by Geneva Lee
Capture Me
The Royals Saga
Geneva Lee
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Geneva Lee
Coming in 2016
Copyright © 2015 by Geneva Lee.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Geneva Lee/Westminster Press www.genevalee.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Cover Design © Date Book Designs. Print Stock Image ©Bigstockphoto/Bezik Ebook Cover Image ©2015 Perrywinkle Photography. Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the “Special Sales Department” at the address above.
Capture Me/ Geneva Lee. — 1st ed. ISBN 978-0-9964398-7-9
Created with Vellum
To Sharon,
who puts up with me in exchange for Smith.
Thank you.
Chapter 1
The music stopped playing as my call ended. My mobile slipped to the floor, and I slumped against the wall. Opening my suit jacket, my fingers fumbled on the buttons of my shirt until I reached the last one. Lifting the sticky, blood-soaked layers, I groaned.
Fuck, that was deep. Stitches were in my future.
"You're going to need a lot more than that," I called over to Jake. He didn't answer. Probably because he was dead.
See you in hell.
He’d had it coming. Jake had been responsible for the brutal attack on my wife yesterday. Then he’d returned to finish the job, but I’d stopped him—permanently. It didn’t matter that he was acting on the behest of my crooked ex-employer. He’d decided his own fate when he got mixed up with Hammond.
So had I.
But one more dead man also meant one less witness in the coming case against Hammond. With Georgia gone, that didn't leave many options. We had emails and a few recorded tapes of meetings, but Alexander wasn’t convinced it would be enough. After tonight—after his attacks on Belle—I would do everything in my power to bring him to justice. Even if justice came by my own hands.
I’d been a lawyer long enough to know the courts were skewed in favor of those with power or deep pockets. Hammond had spent his life amassing both, and then he’d used it to systematically target those he deemed threats.
He’d clearly placed me on that list.
I stared at the destruction around me as I waited for the police to arrive. Broken glass. Tumbled furniture. Splintered door. Dead body. It was either a murder scene or a really good party.
Of course, I had to trash the most expensive hotel room in London. This was going to eat up more than the damage deposit, which meant my credit card bill was going to be hell next month.
You're losing it, Price.
I knew it. I could feel it. But even as my thoughts scattered around me, I couldn’t collect them. Blood puddled on the floor, and I watched, fascinated, as it dripped in slow motion from my torso.
My mobile rang, displaying Hammond’s number, and I slid my thumb across the accept button. "Price 1. Jake 0," I announced. "I can't believe you used Margot to rile him up. That was low."
“All’s fair.”
I wedged my mobile against my shoulder. It was getting too heavy to hold. “In that case, I should inform you that Jake is going to need a skilled undertaker.”
Hammond chuckled. “He really was no match for you. Did you think I'd let him kill you?"
"What about my wife?" I squeezed my eyes shut and reopened them, trying to make the room come back into focus.
"I don't care about her,” Hammond growled. “This is between you and me."
“Then leave her out of it.”
"This is war, son."
"Who's winning?" I asked. I knew the latest score, but the rest was becoming a bit hazy.
"Well, any moment now you'll be arrested for Jake’s murder. That puts me up one.” Hammond cackled on the other end.
I didn’t. It wasn’t a very funny joke. “I don't get a point for Jake?”
“We're only scoring the big game. After you're in jail, that only leaves three more to mark off my list, and you conveniently sent your wife right to the other two targets. I can't decide if I should strike tonight while they’re all together, or wait until you’ve stunk up your cell for a bit. It would be fun to read about the arrest of an insane murderer claiming a plot against the British Monarchy."
"Yes, except the British Monarchy is on my side.” I blinked as the door flickered in and out of existence. I tilted my head, trying to see where it went.
"For now. But do you think you're the only one feeding information to the palace? Alexander doesn't put all his eggs in one basket. When he receives evidence that you were working for me the whole time, he won't be keen to clear your name. You won’t be able to help any of them behind bars.”
"Interesting twist, but no one will buy it."
"I'm a very convincing storyteller, Smith. Enjoy your time with Detective Spade. He's been so looking forward to meeting you."
The line went dead, and my hand dropped to the ground. It was getting harder to think, and so dark. Did Belle turn out the lights as she left?
Belle.
Her beautiful face floated through the haze occupying my brain. It was as if she were standing in front of me. Porcelain skin, framed by loose blonde waves, and a haughty smirk that made my own lips twitch.
Belle.
Whatever his plans were to frame me, she was the loose end that he couldn't leave untied. No matter what evidence Alexander had against me, she would never believe it. Which meant that she was next on Hammond’s hit list. It was the reason she'd been on it in the first place.
I forced myself to my feet. Damn my chivalry for calling the cops. I really had to do something about this guilty conscience. I groped for my phone, slipping it into my pocket as I shuffled to the door and fell against it. Blood smeared across the polished white trim behind me.
DNA. DNA everywhere.
Christ, I might as well just leave a trail of breadcrumbs behind me.
I snatched a pillow off the sofa as I passed it, ripping off the cover and pressing it to my wound. It would need attention, but for
now the most I could do was stop my blood from leading right to me. But it was no use. It splattered at my feet as I stumbled down the corridor. I clutched my jacket closed as I entered the lift. The couple next to me continued to talk even as the first drop of blood hit the floor of the compartment. I wasn’t making it out of here. Reaching forward, I ran numb fingers over the buttons, lighting up as many floors as possible.
I got off as soon as the doors slid open. I lurched out, my knees buckling as my eyes landed on a janitorial closet. Lunging for the knob, I twisted as my world went black.
Chapter 2
I stepped into the lobby of the Westminster Royal in a bloodstained satin robe. Obviously, I knew how to make an entrance. Crossing swiftly to the front desk, I leaned against the counter to steady my shaky legs. The woman working froze as she took in my battered appearance. I’d stunned her into silence.
“I’d like to speak to the manager,” I said in a lowered voice. I didn’t want this to be a scene. We were alive. The rest could be sorted out as privately as possible.
Relief fluttered across her face. No doubt she was thrilled to pass me off to someone else.
And that pissed me off.
Part of me wanted her to care about the traumatized woman in front of her. Shouldn’t she ask if I was okay? But answering that would be easier if someone hadn’t just been murdered, even if it had been self-defense.
It was too much to process. That was the real reason I was angry. I was here, but my mind was trapped in the hotel room I’d left behind.
My eyes flickered up to catch the shocked expressions on the faces of guests as they passed me. Smith had brought me to our suite through the private lift reserved for important guests, saving me the embarrassment of gawking strangers. I must look the sight—beaten to hell from my first encounter with Jake and now covered in fresh cuts. I pulled my robe more tightly closed and heard a tinkle as shattered glass fell from the folds of the fabric to the marble floor.
And I was worried about drawing attention to myself.
What in the bloody hell are you doing here? I had no idea. Smith was upstairs, waiting for the authorities next to a dead body. I should be at his side. My husband might be paranoid about the possibility of Hammond coming to finish the job, but, honestly, there was no way he was going to walk into a crime scene. He was far too smart for that. Hell, even his hired help wouldn’t dare.
And Smith was far too smart to think there was a real threat, which meant I’d been sent away purposefully. Slivers of ice shot up my back at the realization. There were a lot of rational explanations for why he would send me away, but our relationship didn’t exactly function in the realm of rationality.
Safe from immediate danger, my head was clearing more each second.
The woman I’d spoken to had cornered a well-dressed man. They were far away enough that I couldn’t hear them, but I didn’t miss the glares they threw in my direction, the looks a curious mixture of concern and annoyance.
It seemed they wanted to avoid drama as well.
Then again it was possible they knew exactly what was going on. Jake had gotten into our hotel room somehow. Had an employee of the Westminster Royal given him access?
Hammond could buy friends anywhere, and I suspected he kept more than a few people in his back pocket for occasions such as this.
I needed to get out of here. Smith had told me to call the police, but was he really going to sit and wait for them to arrive?
I’d been sent away because he was hiding something.
Without thinking, I dashed toward the lift, darting in front of a couple. I muttered an apology as I jumped into the compartment and jabbed the button to close the doors before they could react.
Enough people had seen me in my current state. I didn’t need to awkwardly ride the lift with any more. At least the penthouse was on a private floor. If the police hadn’t arrived yet, no one had discovered the scene either.
But when the lift doors opened, I froze. A trail of blood spatter led to the open door of the suite. Someone had been bleeding when they left, and I knew it wasn’t me. At least, not this badly. Either Jake hadn’t died or…
I didn’t want to consider either possibility.
Rushing toward the open door, I ran into the room and nearly stumbled over the lifeless body of my attacker.
He was dead. That might have been a relief if it weren’t for the bloody passage I’d just navigated. If Jake was dead, this blood led to Smith.
Think.
Acting purely out of fear wasn’t going to help the situation. With trembling fingers I slipped off my robe, trying to ignore the dead body in the room. Tremors wracked my body, making it a struggle to pull on the clothes I’d left laid out on my bed earlier. Running around in bloody silk seemed like a bad idea, and it was a problem I could fix.
I took a steadying breath as I gathered my hair into a ponytail. I needed to be in control of myself, if nothing else.
Stuffing the robe into my bag, I surveyed the space for any more personal belongings.
We’d brought very little with us. Smith’s idea. It was as if he’d suspected what would happen. But the most damning evidence couldn’t be shoved into a tote, and I didn’t have time to clean it up.
Satisfied that I’d gathered all my belongings, I pivoted slowly toward the hallway. This time I noted the smear of blood on the doorframe. I wanted to believe it was Jake’s blood on his hands, but he would have had to bathe in it to produce the trail he’d left in his wake.
Smith was bleeding, and he was bleeding profusely.
He might need an ambulance, but if that was why he’d sent me to call the police, why had he left? A normal person would call for help regardless, but in that moment all I could think of was finding my husband.
What was I supposed to tell medics anyway? That he had been injured and had gotten lost on his way to call the authorities. Smith was a fugitive. He knew that, and the police would know it as well. Even if right now he was wounded, I was going to kill him.
If he’s not dead already.
The thought chilled me, but I pushed it from my mind and walked swiftly to the bank of lifts at the end of the hall. There was no way to know which one he took. Only that, judging from the blood spatter, he had headed down to the main floors rather than taking the private lift to the parking garage. I had no clue why.
The trouble was that there was no way to figure out which one he took. Studying the wall, I spotted a smudge of blood on the buttons, and then I had an idea. Peering closer, I found another smear of blood near the frame of the rightmost lift. He’d gotten on that one. Closing my eyes, I centered myself and focused on my need to find him. Then I pushed the button to call for the lift. It took five minutes and several confused passengers before the one I wanted arrived. By the time it did, I was relieved to discover it was empty. The trouble was that half of the buttons on the interior control panel had blood on them.
Think, Belle.
I pressed each one, praying I would find him quickly. I needed to see him—touch him. He was the one real, tangible element of this living nightmare we were trapped in. I had to find him. Surely, he would have gotten off sooner rather than later. The lift doors slid open two floors down to reveal more blood. I followed it, steeling myself for what I might find at the other end. But it only led to a janitorial closet. I opened the door before I could chicken out. The hall light slanted across the dark cupboard and fell over Smith’s crumpled body.
Circling my fingers around his wrist, I checked for a pulse and choked back a sob when I felt the faint thrum. It was slight, but it was there.
Now if I had any idea what to do.
Judging from the heat pricking my eyes, my body voted cry. But thankfully my bitchy, crisis-management side kicked in and saved me.
Sliding my arms around his torso, I attempted to lift him. He was too heavy. Damn all those sexy muscles. I swiped away an escaped tear and collapsed to the floor beside him.
“W
ake up!” I demanded. “I know you’re a stubborn arse, but I need you to listen to me for once.”
I wiped angrily at the tears that were now dribbling freely down my cheeks. “We said forever, and I’m going to need you to make good on that, Price.”
I waited for a response. I begged for one.
Smith didn’t move, save for the shallow heave of his chest as his breath grew ragged. I needed help and I had no idea how to get it.
Pushing his weight off of me, I knelt in the dark and began to pat him down. And then my palm made contact with smooth, cool glass. His mobile.
One person I knew would come—no questions asked. At least not right away.
I dialed the number without a second thought, drawing the door closed and enveloping us in darkness. I settled against the warmth of my husband as the phone began to ring.
A faint rap on the door woke me, startling me from a dreamless sleep. It was either salvation or damnation knocking, but either way it had to be opened. Time was running out. I pushed it open with my foot, blinking against the relative brightness of the hall until a familiar—and welcome—face came into view.
Edward’s face betrayed no emotion as he took in the sight at his feet. He pushed his tortoiseshell glasses up on the bridge of his nose, and shook his curly-haired head. “You shouldn’t party so hard.”
Neither of us found the joke funny. Nothing so small could dispel the tension clouding the air between us.
“Thank you.” There would be questions later. Hard questions. Questions I didn’t want to answer. Right now, though, all that mattered was that he had come.
“I assume you have a plan.”
Not really. Plans were for people capable of movement. Of action. Of thought. Up until a minute ago, I hadn’t been certain that I would escape this spot. But now I needed to have some idea of what to do. I swiped on his mobile and found his contact list. It was a long shot—and not one I was fond of taking, but Georgia might be able to help. Before I scrolled to the G’s, another name caught my eye.