Just three more seconds ticked by before the telltale beep of the electronic lock announced that Mr. Suit-and-Tie had met with success.
Noah tensed in preparation as the hinges let out a low rattle of protest. He sucked in a deep breath, then held it as the door inched open. He kept utterly still, watching as the other man made his way in with painful slowness. First came the tip of one of his designer shoes. Then the flash of his crisp dress pants. Next were his fingers, gripping the edge of the door. Finally, Mr. Suit-and-Tie stepped completely into view. For another second, he continued to hold the door open, his eyes scanning the open room, obviously unaware that danger lurked behind him rather than in front of him.
Noah’s lungs burned from the effort of not making a sound. He continued to hold the oxygen in anyway, waiting for the perfect moment. At last the other man released the door, and it whooshed shut. The intruder was fully exposed. And Noah was ready.
Almost dizzy from the pent-up air, he pushed away from the wall, gun over his head. With a hard swipe, he smashed the weapon into the other man’s skull and expelled the long-overdue breath at the same time. As the impact reverberated up his arm, Noah saw stars. For a second, he thought the plan had somehow backfired. That he’d been the one to take the blow rather than the one to give it. But just a few heartbeats later, the stars and accompanying dizziness retreated, and he saw the other man lying at his feet, jaw slack, blood seeping from a wound on the top of his head and his chest moving in slow, unconscious breaths.
“You get what you give,” he muttered.
He spun away from the violence, strode to the closet and flung open the doors. Immediately, Elle collapsed into his arms. She was shaking and crying a little, too. When she pulled back to look up at him, though, Noah knew it wasn’t because she was scared for herself. She was worried about him. Her next words confirmed it.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He almost wanted to laugh. “Not a scratch.”
Her body sagged against his again, and this time, her arms slid up to his shoulders. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, then shook her head.
“Can you please try a little harder not to risk your life at every turn?” she said.
Now he did let out a small laugh. “All right. I’ll try. So long as I’m able to keep you safe at the same time.” He reached up and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “We should go. Before any of that guy’s friends decide to show up.”
Elle’s eyes sought the fallen man, and as she sank back down on her heels, her face went a little paler. Was it just the bloody display, or was it something more? Noah studied her for a second, trying to place the sudden sense of off-ness that rolled over him.
“You okay?” he asked after a moment.
Her gaze jerked back to him, and she exhaled. “Yes,” she said quickly. “Let’s hurry.”
Trying to brush off the need to ask another overly unspecific question about the change in Elle’s expression, Noah moved to the door and stole another look through the peephole. The hallway was clear. Even the housekeeper’s body was nowhere that he could see. Maybe that wasn’t necessarily a good thing, but he didn’t have time to stop and dwell on it, so he grabbed the door handle and gave it a tug. But as he stepped through the frame, then held it open for Elle, he caught her staring at the fallen man again. Her visage was even paler—almost sickly. Under that, Noah caught a hint of something he could identify. Recognition. Not the good kind, either.
“I take it you know him,” he stated.
“Yes,” Elle replied, her voice tight.
Noah frowned at the lack of explanation. “That’s it?”
“Yes,” she repeated, stepping out into the hall.
“You sure?” Noah prodded. “You don’t want to at least give me a name?”
Her lips pressed together for a second, then dropped open. Before she could speak again, a male voice cut through the air, answering on her behalf.
“His name is Detective Lance Townsend,” said the unseen man. “And his superiors are going to be none too pleased that you’ve assaulted him.”
A half dozen questions swirled up—not the least of which was why a detective would need to break into a hotel room, and why he would need to knock a woman unconscious—but Noah stowed them all as the speaker revealed himself by stepping out into the hall, arms raised in a surrendering gesture that Noah didn’t buy for a second. Instinctively, he started to step in between Elle and the suited, fiftyish man. Except he didn’t get a chance to finish the protective maneuver. Elle moved faster. She stuck an arm out to stop him from going by. And if that didn’t surprise him enough, her words sure as hell did the trick.
“Your partner is alive, Detective Stanley,” she said. “He’s just going to wake up with a bad headache.”
Noah’s head swiveled in her direction, and he saw nothing but guilt and sadness written across her beautiful face.
* * *
Elle let herself look at Noah for only a solitary moment before sliding her attention back to the man standing in front of them. It’d been more than half a decade since she’d seen him, but he hadn’t changed at all. Same prematurely silver-gray hair, same crinkle around his eyes. He was an undeniably handsome man who would probably continue to age well for most—if not all—of his life. Yet Elle knew better than most that the adjective that suited him most was “ruthless.” There was nothing he wouldn’t do to follow a case. Even if that case was motivated by something other than true justice. And his smile made her want to shiver. His eyes had always contained a trace of something sinister and out of control. Something that made Elle believe he was just this side of coming unhinged.
“Ms….what is it now? O’Malley?” he asked.
She didn’t dare look at Noah. She could feel the tension and curiosity rolling off him already. And if she was being honest, it made her want to cry. Then again, honesty hadn’t been her strong suit since meeting Noah.
She steeled her nerves and addressed the detective instead. “It’s always been O’Malley. You know that.”
“I suppose I do,” the older man replied, his smile becoming a Cheshire cat grin. “Though in professional circles, we might call that a technicality.”
“You can call it whatever you want. That doesn’t change what it is, Detective Stanley.”
“Agreed. And speaking of the inevitable…” His slightly wild, gray eyes flicked to Noah, then back to Elle. “I guess it’s up to the two of you to decide how this plays out. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that you haven’t told him the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
Once again, Elle refused to turn and look at Noah. “He doesn’t know anything except that Trey is Katie’s father.”
Noah spoke up then, his voice edged with concern and confusion. “What the hell’s going on, Elle?”
She gave the barest head shake, willing him to keep quiet as she ignored him in favor of speaking to Detective Stanley again.
“I want to talk to him,” she said softly.
Uncharacteristic surprise registered on Detective Stanley’s face. “You want to talk to Trey?”
Elle nodded. “That’s my condition for coming with you without a fight.”
The older man cast a speculative look her way. “I can try. But I don’t know if he’ll—”
“He will.”
“All right. Give me a sec.”
Seemingly unconcerned about leaving himself exposed, Detective Stanley slid a hand into his pocket to retrieve his phone, then turned away as he placed the call. Elle knew Noah would try to take advantage of the perceived opportunity, so she adjusted herself so that her body shielded the detective from an attack.
“What are you doing?” Noah asked under his breath.
“If he had any doubt about his own safety, he wouldn’t be looking in the other direction,”
she told him. “There’s nothing Detective Stanley values more than his own life. He’s got a fail-safe plan of some kind. Trust me.” She winced as the last two words escaped her lips. Right then, he had little reason to take her word for anything. A fact which Noah was clearly aware of as well.
“I want to trust you,” he said. “I want to keep trusting you. But you need to give me something here, Elle. A little bit of a hint as to what all of this means.”
She made herself meet his eyes. “The less you know, the safer you are.”
“That’s a copout.”
“I know.”
“I don’t even give a damn about my safety at the moment,” he said.
“Which is exactly why I have to do this.”
“You can sacrifice yourself, but you’re demanding that I don’t do the same?”
“If I’m alive…there’s still a chance that I can save Katie. And that’s all that matters.”
“I’ve been doing nothing but trying to save her,” he pointed out.
“And if you keep trying…” She inhaled to steady herself to say what she thought would keep him from launching an attack.
“If I keep trying, then what?”
“I won’t forgive you for it. Ever.”
He blinked at her, and the undisguised hurt on his face cut her like a knife. Automatically, she started to reach for him. She managed to stop herself just as the detective turned back their way, and she was glad she’d found the tiniest bit of self-restraint in time. The last thing she needed was for the older man to find yet another way to exploit her.
“Here,” said Stanley, holding out the phone. “Guess you’re getting your wish.”
With sweatier palms than she would’ve liked to admit to, Elle reached out and took the device from his hands. Both her fingers and her lips trembled as she brought the phone to her ear. She willed herself to sound stronger than she felt.
“Hello?” she greeted.
“Hello yourself,” said Trey.
Elle couldn’t stop her eyes from sinking shut. Nausea swept in, too. So did a hundred bad memories. She fought through it all.
“I’m not going to bother asking how you are,” she replied.
His chuckle wrapped around her like a medieval hair shirt. “I don’t suppose you would. But I’ll tell you all the same. Business is good. Thriving, even. Only dampened by the fact that I’ve been bleeding money to find you and Kaitlyn.”
“Katie,” she corrected without thinking.
“Katie?” echoed Trey.
Elle wished she could rewind and unsay it, but she made herself answer anyway. “It’s what she prefers.”
There was the briefest pause. “Funny. She didn’t mention that to me.”
His words were a slap. Katie hadn’t just been taken by Trey’s men; she was with Trey himself. The reality of that hit her hard enough to make her sway on her feet.
God help me.
She refused to let a hint of her fear seep into her voice. “I could make a sarcastic observation about being so very surprised that she didn’t share her nickname with the stranger who kidnapped her, but it’d be a waste of time for both of us. So I’ll just tell you that I’ll come with Detective Stanley. But first… I want two things.”
“You want things…” The statement was speculative rather than amused.
“That’s right.”
“I’m listening.”
She opened her eyes, but she kept them fixed on a spot on the wall because she didn’t trust herself to stay in control if she so much as glanced at Noah. “I want to talk to Katie. So I can hear her voice, and so she can hear mine.”
Trey barely missed a beat. “And the second want?”
Elle straightened her shoulders. “You need to let the man who’s been helping me go.”
“Pretty tall order.”
“Maybe.”
She waited. She knew there was a strong possibility he’d simply say no. The man was unpredictable, and he had every reason to want to punish her. But instead of a flat-out denial, he posed a question.
“Do you care about him, Elle?” he asked. “On a personal level?”
“He thinks so, and that matters more,” she replied.
“Hmm.”
Her eyes closed again, and she adopted a tired tone—one that wasn’t too far off from the exhaustion she actually felt. “What, Trey?”
“He thinks you care.” The words were a strange blend of flat and curious.
“That’s right.”
“Does he ‘think’ it so much that he told you who he really is?”
“He does.” Elle said it easily because it was true.
“Prove it,” Trey ordered.
“I know why he can afford this hotel.” She dropped her voice low and prayed that Noah wouldn’t hear. “And I know about his sister.”
“Does that mean he knows who you really are?”
“No.” Now her voice was small. “Like I told Detective Stanley, all he knows is that you’re Katie’s father. I want your word that he won’t be hurt. And not the kind of so-called word you give your usual clientele. I want the kind of word you’d give if your life depended on it.”
“That sounds a little like a threat, Elle,” Trey replied.
“Not a threat. A plea.”
This time, the pause had a different feel. Weighted. As though Elle could feel Trey’s mental deliberation through the line. And when he spoke, his voice held the first hint of sincerity it had since the start of the conversation. It also lent her the first hint of real hope that he’d comply with her requests.
“Mr. Loblaw would have to agree not to come after you, and I’d have to believe he meant it,” he said.
Elle’s throat tried to close. “I know.”
“There are things I’d have to tell him. Probably not in a nice way.”
“I know,” she repeated.
“Put Stanley back on. I’ll tell him what’s what, and the second you’re in the back of his car, I’ll put the kid on the phone.”
She just barely bit back a heartfelt declaration of gratitude, pressed her lips together, then turned to the detective and held out the phone. And the next sequence of events happened almost too quickly to be real.
Detective Stanley had a quick, monosyllabic conversation with Trey, then tapped the phone off and yanked a pair of cuffs from his belt. He slapped them onto Elle’s wrists. And before she could even wince over the tightness, he looked her in the eye and called out a single word.
“Clear!”
His holler prompted two more men to appear in the hallway. One stepped out from around the corner at the end of the corridor, while the other seemed to unfold himself from a doorway just five rooms up. Both were armed. Both were in armored vests. And both were aiming their weapons right at Noah. And he looked from them to her, every shade of disappointment playing over his features. But that wasn’t what made Elle have to fight to hold back her tears. What prompted the increased sting in her eyes, throat and chest was the third man. The one who appeared behind Noah. The one who quickly—with the efficiency of a seasoned pro—jabbed a needle into his neck and depressed the plunger faster than a blink.
CHAPTER 14
Elle did her best to throw a mental brick wall into place. One that would block out Noah’s expression as the needle hit. And the way he fell down without even a chance to fight, too. But it was almost impossible to keep it in place. The guilt was too strong. And even when Detective Stanley grabbed her shoulder, ordered her to move “quick and quiet,” then gave her a shove to help her along the way—not because he had to, but probably because he wanted to—the ache in her heart didn’t ease in the slightest.
Behind her, she could hear the other two men grabbing Noah. She also heard them complain about it. How heavy he was, and how inconvenient the task was,
and how one had hurt his back already, raking the leaves from his lawn and how this was going to make it that much worse. She desperately wanted to rip herself away from the detective so she could run back, shove the men out of the way, and tell Noah she was sorry.
What good would that do? asked a snide voice in her head. You already sold him out. And it’s not like he could even hear you if you did apologize. You made sure of that.
It was true. And telling herself that she’d only done it to save Noah’s life did nothing to help. The farther away they got from him, the more Elle’s breath burned in her lungs. But slowly. Like molten lava, making its way through her mouth when they hit the stairs. Down her throat when they pushed through a side exit on the first-floor landing. Then into her chest where it settled in a searing pool as they made their way through a pitch-black alley toward an unmarked police car.
She couldn’t stop herself from second-guessing her choice, either. What guarantee did she have that Trey would keep up his end of the bargain? Yes, he wanted her. He was undoubtedly preparing to make her suffer in the worst way. Hadn’t he promised that he would? She was plagued by the thought that maybe she’d done nothing but hand Trey everything he wanted.
When Detective Stanley placed his hand on her head and started to guide her into the back of his vehicle, Elle remembered the other half of her requests was still forthcoming. And it helped her strengthen her wall just a little. She pushed back against the detective’s hand and straightened up.
“Katie,” she said firmly.
“I’ll make the call after you’re in,” the older man replied. “Just like Trey said.”
“No.”
“You really want to pick a fight with me?”
“It’s not a fight unless you refuse to honor Trey’s end of the bargain. The bottom line is, I’m not getting in until I’ve spoken to her,” Elle told him. “And we both know that if I cause a scene out here or if you hurt me without your boss’s permission—”
Harlequin Romantic Suspense January 2021 Page 83