by Emma Slate
“Why can’t you call him?” I demanded. “He’d come for you.”
“Aye. Out of obligation. For you, he’d come for love.”
“I can’t ask him for that. Can I?”
“I trust him. And Duncan’s still out of commission and Ramsey is—”
“A loose cannon,” I finished.
“We don’t know who in the SINS we can trust.”
“Was this your plan you refused to tell the others?” I asked.
“Aye. I wanted to talk about it with you first. But if he’s here, it will bring up things for you.”
“For us,” I corrected.
“For us,” he agreed. “But I can take it, if you can.” His lips kissed my belly and then trailed lower. “No more talking.”
Flynn was up before me the next morning and gone from our guest room. Before anything else, I needed to pump. My breasts ached constantly, waiting for Hawk. After, I went in search of Flynn, wanting him by my side when I made the call.
I walked down the hallway of the east wing towards the stairwell, thinking Flynn was downstairs, but I heard his voice coming from behind Duncan’s cracked bedroom door.
“He’s not one of us,” I heard Duncan say.
I had plans to go downstairs to wait for Flynn, but I was instantly intrigued by the conversation I was overhearing.
“Times change, Duncan. You know that,” Flynn replied.
“Aye, but you really trust him with this? And do you really trust him around your wife?”
Flynn paused and the tension-filled silence settled low in my belly.
“I trust Barrett,” Flynn said finally.
“Not the answer to the question I asked.”
Flynn made a noise that sounded like a growl. “What am I supposed to do? You’re not well enough to see this through. No one I trust more to have my back than you, brother, but you’ve been shot. You’re still recovering.”
“So take Ramsey.”
Flynn paused again.
“You don’t trust Ramsey,” Duncan surmised.
“I do. But not with this. He hasn’t been able to control his rage.”
“That’s partly my fault. I let him interrogate Elliot. I let him unleash the rage without helping him channel it in a constructive manner,” Duncan said.
“Stop,” Flynn said. “We want to play the blame game? Someone kidnapped my son because of me. My wife has nightmares about it because of me. She cries out for him.”
I frowned. I had nightmares about Hawk? I knew I dreamt about Vlad and Dolinsky, but I had no memory of my dreams of Hawk.
“You’ll get him back,” Duncan said.
“What if we don’t? I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me.”
Duncan sighed. “There’s no hope for it then. You’ll have to call him.”
“I’ll do anything if it means getting Hawk back,” Flynn said fiercely.
I’d heard enough. Turning away from Duncan’s door, I went downstairs. I passed the sitting room and went into the kitchen. I opened the pantry door and went inside, flipping on the light. Closing the door, I leaned against it and sank to the floor.
Pulling out my phone, I stared at it for a moment before finding the courage to dial a number I knew by heart, a number I hadn’t dialed in six months.
It rang.
He answered immediately.
“It’s me,” I said softly. “I need your help.”
While Flynn and Duncan remained behind closed doors, no doubt discussing the potential culprit been behind Hawk’s kidnapping, I decided to pay a visit to our hostage. I hadn’t met her yet, and I knew she was probably terrified out of her mind.
She was on the third floor. Though she had her own bathroom, being locked inside a bedroom for the last few days, it was of little consolation. For a brief moment I was shoved back in time to when I was living in Dolinsky’s home. I still couldn’t believe I managed to get out of that situation, and those I loved were left alive. It all could have ended so differently.
There were two guards stationed just outside her door, members of the SINS who would stop at nothing to keep Jane inside. If she fled, they’d pursue. They gave me a brief nod in greeting. I rapped on the door to announce my presence. I did it as a courtesy. I felt like I owed her that much.
The person I encountered was not at all what I expected. I assumed I’d see a cowering young girl, sitting on the queen-sized bed, shaking in fear.
What I got was an avenging, spitting mad woman whose blue eyes were narrowed with hatred when they looked at me.
Jane Elliot was gorgeous. She was tall, taller than Ash. Jane’s long chestnut colored hair had the tendency to curl. Her carriage was erect and there was a sensual regality to her. For a woman who had been kidnapped from her own birthday party and thrust into the midst of a political war, she looked as composed as anyone I had ever seen.
I had to hide my smile.
She had spirit and I let out a breath, eternally grateful that it hadn’t been expunged from her being.
Though we’d brought her here in formal wear and heels, she was currently dressed in jeans and a forest green sweater that fell off of one shoulder, baring her fair English skin.
“You’re not who I was expecting,” she replied loftily.
“You’re not what I was expecting,” I said back to her.
She paused, no doubt confused about my honesty. She looked at me suspiciously. “What do you want?”
“I wanted to speak to you.”
She laughed, a deep throaty sound. “About what?”
“Do you know why you’re here?”
“Something to do with my father.” Her tone was snide, angry. At us, definitely, but maybe angry with her father, too.
“I’m sorry,” I said, wishing her to hear the contrition in my tone. “You weren’t supposed to be a part of this.”
“Well too bloody late,” she groused.
I couldn’t help it; I laughed. The English curse coming out of her was unexpected. And in that posh accent! My amusement only enraged her further and her face flushed with emotion.
“Sit,” I said. “Let’s sit and I’ll tell you some things.”
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Barrett. Campbell,” I added.
She frowned. “So you aren’t related to Ramsey.”
I shook my head. “He’s my brother-in-law of sorts. I’ll leave it at that.” I took a seat in the chair in the corner of the room and crossed my legs. Jane reluctantly sat down on the bed. She looked at me and waited.
“We’re in a bit of a predicament,” I said, going straight for honesty. “You weren’t meant to get tied up in this, but you are now. We can’t return you to London because we can’t be sure you won’t turn us in, but we hardly trust you.”
“What did my father do?” Jane wondered, her curiosity, her need for answers overriding her desire for anger.
“Can’t tell you that, either,” I said.
She huffed out a breath of air. “What can you tell me?”
“Nothing,” I said. “The less you know, the better.”
“So what’s going to happen to me? Are you—are you going to kill me?” Her voice went thin and flat, but I saw a tremor go through her. Her courage was fierce, but it took effort to maintain it.
I looked at her a long moment before answering. “No. We have no plans to kill you.”
“How am I supposed to believe you?” she asked suspiciously.
I shrugged. “Your choice whether or not to believe me. But let me ask you this: have you been mistreated since you’ve been here? Roughly handled? I mean, if you can get past the fact that we kidnapped you, have you suffered?”
Jane looked around at the luxurious room where she’d been kept. Her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. “I just want to go home,” she said, her blue eyes widening. For the first time, I saw the vulnerable youth she actually was. She was twenty-one—and this hadn’t been a choice for her.
“Your father is
a bastard,” I said. “He’s the one that started this chain of events.”
She nodded. “Yes. But he’s still my father and I love him.” She kept her gaze on me when she asked the next question even though I knew what it was going to be. “You’re going to kill him. Aren’t you?”
I wasn’t going to reply. She wasn’t one of us. She didn’t have our trust. What if we could never gain it? Keep her a prisoner the rest of her life? Death might be a blessing. But I couldn’t have her innocent blood on my hands. There had to be a way for her to trust us and for us to trust her.
It wasn’t just Scotland’s freedom that was at stake.
Chapter 19
The next afternoon we buried Mrs. Keith. Flynn had made sure the woman had a closed casket and only those that had to know the truth of her death were informed. To everyone else, they believed she’d had a heart attack.
It seemed all we were doing was losing people.
While I stood at the woman’s graveside next to Flynn, I watched her children and grandchildren cry for their loss. Guilt for her death weighed heavily on me. She’d been a casualty in this war we were waging, the war for a free Scotland.
After the service, mourners came up to us, wanting to make small talk. They asked about Hawk. We smiled and lied. It took everything I had to pretend Hawk was at home in his crib, waiting for us to return.
Mrs. Keith’s oldest daughter hosted the wake, and we gathered at her house to eat and drink and listen to stories about the woman. Scotch flowed freely and many of the adults were well on their way to drunk. I wish I could’ve been one of them. I watched Flynn in the role of leader, marveling at how easily he filled the position. It was like he’d been born to it. Even when Duncan healed and was ready to take on the leadership, was it best for the SINS if Flynn relinquished the title?
Flynn murmured something to the elderly gentleman he was conversing with before looking up. His eyes met mine. Whatever he saw on my face made him excuse himself and come to me. He reached up to touch my face, and I placed my hand over his.
“Can we leave now?” I asked quietly, suddenly on the verge of tears.
He nodded, set his glass down, and took my hand. We excused ourselves from the wake and I didn’t breathe deeply until we were outside. I smelled rain on the air and I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, the chill sinking into me.
“What is it, love?” Flynn asked, taking me into his arms.
“Not here,” I said.
We walked away from the house, but I wouldn’t let him steer me towards the car. Instead, I turned him in the direction of a grassy knoll, green from all the rain, with tall trees that would shield us from the view of the house.
Flynn waited, his body tight. He always looked ready to spring into an action. Though his face was fierce, his eyes were soft as they rested on me.
“It’s been three days, Flynn,” I said.
“I know.”
“It’s taking too long. The longer our son is missing, the greater the chance that Elliot’s information isn’t correct.”
Flynn tugged me into his arms and said into my hair. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust that I know what I’m doing?”
“Of course.”
“I’m getting our son back. There are some things in the works. Ears are to the ground.”
“Do you think Hawk is still in Scotland?”
“I don’t know.”
“You couldn’t lie to me and say yes he is,” I demanded, pulling back so I could look at him. “Make me feel better that my child is—”
“Not with us. Doesn’t matter, any way you slice it.” He let me go and I took a step back. “Besides, if I lie to you now, you won’t trust me ever again.”
I nodded, hating the logic of his statement, but knowing it was true.
“You are a strong woman, Barrett,” he said softly. “Not everyone is cut out for this life—and you’ve chosen to stay by my side. I will not accept anything less than bringing your child home and destroying those that are responsible for taking him from you.”
He came forward and reached up to hold my face in his large hands. “Don’t lose faith in me.”
I leaned into his touch, grateful for it. It anchored me to the moment, to the now. Closing my eyes, I nodded. His lips brushed across mine.
When Flynn made a vow, he kept it at all costs.
The door to the private plane opened, and I watched Sasha Petrovich walk down the stairs, commanding the air around him. He was dressed appropriately for Scotland; trousers, a dark sweater, and a long black cashmere coat. The wind blew his blond hair, lifting it up off his forehead.
His blue eyes met mine, and I was momentarily thrown back in memory of the last time we’d seen each other. I’d been in the hospital and Sasha had walked away from me because I had asked him to. He had needed time to get over his feelings for me and I had wanted to give that to him.
Behind Sasha were two large, fierce looking men who were definitely packing. I didn’t recognize them—then again as the new leader of the Russian mob in New York City, Sasha had probably gotten rid of all those loyal to Dolinsky and replaced them with men he trusted.
Sasha stopped in front of us. I watched Flynn and Sasha measure each other. Finally, Flynn reached out his hand. Sasha clasped it and they shook.
“Thank your coming,” Flynn said.
“Da. Of course.”
It was strange to watch two equally powerful men interact. Their alliance solely existed because of me. In their natural habitat, these two predators would fight to death for control.
Sasha’s Slavic bright blue eyes slid to me. When they looked at Flynn they were merely polite, calm. When he looked at me, they glittered with longing.
I accepted it but didn’t dwell on it. I stepped forward and hugged him, squeezing him tight around the waist like I would embrace a brother. He hugged me just as fiercely as if knowing how close I was to losing it.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I said truthfully, dropping my arms. He let me go, albeit reluctantly and I took a step back and curled myself into Flynn’s side.
Sasha’s jaw clenched when he saw where I stood. He nodded. “Of course I’d come if you called.”
Flynn gestured to our waiting limo. Sasha commanded something in Russian to his two men and they picked up the luggage. We walked, exchanging pleasantries with Sasha about the flight and the mob dynamics of New York. In a roundabout sort of way, the Russians funneled money to our cause through their legitimate enterprises. It had been a way to forge an alliance as well as get the FBI off our trail. But somehow the FBI was still a thorn in our side.
We settled into the car and drove towards Duncan’s estate. Sasha glanced out the window. “Beautiful country,” he said.
“Aye,” Flynn agreed.
Sasha finally returned his attention to the both of us. “Barrett was cryptic on the phone. She didn’t mention why you needed me, only that you did.”
Flynn looked at me in surprise. I shrugged and explained, “I didn’t want to discuss Hawk over the phone.”
Flynn took my hand and gave it a squeeze, letting me know that I could fill in Sasha. I wasted no time.
Sasha wasn’t able to conceal his shock and then his face registered fury. “Someone took a helpless child?”
I nodded. “It’s not common knowledge. We buried the woman who was caring for Hawk and everyone thinks Hawk is still with us. We thought it best not to alert people that we—well—things are out of our control.”
Sasha nodded, agreeing with our thought process.
“Hawk is just one part of it,” Flynn said, taking up the story. I listened to him recount what had occurred with Malcolm and Duncan.
Sasha let out an impressive stream of Russian curses. I only recognized one word out of the bunch.
“Someone wants our attention divided,” I said. “While we look for Hawk—who Flynn believes is safe—”
“But you don’t
?” Sasha interrupted.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I believe it because I can’t even bear to think of the alternative, so I try not to think about it.”
“I understand.”
“There’s more,” Flynn said.
“You’re kidding?” Sasha asked.
“No,” Flynn said, “but I think we should wait until we’re with Duncan and Ramsey before unloading the rest.”
Chapter 20
Around midnight, Ash headed up to bed. She’d spent the last many hours, sitting and watching, but contributing very little. I could tell it grated on her not to feel useful.
I made it until about 2 AM, but then my brain shut down, refusing to work. I left the men in the sitting room near a roaring fire. Flynn came to bed around dawn, and when I rolled over to greet him, my thoughts came to life.
After Flynn fell asleep, I climbed out of bed, knowing there were things I wanted to speak to Sasha about without everyone else around. I wasn’t surprised to find him still awake in the sitting room. He sat on the edge of the couch, looking at all the spread out files and papers on the coffee table; pieces of the puzzle to find out who had taken Hawk and why. Someone was pulling the strings, and we needed to find out who before it was too late.
Without a word, I took a seat in the chair by the fire. It had burned down to embers, but it was still warm. Sasha had taken off his coat when he arrived, but he was still in his thick sweater, looking much like he had hours earlier. Still alert, still focused.
“You look different,” he said, finally breaking the silence, but he didn’t glance at me. His eyes remained on the papers in front of him.
“I had a baby.”
He grunted.
“What’s that mean?” I demanded.
“It means you look different—and not just because you had a child.”
“Good different?”
“Just different. Soft and fierce. I don’t even know how to explain it.” He finally lifted his eyes to mine. “You’re beautiful.”
“Sasha,” I began.
He shook his head. “You didn’t think it would work, did you?”