But he couldn’t. He’d nearly got Ben killed.
He didn’t say this again to Ben. Ben was having a hard enough time dealing with his own guilt. In a way, if you looked at it entirely wrong, you could say that he now had stitches in his neck because Ben wanted to make this film. Untrue, but Nikolas could see how some people could say that. Ben, for example—he was saying it.
They needed to talk about what had happened! Not this constant apportioning of blame, but Nikolas didn’t want to think about it, for he knew that once he did, the inevitable would happen—he would insist that Ben quit the film. Ben would refuse and where would that leave them?
So although he knew from Ben’s expression that Ben was worrying over the same things he was—who the fuck? How?—Nikolas ventured none of this.
He was grateful when Ben stressed they could afford a few hours rest before leaving for the airport.
Nikolas agreed. He’d have agreed to anything Ben wanted, for when he tried to stand, he couldn’t. Ben had to heave him to his feet.
Nikolas put his head on the pillow and knew nothing more until Ben shook him gently.
Then he had to help him dress. It was humiliating.
Ben called a taxi and they drove back to Queenstown to the airport and they caught their flight to Auckland. It was positively balmy in the north of the North Island, almost tropical.
Although they were relatively safe—Nikolas was sure no one had followed them—they stayed in the airport and took the next flight to the States. New York with two stops to endure. But it was the only one with seats spare.
They were in economy.
It was a first for Ben.
Nikolas thought he’d faced the very worst cattle class could throw at him. He’d never flown economy with stitches in his neck and feeling ill though. It was very bad indeed. He didn’t care if anyone recognised them or what they might think of Ben Rider’s bodyguard asleep on Ben’s shoulder.
The next thing he really knew with any certainty, they were in an air-conditioned hotel in New York, and he was stretched out horizontal on a very comfortable bed with Ben alongside him, stroking one finger up and down his belly. Somehow he had lost landing, finding a taxi, finding a hotel, checking in and, apparently, undressing. He was naked.
Not all of him was tired, he was pleased to see.
Ben saw he was awake and smirked. “Hello, stranger.”
Nikolas grunted. He was going to ask the time, but thought the day was more the issue, but then he couldn’t actually remember what month it was either. And where were they? New York.
They hadn’t stopped since the world had fallen away beneath them—since he’d thought Ben had lost his face in the crash.
There was so much they needed to discuss. Someone had got too close to them, too close to killing…
But they could be quiet and still now. Just for a while.
Nikolas snagged Ben down to him, and, in pain as he was, it was the best feeling he knew. Ben’s skin was cool and silky and whole. His mouth was soft and tasted of toothpaste. Ben put one leg between Nikolas’s bringing their cocks together, carefully avoiding putting stress on Nikolas’s injury.
They would have to talk about it soon, but not now. Now there was just this, the familiar and intimate reacquainting of themselves with each other. For once, Nikolas allowed himself to just lie supine upon the soft mattress and be made love to. Ben was a very skilful lover and, of course, he knew Nikolas’s body extremely well, knew exactly how to trail his tongue down his smooth, broad chest in just the way Nikolas liked. He knew exactly where Nikolas wanted that tongue to go, too. This had always been Nikolas’s favourite thing, other than the obvious—pushing deep into Ben’s arse—and he could not help a groan of bliss as Ben slid down, pressing his nose deep into Nikolas’s wiry hair and then pulling off with a strong suction that made Nikolas swear with helpless delight. He pressed hard to Ben’s head, unfair he knew, but he was unable to control himself when he thought of his cock slipping between those lips into Ben Rider’s mouth—the mouth millions of fans would fantasise about.
He felt a hand parting his thighs and he obliged by opening them, lifting his legs, and then Ben eased a finger in, working him as he sucked and played and licked. He didn’t often do this, but when he did, it made Nikolas’s whole being thrum with rising tension. He made a soft grunting sound, pushing on Ben’s head, rubbing his palm over the shaved stubble as he encouraged Ben deeper and harder, and then he was there, rising slightly off the bed, his stitches screaming at him as his balls unloaded and he spilled into Ben’s mouth, pulsing thick, milky release, until he sank boneless back into the bed with a exhale of extreme satisfaction.
Ben twitched the blanket up over them both and curled around Nikolas’s side, one arm protectively over his chest, one heavy leg thrown over his thighs.
Nikolas felt bizarrely that their roles were reversed—he the spoilt celebrity being pleasured and Ben now his guard, his protection from the world, just as Ben had been after he had told him his awful story about Kristina’s father.
Just for a few hours he decided to let this be.
He would wake later and be what he needed to be once more, but for now, Ben Rider-Mikkelsen wrapped around him and keeping him safe was very welcome indeed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
When Ben woke, Nikolas was standing by the window, staring out at the park across the street. He was naked, lean, the sunlight catching his hair and making the blond strands glint. He was rubbing his neck idly, not apparently in too much pain.
Ben rose swiftly and joined him, sliding his arms around the too thin waist. “Someone tried to kill us, Nik.”
Nikolas nodded. “I noticed.” He held Ben off a little, inspecting him.
“They nearly succeeded.”
Nikolas looked quizzical as if this was obvious, so why mention it? Ben explained as best he could, “I didn’t think the death threats meant…this exactly. You know what I mean? I thought they were more like trolling…being a total dick and trying to ruin Ollie’s life, but not actually come to fucking New Zealand and kill me!”
To Ben’s surprise, Nikolas only murmured, “I know.” He once more turned his back to Ben and added, “I didn’t take it seriously enough either. I thought once you were off the set…” Ben didn’t need to see Nikolas’s expression to know that he’d faced away deliberately to hide the pain this confession had caused him. He wrapped his arms around Nik once more and pressed close, his chin propped on Nikolas’s good shoulder.
“You have to pull out, Ben.”
“I’m not in. Sheesh, my technique needs improving.”
Nikolas dutifully acknowledged the small joke but then did his silence thing, leaving a void in the room that Ben was supposed to fill. It was so hard to resist the tactic… “You know I can’t, Nik. Not now. I’ve promised.”
“You weren’t told any of this. I’d say Peter Cameron got you on false pretences.”
“But the psycho didn’t actually try and kill Oliver. Peter thought it was just a troll—like I did.”
“How do you know that, Ben? It seems to me a lot of people are lying to you at the moment. Cut free and walk away from it. You don’t owe anyone anything.”
“What would you do?”
“This isn’t—”
“I know it’s not. But if it was, what would you do?”
“Were.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Chainsaw turns again. I’d do exactly what I’ve just told—”
“I never thought I’d say this to you, Nik, but sometimes your lies are very transparent.”
“All right, I can play this game as well. If you were me, what would you say?”
“It was you once, remember? Gregory? You didn’t run away. You faced him down. In fact, I seem to remember you went on an all-expenses-paid sex trip with him.”
“It was not—”
“What’s to say if I do just go home this nutter won’t follow me? Bring it back to
everyone there…Babushka, Emmy…? This freak doesn’t know what he’s taken on with us, Nik. I say keep it here and deal with it here.”
“He didn’t take on much on that mountain, Ben. He came out of nowhere. We weren’t prepared. He just…he didn’t even have to get out of his fucking car.”
“Yeah. We let our guard down. I know.”
Nikolas twisted in Ben’s arms, cupping his face for a quick kiss. “Get dressed. Call Peter. I will be very interested to hear what he says.”
§§§
Peter was full of the progress they were making in Wellington filming Oliver’s break into acting when he was a teenager. His co-star in After the Wars had flown in too and had begun some work on the narration. The network making the post-apocalyptic drama had agreed to his release to appear in person in the movie, too. His presence on camera, alongside Ben, would add a whole new veracity to the story they were telling.
Ben then told him the news. He had his phone on speaker so they both heard the long silence and then the bewildered, angry response. Ben felt an instant stab of relief. Peter wasn’t involved. It wasn’t that he’d suspected him exactly, but it was good to know, nevertheless.
“Ben? You still there? Where’s Bronislav now? He still with you?”
“Yeah. He flew here with me. He’s okay.”
“Okay, look. We’ll be in the States on Tuesday, okay?”
Ben had Nikolas’s amber intensity drilling into him, so he was forced to ask, “You want me to go on with this?”
There was an even longer pause this time.
“Shit, Ben. Look, my people can meet with you there tomorrow. Get down to Louisiana, and we’ll talk then? We don’t need to do any more location shooting. It’ll all be on the Wars set at Salt Island, and that’s sealed up tighter than the Pope’s ass. Ben?”
“Yeah.” It was disconcerting being drilled by Nikolas this way. He preferred Nikolas’s usual drilling method. “We’ll make our own way down. See you Tuesday.”
He clicked off.
Nikolas narrowed his eyes at Ben and then without commenting on his capitulation, grabbed his own phone and sat on the bed next to him. He stabbed a number. Kate answered. Still keeping his gaze locked with Ben, but if possible in an even more intimidating way, Nikolas snapped abruptly, “Get to New York. I’ve got work for you.”
There was a small hesitation, and Ben heard Kate say with a sigh, “I can’t, sir. I—damn it. I broke my ankle. I’m sorry! I’m laid up in a bloody cast.”
“Fucking hell! I’ve just been pushed off a fucking mountain and nearly had my head sliced off, but I’m in New York!”
“Did you hurt your ankle?”
“No!”
“Well, there you go! Break your ankle and see how much hopping about on planes you’d be doing! Sir.”
Nikolas sighed. “Can you still work?”
“Of course. What do you want me to do?”
“I want to know everything there is to know about Oliver Whitestone’s death. I want photos, autopsy reports, the correspondence of the detectives on the case during the investigation. Everything.”
“Okay. Is Ben there?”
“Why do you want to know that?”
Ben took the phone with an eye roll. “Hi.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Nik was the one nearly killed.”
Her silence at that spoke volumes, and Ben smirked faintly. Nikolas made an annoyed sound and rose from the bed, apparently leaving Ben to his conversation. He wasn’t fooled and kept it circumspect. “Look, we need to talk sometime, yeah?” He flicked his glance up to the deceptively nonchalant figure at the window apparently studying the New York street with interest.
“Yeah, we should. I’m coming home for Christmas…maybe we could meet then?”
“Okay.”
“Ben? I—” Nikolas had switched his focus and was watching him.
Ben nodded to the unspoken guilt he heard in Kate’s voice. “I know. Don’t beat yourself up about it, Kate. Get well. I’ll see you at Christmas? I—” For once, he wished Nikolas wasn’t there. He gritted his teeth and murmured, “I don’t blame you, Kate, and I still love you like I love Tim and the idiot, okay? No harm done here.” He lowered his head so Nikolas couldn’t see his expression. “Don’t, cry. Kate? Jesus.”
“No…I’m okay, Ben. Thanks. I love you, too.” She hung up.
He felt the bed depress behind him. A hand slid up under his T-shirt just rubbing his back. “You are more forgiving than I.”
“Yeah. I am.”
Nikolas sighed. “We could send some flowers maybe…for the ankle, not the tears. I have no time for women’s tears.”
Ben gave him a look. Nikolas narrowed his eyes. “All right! We’ll say the flowers are because she cried!” Then he added in a barely audible mumble, “Do you know how to spell crocodile?”
Ben mock-punched his arm, and they fell to the bed together, contemplating the ceiling. Nikolas grunted. “I should have more sympathy, maybe. I cannot imagine what being your ex would be like.”
“You’ll never have to find out.” Just as Nikolas began to look smug, Ben added, “You’ll be the death of me long before that.” He sat up. “I’m starving. Do you think New York does food?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Nikolas would have told anyone who asked that New Orleans was like an oven, until he realised that they were both soaked with sweat before they even reached their hotel. Not an oven, but a steamer. There was a tropical storm brewing. Dolly. A cute name for something so suffocating.
He’d never experienced anything like it, and he actually liked heat. They needed different clothes, that was very clear.
They were both travelling on false passports now, which was alarmingly easy, considering the impression he had of a country locked down by fear. He was still Bronislav, but Ben was now Jamie Lancaster again. Ben hadn’t shaved for four days and wore dark glasses and a baseball cap whenever he went out. It was a surprisingly effective disguise, Ben’s most prominent feature, when he was dressed, being his eyes with their unusual green brilliance and eyelashes so dark and long it occasionally appeared as if he were wearing eyeliner. With the eyes covered, a scruffy beard, and a cap over his shaved head, he almost passed unnoticed. No one blogged or tweeted or twittered that he was anywhere, and he slipped anonymously into the hotel and then into their air-conditioned room.
§§§
Nikolas was fairly sure Ben was surprised by his choice of outfitters. It wasn’t his normal style. He took them to an army surplus store. They bought old, used fatigues, T-shirts that were bleached with wash and wear, olive green jackets and boots.
The store had the most impressive selection of knives either of them had ever seen in one place. It had fewer when they left. Nikolas suspected they wouldn’t be getting into hand-to-hand combat, but he just wanted a nice blade. So did Ben. They didn’t often treat themselves…
Their request didn’t faze the storekeeper. Dolly had kept all his weapons flowing off the shelves nicely, he told them.
With their beards, shades, caps pulled low and veteran clothes, they blended in and went unnoticed. Tall, rangy men down on their luck, no one gave them a second look.
Nikolas once more rued his stupidity in New Zealand, kitting them out with Bogner ski gear, Ben dressed as if he were on a fucking photo shoot, people taking his picture…
No one was pointing a camera at them now. They were probably too afraid.
Nikolas wanted a few more things before they headed back to their nondescript hotel. He paid for everything in cash.
When they got back, he dug out his main purchase—a feather-light notebook computer. Firing it up, he logged onto the hotel’s free Wi-Fi, searching to find what he wanted. Ben craned over his shoulder, making unhelpful remarks until he realised he was looking at a detailed topographical map of Queenstown and its environs. He moved closer and together they tried to work out exactly where they had been pushed off. When they had the lo
cation roughly pinpointed, it was then fairly easy to see where the other vehicle must have waited for them. Below the high ski field there was a shorter luge run, and that had a car park. Anyone in a vehicle there would have had an excellent view of them slowly descending the mountain.
“How did they know what vehicle we were in?”
Nikolas brought up another tab. It didn’t take long after a Google search to find links to hundreds of tweets about Ben Rider on the ski slope. The first had been posted just before midday. They had been pushed off shortly after six. Someone monitoring the web would have had a good long time to get up onto the mountain if they’d wanted to.
Then they found it—a photo of Ben fixing his skis on, the car and the licence plate clearly visible in the background.
Nikolas turned over on his back, thinking.
Ben continued to flick through the photos, searching for more, studying them.
“You are very beautiful.”
Ben didn’t comment, his tapping and scrolling becoming more vicious.
“Fucking hell! What have I done! I don’t want this!”
Nikolas laid a hand on his arm and snagged him away from the computer to lie alongside him.
They had the air conditioning on too high. The air was almost chemical, unpleasant. The sound of the machine drowned out the rising wind.
Nikolas sighed. He began toying idly with the hem of Ben’s T-shirt. It rose a little, displaying the hard belly beneath, smooth, cool, a thin veneer of sweat dried on the tanned ridges. There was a new bruise on the lowest of Ben’s ribs that hadn’t been there directly after the accident.
“Nik?”
Nikolas propped himself up on his elbow, studying Ben, not really listening. His stitches hurt. “Nik…” Ben held Nikolas’s hand, preventing it from sliding down inside his fatigues. “I think we should split up.”
Nikolas flicked his gaze up to Ben’s. Ben frowned then sighed wearily, “Moron. I mean you being my bodyguard.” He turned on his side as well, playing thoughtlessly with the fingers he was holding. “You can’t be effective like this. I think you should do what you do best. Stop it! Listen. You need to go on the offensive. We’ll never be safe until that lunatic is stopped. You need to stop him.”
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