane to the US.”

  “I’m going to miss my flight? What’s going on?” I stood and began to gather my things, feeling a mixture of fear, anger, and panic over how I was going to get back onto this plane—my plane—as soon as possible.

  “Please, Ms. Young.”

  The air marshal grabbed my bicep gently but with a firmness that let me know he would stop being gentle if I gave him any sort of reason, and we walked off the plane. Neither of us spoke as he led me back out the gate I’d walked through an hour earlier and down the hall of the airport. At the first security checkpoint we came to, he stopped.

  “In here,” he said, gesturing to an unmarked door. He keyed in a code and put his thumb onto a black square until a light turned green and I heard the door unlock.

  “What in the hell is going on?” I demanded. “This is a serious misunderstanding, and I want it taken care of.”

  “Ms. Young,” the air marshal said, “My name is Agent Andrews. I had to take you off the plane because when the officers arrested the woman next to you, they ran the ticketing information for all of the passengers in her immediate vicinity. Your name came up with a hold; I’m amazed you even got onto the plane.”

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I said. I felt like I was in a dream. This air marshal, who had looked so handsome while he was taking out the crazy lady next to me, now looked like a threatening entity, standing large and forceful in front of me.

  “Your passport was tagged; you’re essentially on a no-fly list,” he said. “An NCA agent is on his way here and he’ll question you, either here or at Headquarters, and you may or may not be able to leave London in the near future.”

  I sat back, completely stunned. Brad shot through my mind. He had messed with my passport somehow, or gotten someone else to. But why? Why would he have done such a thing? Why wouldn’t he have just asked me to stay?

  “Do I get a phone call?” I asked.

  “You’re not under arrest,” Agent Andrews said. “You’re being detained for questioning, but you’re not under arrest.”

  “So… did that answer my question?” I tried to keep my tone mild, but I was pissed off and confused, and my ability to censor myself was quickly disappearing.

  “You can make all the phone calls you want,” Agent Andrews said, not taking my bait. I quickly took my phone out of my pocket and, under Agent Andrew’s watchful eye, texted Brad.

  I’m stuck in London at the airport. No fly list. What the actual fuck? What did you do?

  I waited and waited for a response, but more than ten minutes went by and nothing came. Furiously, I texted Patrick.

  He responded immediately. I’m on my way. Are you okay?

  Less than twenty minutes later, Agent Andrews’ phone buzzed and I watched him answer it.

  “I see. Right away, Sir,” he said, and walked over to the door. He opened it and Patrick walked in.

  “Agent,” Patrick said, a grim expression on his face. I observed immediately that he was in “cop mode” and he would treat me accordingly. I braced myself for being roughed up a little.

  “She came up on no-fly, but she’d already gotten onto the plane. I don’t know how it could have happened, some sort of glitch in the system, I guess.”

  “Yeah,” Patrick said. “It happens more often than people think, especially at places like Heathrow and JFK. The system isn’t foolproof. But, it looks like you did a great job, Agent… Andrews.” Patrick made a big show of looking at Agent Andrews’ badge. “I’ll take it from here.” He looked at me. “Ma’am, stand up and put your hands behind your back, please.”

  I complied and winced as the cool metal of silver handcuffs pressed against my wrists.

  “Could you be more gentle, please?” I asked through my teeth. He was probably being more gentle with me than he would be with other criminals, but he was still being pretty rough. He tugged the cuffs when I said that.

  “I need to make sure they’re secure, Miss,” he said. He turned me around and put his hand on the back of my neck. “That her stuff?” he asked Agent Andrews, nodding at my bag.

  “Part of it. She checked some luggage that didn’t get pulled off the flight. We’ll get it sent back from JFK when the plane lands.”

  “Awesome,” I said. “No clean underwear for a week, then, huh?”

  “We’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” Patrick said. “Let’s go.” He made a big show of pushing me out of the room with my bag tucked into a large paper shopping bag. He didn’t say a word to me until he got me outside Heathrow and had me in the back of a black car with a small revolving light glowing red and blue above the driver’s side door.

  “Seriously?” I said, rubbing my wrists where he was removing the handcuffs. “You’re putting me in the back?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I was the first agent on the scene. You’re damn lucky. I saved you a strip search and a lot of humiliation, my dear.”

  “But my underwear is on its way to New York City,” I said.

  He ignored me and closed the door, then walked around to the driver’s side. He started up the car and pulled back out onto the road.

  “Given that you look like someone beat the shit out of you eight ways from Sunday and you just landed yourself on the no-fly list, I’d say that you’ve got a lot bigger problems than having to buy yourself some new undies. Have you given much thought to how you ended up in this mess?”

  He was referring to Brad, of course.

  “Yeah,” I said, “the funny thing is, I’ve known Brad for a few months now, and I didn’t have any trouble at all like this until I came to London. And met you. Suddenly, I’ve gone from having a nice, normal life to being handcuffed in the back of a police car.”

  “I’m not the police.”

  “Whatever.” I laid my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. I couldn’t believe that I wasn’t on my plane. Suddenly, my eyes flew open and I leaned my face against the glass cage that separated the front of the car from the back. “Wait, where am I going to stay?” I asked.

  He sighed. “Where do you want to stay?”

  I thought for a moment. “Just take me back to Legacy,” I said. “I can get in touch with Brad and I’m sure he’ll arrange a room for me.”

  “I’ll make sure you have a room—and some clothes—before I leave you for the night.” He signaled and pulled onto the road that would lead us to Legacy. When we pulled up, he opened the door and escorted me out. Without the cuffs on, I felt at least passable as a normal person, though I felt like a few people were definitely staring at me.

  We walked into the lobby and I spoke to the woman at the fro
nt desk, explaining that I had missed my flight (not a lie, I reasoned) and I had been staying in Brad’s suite, and she could call Brad to confirm that if she needed.

  “Not necessary, Ms. Young,” she said smiling at me. “We all know who you are, and we’re delighted to have you back, though I am sorry you missed your flight.” She typed a few things into the computer. “Mr. White is traveling for the next several weeks, so his suite is open and available.”

  I nodded as if I knew full well that he was traveling, though her words split my stomach in two. He hadn’t said he was going to go anywhere. Of course… we hadn’t exactly left on the best terms.

  I got the key fob and walked back to Patrick.

  “Everything set?” he asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Good, then come to the dining room with me. I have some information that you need to have before you go any further in your involvement with Brad White.”

  “Um,” I started, remembering vividly the last time Patrick and I had a meal together.

  “Obviously I’m not allowing you to use the bathroom,” he said, and gave me the first smile I’d seen from him since he’d rescued me.

  “Well, in that case,” I said. “You can buy me lunch; I’m starving.”

  We walked into the dining room and sat down at a table in the corner. Patrick selected it; he wanted us to have a private space.

  We ordered, and, when the server walked away, Patrick turned to me, a serious look on his face.

  “You had asked me about Mavin Toller and his involvement with my assault.”

  I nodded, sitting up a little straighter, all traces of my previous snarkiness gone from my voice and face. This was serious. It had always been serious, of course, but with each passing episode it was getting harder and harder to see any humor in even the smaller moments.

  “I told you that he was well known to my men. What I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t know at the time, was that he’s a former CIA agent from the United States. Retired, officially, but dishonorably discharged, unofficially. He caused tremendous trouble while he was a CIA agent.”

  “That’s how he knew how to find you,” I said.

  “Exactly,” Patrick confirmed. “He has the connections he needs to find anyone, anywhere, any time.”

  “Why was he looking for you?”

  Patrick stopped as the server came by with our salads and an appetizer of grilled ahi tuna. I waited for him to continue.

  “Do you remember me asking you if you’d ever heard Brad mention the name Manuel?”

  I thought for a moment, and then I nodded. Yes, I remembered the phone conversation, with Patrick in the hospital and me in Morocco with Brad. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “Manuel is Manuel Brown, one of the top level drug lords and arms deals in the world. He owns most of the underground deals and the people who conduct them.”

  I took a bite of ahi and watched Patrick talk. His eyes were animated and I could see in an instant why he had become an NCA agent. For all of the danger and life-threatening situations he found himself in, Patrick got excited by it all. He was in his element, putting pieces together, going after the bad guy, protecting people from the evils of the world. It was hot.

  “Okay,” I said. “So what does that have to do with us?”

  He looked around and his voice dropped. “Originally, the finger pointed toward Manuel Brown as the one who had kidnapped you. But, it wasn’t him; it was Mavin Toller.”

  “Mavin Toller kidnapped me?” I asked, and then I immediately shook my head. “No, I’ve met Mavin Toller, and he was not the man who took me. He wasn’t the other guy, either, the guy who gave me water.”

  “Mavin Toller didn’t kidnap you directly, Cass, but he ordered it. That’s how he works. Just like Manuel Brown, he has other people do his dirty work for him.”

  “So what do Manuel Brown and Mavin Toller have in common?” I asked.

  Patrick looked around again, then leaned in. “So far, the only thing I can determine that they have in common is you and Brad. I don’t know what that means just yet, but I’m getting closer. I can feel it. When Toller had me assaulted—which he did—it was, I believe, a calling card to Manuel Brown.”

  I glanced up sharply as our server approached the table from over Patrick’s shoulder with our meal. We ate in silence as I pondered what Patrick had told me. The thought that continued to run through my mind was the picture I’d see on Brad’s desk, the young boy. He was tied up in all of this somehow, I knew. And, I was in Brad’s suite for at least a few weeks without him there; perhaps I could get some time to sleuth around in a way I never could with him around.

  We finished our meal and waited until the server cleared our dishes before we continued.

  “So, what now?” I asked.

  “Now,” Patrick said, drinking the last of his water, “you continue your life here in London as if nothing is the matter. I’ll do what I can to get your passport cleared, and, when I do, you can go back to the States.”

  “And what are you going to do?” I asked.

  “I’m going to track down Mavin Toller first, and then I’m going to go after Manuel Brown. You need to know,” he said, his voice lowering again, “that Brad is involved in this mess. To what degree, I don’t know. But, you need to know that his hands aren’t clean in this.”

  I nodded. While I had originally thought Patrick was completely wrong about Brad, I had to be honest at least with myself in knowing that something had been “off” in my mind about Brad since day one. All of the little details that seemed quirky were now adding up.

  “Brad would never assault or kidnap anyone,” I said firmly.

  “I didn’t say he would,” Patrick said agreeably. “I just want you to be careful.”

  Patrick paid the bill and we walked back out into the lobby.

  “Lunch was grand,” he said, “but I need to go back to work catching real criminals, not silly Americans that land on the no-fly list for no reason.”

  He hugged me, which was both strange and wonderful. We embraced, and I felt his arms slide easily around me, pulling my body toward his. His chest was warm and he smelled like he’d just gotten out of the shower, fresh and manly.

  I waved as he walked to the door, standing in the lobby as long as I could to see him walk toward his car.

  I hadn’t yet reached the elevator when the building rocked with the sound of the explosion. I heard shattering glass and watched as several hotel workers ran out onto the sidewalk.

  “What the fuck happened?” I asked, walking toward the door. Already, sirens were blaring and police and fire trucks were approaching, the street filling with people and vehicles.

  “Some guy just got into his car and fried all to shit,” a man next to me said. “Blew to kingdom come, he did.”

  I felt my stomach drop out of my body. My throat dried and I saw stars poking at the sides of my vision.

  “Who…” I whispered, but I couldn’t get the entire sentence out before my legs began to give out from under me.

  “Whoa,” a man said, catching me and sitting me gently on the ground. “Easy there.”

  I couldn’t speak. My eyes were stuck on the street, on the trucks and police gathering around a black car I had sat in just an hour before.

  And Patrick… my eyes filled with tears. Patrick.

  Brad

  I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I knew Cassie was on a plane on the way back to America, but it was as though I couldn’t picture her actually leaving London. I boarded my plane and felt it taxi slowly away from the terminal.

  My phone pinged and I looked at it; Simon was calling me. I felt my brow furrow in confusion; he knew where I was going, and we had just spoken.

  “What is it?” I asked into the phone.

  “You can’t leave,” he said. “There’s been another attack.”

  My stomach seized up and I felt my heart race. Of course, I couldn’t let that show in my voice, not even to Simon.<
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  “What?” I asked. “Where? Who?”

  “It’s not a property,” Simon said. He hesitated.

  “Not Cassie,” I said, my voice taking on a tone I didn’t like. I could sense an element of fear in it.

  “Not Cassie,” he said quickly. “But it was a person. That NCA agent, Agent Shim, that Cassie was…” he was about to say ‘involved with,’ but changed his course quickly and said, “was questioned by, the one who helped you find and rescue her…”

  “Yes,” I said, “I remember him.” I snapped my fingers and, when my flight assistant looked up, I motioned to her to tell the pilot to stop the plane. Her eyes widened and she nodded.

  “Well, he was just blown to bits outside Legacy in London. He had, according to witnesses, just had lunch with Cassie at the hotel.”

  “That’s impossible,” I said. “Cassie left on a flight to the US this morning. She’s gone.”

  “The information I have is only according hotel sources,” Simon said. “I haven’t been there to confirm anything for myself. I’m on my way there now.”

  “I’ll call you back,” I said. I hung up the phone and, while I stalked the length of the plane to get to the cockpit to tell the pilot that the flight was canceled and to turn the plane around, I dialed Cassie.

  Her voicemail came through after the fourth ring.

  “Cassie,” I said quickly into the phone. “Call me as soon as you get this. I need to know where you are, and I need to know that you’re safe.” I clicked the disconnect button and realized I was sweating, flushed with worry about Cassie and the fact that she was not safely on a plane back to the US, but was, rather, possibly at the site of a car explosion.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I asked the empty space around me.

  The pilot came onto the loudspeaker and said we had been cleared for immediate return to the airport. I called Simon back and, at the same time, texted my driver to ensure my car would be waiting for me.