Chill

by Stephanie Rowe

  There was the faintest whisper of movement from the room, and Isabella slammed the door and threw the deadbolt.

  The metal latch hit the casing and bounced back open.

  Shit! The door wasn’t closed all the way!

  “Come on!” She slammed her hip against the door, and then the door flew open. She was flung into the opposite wall.

  Leon stepped into the bathroom. “Welcome back to Boston, Isa.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Luke eased down the hall toward Marcus’s office. He could hear voices coming from within and recognized one as Nate’s.

  But no Marcus.

  The office door opened, and Luke ducked into the next room. He shut the door and waited.

  Footsteps hurried past, but no one came in.

  Luke’s eyes adjusted to the interior and he frowned. This had been his office, right under Marcus’s nose. But it had been completely redone. It was still an office though…

  He quickly moved to the desk and sat down at the computer. The dim glare from the streetlight outside cast a small glow across the desk, and a photo of Isabella and another woman was propped right next to the monitor. He realized he was in Isabella’s office, and he scowled when he saw the camera was still mounted in the corner. He didn’t like the idea that Isabella had been kept so closely under Marcus’s thumb. Had she known her every move had been on camera?

  He didn’t want her to come back here. He wanted her to be free.

  He picked up the photo and peered more closely at it. Isabella appeared to be around sixteen, and the other woman didn’t look much older. They were clearly related, with the same dark coloring and the same smile.

  Her mother.

  Isabella’s eyes were dancing, and she had her head on her mom’s shoulder. She looked young and vibrant. No makeup, no hardship in those beautiful eyes.

  Her T-shirt was faded, and she was wearing big, gaudy earrings that looked as though they’d come from a street vendor. The peeling wallpaper behind the women was an ugly beige. The kitchen cabinet didn’t fit quite right, and the counter was old linoleum.

  But the two women were holding on to each other as though they were best friends, and nothing else mattered.

  Isabella’s mom wore ratty clothes similar to Isabella’s, and there were lines around her mouth. But there was a sparkle in her eyes, a liveliness, and Luke suspected the picture had been taken while Isabella’s mom was in love with Stan.

  Around her mom’s neck was the turquoise pendant Isabella always wore. Luke ran the pad of his finger over the necklace. The two women had had nothing but each other, and it was clear from their faces that had been enough.

  Until Stan had ripped them apart.

  Anger rumbled inside Luke, and he set the photo down. Isabella’s childhood hadn’t been so different from his: a loving mom taken away by a cold bastard who didn’t appreciate what he had. Isabella deserved better than to put her lot in with the kind of man who would do it to her all over again. She needed someone who would stay by her side and love her, someone she could count on.

  In another life, in a world where he didn’t have hell on his heels…who knew? Maybe he could try to be that man—

  Shit. What was he thinking? Pull yourself together, Webber.

  Luke pried his attention off the photo and began to inspect her desk. Countless folders on various artifacts, but nothing of interest. Her computer was on, as if someone had been using it. Had her notes on Luke been in there?

  He checked his watch. Six minutes until the cameras kicked back on. It would take him four minutes to get back upstairs to the tunnel. Shit. He didn’t have time to spend poking around her office. He moved to the door again. Listened. Heard nothing. Slowly, he opened the door and eased out into the hall.

  The door to Marcus’s office was open, and Luke crept toward it. He reached the doorway and crouched so he was below eye level. Then he peered around the corner.

  What he saw made anger roil deep inside him.

  Marcus was sitting behind his desk, wearing a suit. Ruling the fucking show.

  So much for the kidnapping theory.

  But Luke couldn’t take his eyes off Marcus. The man looked old.

  Luke was shocked by the slump of Marcus’s shoulders, by the heavy lines on his face. Yeah, he still had his classy haircut, expensive clothes and a coldness to his face. But there was something else he hadn’t remembered. Weight. Burden. Illness? Why hadn’t Isabella told him there was something wrong with him?

  Marcus wasn’t the powerful man he used to be. Luke could see it in the weariness of his expression, in the sagginess of his skin. It was as if the weak man Luke had always known he was had finally broken through the facade Marcus tried to carry off, as if the spirit were too heavy to be disguised anymore.

  Hell, he almost felt sorry for the old man.

  Luke worked his jaw. I will not care. Marcus was still a ruthless bastard who deserved whatever harshness life had dealt him.

  “You have three minutes to get those cameras working,” Marcus snapped at a tech guy sweating it out over the security system.

  Ah, yeah. The tone was the same. So much for Luke’s brief moment of concern about poor Marcus. Spirit intact. Probably just up too late celebrating the fact that he’d lured Isabella and Luke back to Boston.

  Nate was slouched in a chair, looking pouty and tired, while three other men stood around the office. Men who were clearly armed. One was the New York Yankees guy from the airport.

  “So, start over, and tell me exactly what happened at the airport,” Marcus said to Nate. His voice was harsh and laced with anger. “When you lost Isabella and my son.” He gave Nate the cold stare that had made Marcus Fie legendary in his business circles. The stare no one ever fucked with. “Need I remind you exactly how long I spent planning that before you screwed it up?”

  Son of a bitch.

  It had all been a setup. Marcus had betrayed Isabella to try to get to Luke.

  “You bastard,” Luke whispered.

  The betrayal sliced like a knife in his gut.

  Not for himself.

  For Isabella. He thought of the love in her eyes in that photo with her mother, and he finally understood why she’d latched on to Marcus. Isabella needed to love, and Marcus had filled that void in her life.

  And the bastard had used her.

  Luke set his hand on his gun. One move now, and it would be over. He pulled out his weapon, a dark coldness settling over his body.

  No one was ready for him. He could simply walk in there, and they would all be dead within a minute.

  Isabella would be free.

  Then he closed his eyes. Jesus.

  This was why he’d left. So he wouldn’t become the cold-blooded murderer Nate had become.

  “You will not win,” he muttered. Killing Marcus in cold blood would leave the old man dying with a smile on his face because his son had finally joined his team, and Luke wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

  Marcus would pay.

  Marcus would suffer.

  But not now. Not by the Fie method. It would be Luke’s way.

  He holstered the gun. “I’ll be back for you.”

  Marcus stopped talking and looked toward the door.

  Luke stepped back out of sight. Just before Marcus’s gaze landed on him.

  Isabella scrambled to her feet, and Leon grabbed her hair and yanked her across the bathroom. She yelped and dug her nails into his wrists, but he didn’t release her. “Let go of me!”

  Leon dragged her across the room and threw her on the bed. Before she could move, he was straddling her, his gun in her throat. “Where’s Fie?”

  Isabella closed her eyes so she couldn’t look into the face of the man she used to trust. “Why are you doing this?” she asked. “I thought you were our friend.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Isa. This isn’t about you.” He pressed the gun tighter. “I need the necklace and the earrings. Where are they?”

  Sc
rew that. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

  She opened her eyes and stared into Leon’s blue ones. She wanted to force him to see whom he was pointing a gun at. They’d been friends for so long. “Luke has them,” she lied. “He has them all. He’s going to trade them for Marcus.”

  Leon’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me.”

  Isabella’s heart began to pound. “Fine. He went to Marcus’s house to kill everyone. He’s pissed.”

  Leon swore, and she knew he believed her. This was the man who knew Luke from his old life, and he actually believed Luke would go to Marcus’s house and murder everyone? She felt a sudden sadness for the man Luke had once been.

  “Give Luke a message for me,” he said.

  She shrank back from the coldness in his eyes. “What message?”

  “Tell him I want the necklace and the earrings. That this time, I’m calling the shots.”

  Isabella tensed, already guessing Luke wouldn’t respond to threats. He wasn’t in victim mode. “He won’t care—”

  “He will.” Then Leon flipped the gun around and slammed the butt into the side of her face.

  Luke was halfway up the stairs when he realized the door to their hotel room was ajar.

  Cold dread seized his gut. “Isabella!” He whipped out his gun and vaulted up the steps. “Isa!”

  He sprinted for the door and slammed it open with his shoulder. Gun up, ready.

  Wind was whipping through the room, and it was pitch-black. “Isa?”

  He heard a whimper.

  “Fuck!” His heart was pounding, but he didn’t dare run for her. Gun still up, he edged over to the light switch and flicked it.

  Light filled the room, and he had to fight not to close his eyes against the sudden glare. He kept his weapon up and ready, listening intently for any movement.

  His eyes adjusted within a split second, and the first thing he saw was Isabella on the bed. She was bound with a cord, arms and feet tied behind her. Blood streamed from the side of her face and over her shirt.

  “Jesus.” His heart nearly stopped, and he forgot about any possible threats.

  He just lowered his gun and tore across the room to her. “Isabella!”

  Her left eye was swollen. There was a gag across her mouth. She made another desperate sound that cut at Luke like a dagger.

  “I’m here, baby, I’m here.” Luke grabbed a knife from his belt and sliced through the gag. He pulled the torn pillowcase from her mouth.

  “It was Leon,” she gasped.

  “Leon?” His body went cold at the thought of Leon in the same room, and he shot to his feet, gun up. “Is he still here?”

  “No. He went back to the house to keep you from killing Marcus.”

  “Good girl.” How the hell had she kept her cool enough to think of the one thing that would have gotten Leon away from her before he had time to kill her?

  Kill her. Jesus.

  Anna’s face flashed in Luke’s mind, and he was suddenly frantic to cut the binds that held Isabella. He needed to free her. To take her away. “Hey, baby, I’m here now. I’ve got you. It’s over.”

  “Luke.” She groaned as he freed her arms, and Luke caught her as she rolled over. She was trembling and he pulled her into his arms. He crushed her against him, his mouth so dry he could barely talk. How close had he come to losing her? It was Anna all over again. His mother. Dead. Both of them. His mother bleeding to death—

  “Shit!” He pulled back and frantically began to touch her. “Where are you hurt? Where’s the blood coming from?”

  She touched her face. “He hit me with his gun.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Darkness rooted deep in his core, and Luke knew Leon had to die.

  Luke Webber couldn’t do what needed to be done. But Adam Fie could.

  He cradled Isabella to his chest as he carried her to the bathroom to clean off the blood, and he opened his heart and invited Adam Fie back to life.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Isabella leaned her head against Luke’s chest as he carried her into their new hotel room. It was almost twenty minutes from the one Leon had tracked them to, and Luke had made certain this one wasn’t traceable.

  “Hey, baby, we’re here.” Luke set her on the bed, then dropped their bags on the floor. He’d carried them all at the same time, refusing to leave her alone to go back to the car.

  Isabella wearily rolled onto her side to watch him as he checked the room and set up safeguards on the doors and windows. He kept looking over at her, and there was such worry on his face.

  And guilt. So much guilt.

  She knew about that emotion. How many years had she tortured herself for not knowing the right words when her mom had called her? The words that would have kept her mother at home that night, that would have kept her alive.

  “Let me get you some ice.” Luke dumped the bucket of ice he’d retrieved on the way up into the sink, and then wrapped a handful of it in a towel.

  He eased onto the bed next to her. He helped her adjust so she was using his thigh as a pillow. He lightly set the ice on her cheek and stroked her hair. She closed her eyes at the tender touch.

  “Luke.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What happened? Did you find the earrings?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded at his bag. “They’re in a baseball that was in Marcus’s bedroom.”

  She tensed. “Is he okay?” She could barely bring herself to ask, so afraid of the answer.

  Luke said nothing.

  She pulled the ice pack off her face and sat up. “What happened?”

  A veil dropped over his face, and she knew he wasn’t going to tell her.

  “Luke!”

  “I didn’t touch him. He’s fine.”

  She knew there was more he wasn’t telling her, but the way he bit out the words told her what he said was the truth.

  Luke hadn’t betrayed her.

  From the tension on his face and in his jaw, she knew how hard it had been to walk away. And she knew he’d done it for her. Her throat tightened. He’d spent a lifetime hating his father, and yet for her, he’d left him alone. She leaned over and pressed her lips lightly to his. “Thank you, for leaving him alive.” For being the man I believed you were.

  He said nothing, but his eyes were dark and stormy as he searched her face. He kept stroking her hair, his fingers tangling in her curls. So much intensity in his face. So much complexity. So much hurt.

  So much strength.

  Something welled deep in her heart, and she knew she had no more defenses against him. His leaving Marcus alive had broken through the last barriers she had around her heart. “My dear Luke.” She placed her hands on either side of his anguished face, needing to take away his guilt over the fact that she’d gotten attacked. “You are an amazing man. You make me feel safe. You give me a place I’ve never had before.”

  He caught her wrists and held tightly, searching her face. “I fucked up.” His voice was anguished. “I should have realized Leon would find us—”

  “No.” She placed her hands over his lips. “You need to stop. You need to forgive yourself.”

  “Jesus, Isa.” He caught her shoulders. “When I saw you on that bed with all that blood? It was my mother and then Anna and—”

  “I love you.”

  He stiffened. “No!”

  “Yes!” She straddled his lap and leaned close to him. “Don’t you get it? You can’t keep the world out, and you can’t protect us all by keeping us away. I love you, and you’re a good man. I loved my mother despite her past, I love Marcus no matter what he’s done, and I love you. Because all of you have good souls and are worth loving.”

  He searched her face, and she saw his disbelief, his struggle. “I—”

  She kissed him.

  For a split second, he tensed, and she had a sinking feeling he was going to push her away.

  And then his arms snapped around her and he yanked her against him. He took over the kiss
. Turned it from a gentle kiss designed to convince him she loved him to a kiss of raw need, of raw passion, of such burning force that heat seared through her.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Kiss me.”

  “Isa.” He growled her name, a fierce possession that made chills rush down her spine. He grabbed her shirt and ripped it over her head. His mouth was frantic on her skin, his hands desperate as he nearly tore her bra off. Then his shirt, his pants, hers, until they were skin to skin. His mouth never left her body, his hands never stopped touching her, as if he couldn’t get enough of her, no matter how hard he tried. Her throat, her collarbone, her breasts, her ribs, her hips, her legs, every inch of her was his, and he was taking her. His touch was firm, a statement of ownership, as if he needed to prove to himself that she was his, that he really could have her.

  Isabella’s heart ached for his need, for his intensity. The man who had strived so hard to separate himself from friends and family, who had isolated himself for the protection of others…it had all been a lie, and his need for her was so evident in his kisses, in the way he whispered her name against her ear, in the way he buried his face in her hair. “God, Isa, I thought I’d lost you—”

  “You can’t lose me,” she whispered. “I’m a survivor. Life can’t beat me.”

  He paused to search her face. “You are a survivor, aren’t you?”

  She smiled. “I am. You don’t need to worry about me. No matter how much you love me, it won’t kill me.”

  He swore. “You have no idea what you’re facing.”

  “Oh, but I do.” Isabella grabbed his hair and pulled him toward her. “I know exactly what I’m facing, and I know that with you by my side, we can do anything.”

  He resisted her attempts to kiss him. “My life is hell—”

  “It’s my life already. I got shot by Leon before I even met you.” She smiled. “All you can do is make me safer. I already get in enough danger on my own.” She lightly pounded her fist on his chest. “Don’t you get it, Luke? I’m already involved with the demons who stalk you, and there’s no way I’m going to walk away, no matter how hard you try to make me. The danger I’m in is my choice, and has nothing to do with the fact that I love you. It’s not your fault!”