by Vivian Arend
Devon leaned on the wall to stop the room from spinning, shoving the images of his father into a corner of his mind and focusing on the here and now. “You going to see him?”
“I’m already in Calgary. Becki and I will be back in a couple days. In the meantime we’re all on hiatus. I’ll call everyone else and let them know. Lifeline’s not taking any call-outs. I’ve got . . . I’ve got feelers out for a new paramedic for the team.”
A truth that was necessary but still sucked hugely, and also meant this wasn’t the time to mention Alisha’s threat to quit. “I’ll let Alisha know—she’s here with me. You need me to do anything at the shop?”
“No. It’s locked up tight. There’s more investigating to do in the next week, but my RCMP contact says he’s on top of it.” Marcus sighed. “We’ll get through this, Devon.”
Marcus didn’t know the half of it. “That’s my line to you,” Devon repeated. “Call if you need anything.”
They both hung up, and Devon paced the room again, searching for the words to go and knock some sense into Alisha even as he shared the news regarding Xavier.
He picked up his coat from where she’d thrown it toward the back of the couch, more to keep his hands busy than out of a need to clean up, and an envelope fell to the ground.
The unusual texture and unusual colouring screamed Vincent—it was the same kind of expensive envelope that had held the house offer he’d read earlier. Devon opened it and peeked inside. The plane ticket in Alisha’s name confirmed part of her report. Vincent really did think he could simply take over her life.
Fury swamped him, and Devon acted on instinct. He’d been patient, he’d waited, but it wasn’t time to wait any longer. He pulled on the coat and headed out the door.
Vincent wanted to make threats against the people closest to him? Devon would give him a few reasons to reconsider.
* * *
Alisha tilted her face into the shower and let the hot water cascade over her in the hopes of washing Vincent’s stench away. The reek of fear.
Devon was right. She had to go to the RCMP, but horror continued to tango in her veins.
The what ifs terrified her more than anything she’d faced in her years of rescue work. More than the panic attack in the cavern not so long ago, because not only did she feel out of control, but the chaos was deliberate. Humanly guided deceit.
A flash flood or rock slide could shatter lives. At Lifeline they fought that devastation—they brought people back safely more times than not. Man against nature followed rules she’d learned to combat during her time in school and training.
Vincent’s careless disregard for human life cut harder and deeper than the smash of a rock or the icy touch of hypothermia.
Nature wasn’t deliberately cruel. She was unpredictable and powerful. Most of the time she could not be tamed, but gentled. Vincent had stepped outside those boundaries, and Alisha wasn’t willing to play his games. Not anymore.
If she had to leave Lifeline for the safety of her teammates, she’d do so, but she wouldn’t marry Vincent. She’d go south, find somewhere to hide for a while until some proof was found of his involvement.
Devon was right. She needed to trust him, the way she’d trusted him with her life until now.
Going to the police was the only option. Even more urgent on the agenda, from the perspective of Vincent being more than slightly unhinged, was warning her teammates.
She clicked off the shower and hurried to dress, calling for Devon. She couldn’t find him anywhere. No note, no nothing.
When his phone went to voice mail she growled in frustration. Great. Now that she’d had time to see reason, he wasn’t there. It might be needy, but if she had to do this, she wanted him by her side.
Calling everyone on Lifeline individually wasn’t what she wanted, either. Too many explanations—too many questions. She opened her computer and composed a short e-mail.
Maybe it was melodramatic, but Vincent’s “I have the resources to make this happen,” had scared her more than she wanted to admit. She had no idea if her e-mail was being monitored. Was that even possible outside television?
The less she said the better at this point.
Potential danger. Please, stay home tonight. I’ll contact you ASAP. Rule #3
Lifeline’s rules—the ones plastered on the wall in HQ that guided all their training, rescues, and interactions. Rule three was Trust your team. They all understood what it meant. That she was calling on them to go without information and simply believe she was making the right decision based on information she had that they lacked.
Anders had a roommate, as did Tripp. She didn’t think even Vincent would go full-out thug and try anything with them. He seemed to have gone the more devious route up to now, other than his threat against Erin.
Where the hell was Devon? Alisha pulled on her shoes and coat, shoved her wet hair under a toque, and headed for her car. She’d go to Erin’s—at least that way there would be two of them together, and as soon as she got hold of Devon, they could all go to the RCMP station.
She set up her hands-free phone, reluctant to make one more contact, but again, it was the right thing to do. She tapped in her father’s office number; the ringing seemed to take forever before going through. Of course, she still had to run the gauntlet. Hell if she’d sit around waiting for him to call back this time, though.
“Mr. Bailey’s office. How can I help you?” Marilee the robot—right on schedule.
“Alisha Bailey. I want to speak with my father immediately. Don’t do a callback—put me through right now, no matter what.”
Marilee paused, and then, miracle of miracles, did as ordered. “Yes, Miss Bailey. One minute, I’ll connect you.”
God, if she’d known being a bossy bitch was the solution, she would have tried it years ago.
“Alisha?” Her father all but barked at her. “I’m in the middle of a meeting.”
“I’m calling to warn you that Vincent Monreal has been threatening me. I’m going to the police this afternoon. I thought you should know so you could be prepared in case—”
“Goddamn, what the hell are you talking about?” It was sickeningly amusing to hear her unflappable father break. “Just—hold on one minute.”
He must have barely covered the phone with a hand because brief speaking voices in the background were followed by the sound of motion. Only when there was silence did he come on the line.
“Slow down and explain yourself. Vincent threatened you? You’re on drugs or something, aren’t you? Part of your alternative lifestyle as a mountain hippie?”
Alisha clutched the steering wheel tighter but refused to give in to the urge to simply hang up. “I’m not drunk, high, or otherwise incapacitated. Not like I was last week when someone shoved enough painkillers into my drink to send me to the hospital. I’m not calling to get advice, simply as a courtesy. Vincent has been in Banff for the past month and has gone from a somewhat creepy stalker to outright dangerous. I’m going to the RCMP.”
“Vincent’s been here in Toronto, or on the West Coast working on deals,” her father insisted. “I looked into it after you called the last time. Your outrageous conduct has got to stop now, Alisha. I’m getting tired of this twisted, attention-seeking behavior, and—”
“You know what, Dad? You know what kind of attention I want from you? Nothing. Never again. So you can just go to hell.”
She stabbed the end call button and breathed out slowly. It was no use, but at least she could assuage her guilt on that account. Whatever happened in terms of fallout for Bailey Enterprises was no longer her fault. Her father had chosen not to listen or believe her, so now she’d choose her own path.
She’d choose her own family, starting with Devon.
CHAPTER 25
Anger hummed through his body as Devon pounded on the entrance to Vincent’s suite. What he planned might be stupid but potentially very satisfying. It wouldn’t take long. A few minutes, and he’d go
home and work on Alisha.
He straightened to his full height as he waited for a response, damn near bouncing on his feet.
The thick door swung open to reveal an elegant room that probably cost as much per night as Devon paid in rent for a month. Vincent peered out, polite confusion on his face. Even in his hotel room the man was dressed in suit pants and a pristine white shirt, cuff links flashing gold against his wrists.
One brow rose as he gazed at Devon. “Well, this is a surprise. I’m sorry, did you get mixed up? I didn’t book any excursions—”
Devon swung, and his fist connected with Vincent’s jaw. A solid, satisfying crack that hurt his knuckles and jerked Vincent’s head back. The man stumbled, fighting to regain his balance. Devon pushed into the room after him. “Shut up,” Devon snapped, “You know damn well why I’m here.”
Vincent rested a hand on the back of the couch to push himself to vertical. With his other hand he gingerly touched his lips before examining his fingertips for blood. “I’d suggest you reconsider before you hit me again. In your position as the enraged ex-lover I can forgive one stupid move, but if you touch me twice, I’ll have you arrested.”
“That’s rich, coming from you. You want to go to the RCMP station, let’s go right now.” Devon stood just inside the door, glancing around the suite. A luggage carrier rested to one side of the door, suitcases lined up beside the oversized trolley.
“Going somewhere?” Devon asked.
“I’m headed to Toronto.” Vincent shook himself, gaze tight on Devon now, far more wary than before. “The car is being brought around.”
Shit. Devon didn’t want him to leave, not before he’d persuaded Alisha to go to the police. “I thought your flight wasn’t until Saturday.”
Vincent narrowed his eyes. “You are annoying.”
“I’ve been told that before. You have no idea exactly how annoying I can be.” Devon faced Vincent head on. “Alisha’s not going anywhere. I don’t care what fucked-up tricks you played to convince her to give in, but it’s not going to work. Leave, but don’t expect her to follow.”
“Our relationship isn’t any of your business.” Vincent straightened his tie, glancing in the mirror on the wall as if suddenly unconcerned that Devon stood before him with clenched fists. “My fiancée and I will deal with—”
Instinct won over logic. Devon hit him again, this time hard enough that Vincent staggered back and crumpled to the floor. He stared up, eyes unfocused for a moment, before blinking and grumbling his displeasure. “A prudent man would consider his actions more.”
“Leave Alisha alone,” Devon snarled. Warning delivered, he turned to leave.
Motion blurred toward him, a streak of blue below an unexpected but familiar face. Pain exploded in his head, the side of his skull throbbed once, and then blackness overtook him.
* * *
A heavy band of agony wrapped around his temples, and Devon took a deep breath to stop nausea from overwhelming him. He lay on his side on a smooth surface, his entire body rocking slightly from side to side. A groan escaped before he could stop it, opening his eyes to discover Vincent staring over the back of a leather seat, his cold eyes unblinking.
Devon bit back another groan of pain and glanced around as he pulled himself to vertical. He swore softly as he spotted the driver’s face. The same woman who’d already made his life difficult and was probably to blame for at least one of the accidents at Lifeline.
The one who’d hit him with something hard in Vincent’s room.
“You found a new employer pretty quick, didn’t you, Lana?” he asked.
She adjusted her hands on the steering wheel, knuckles white she gripped it so hard, but didn’t respond.
Devon did a quick physical check to assess his injuries, other than the headache that was making him see stars. His hands were tied behind his back, and an additional rope was twined around his ankles.
“Are we nearly there?” Vincent had turned his back on Devon, staring out the front window at the narrow road the rental car was skimming down. Tall spruce and rocky outcrops passed on either side. The mountaintops towered over them as Devon searched the trees trying to identify a familiar landmark so he could figure out where they were, but they could have been anywhere on the outskirts of Banff, or into the Kananaskis Valley.
There was no traffic, though, the road clear and void of all other vehicles, and Devon’s confusion grew.
Lana spoke softly, answering Vincent’s question. “Ten minutes to the trailhead.”
“Park to one side when we get there,” Vincent ordered.
“There shouldn’t be anyone around. It’s too late in the season for many people to want to hike the trail and too early for ice climbers.” Her voice shook, her uncertainty and fear clear.
Yeah, just because she worked for Vincent didn’t mean she could afford to let down her guard.
Devon tugged at his bonds, but they were seriously well fastened. Damn climbers and their knots.
All his earlier frustrations returned, only now twisted toward himself. He’d made a huge mistake in judgment, and now he was out of his league. Kidnapping had never entered his mind when he’d stormed over to the hotel. Did he tease for details? Stay silent and wait for a break?
They hadn’t covered this one in SAR training.
Except . . .
They had been taught how to deal with irrational victims. Vincent might not be a victim, but he wasn’t thinking straight, or not what the average person on the street would consider normal.
Don’t antagonize—stay alert. Look for opportunities when they come, then act.
Devon rolled his shoulders and tested the ropes again. Tightened and relaxed his legs muscles to keep them from falling asleep. When the moment came he had to be ready to take it.
He had no idea what the hell Vincent had planned, but Devon knew one thing. He had to get out of this alive. Needed to be there for Alisha, for a future spent together discovering how much they could drive each other crazy.
Years of it.
A lifetime.
As long as he lived through the next couple hours.
The car rocked to a stop under the overhang of an ancient pine, the lowest branches high above the car roof. Gravel crunched underfoot as Vincent and Lana left the car, the shelter of the tree preventing the snow from piling up.
The trunk opened and closed. Lana appeared outside his door carrying two backpacks. One she lowered to the ground at Vincent’s feet; the other she settled over her shoulders.
“Give me the keys.” Vincent held out his hand. She dug in her pocket, pulled them out, and dropped them into his palm.
She stepped back quickly to face Devon’s door, swinging it open.
“Get him out and ready to walk,” Vincent ordered.
She swallowed hard and pulled out a switchblade, opening it to a serrated blade. “Turn and put your feet on the ground.” Her words barely whispered out.
Devon took in her big eyes, the fear shaking her hands. She didn’t say anything else. He took his time, careful not to scare her into anything rash, twisting uncomfortably until he’d done as she asked.
Lana knelt and put the blade against the thick fibers, sawing with large, exaggerated motions that made her right elbow swing in and out of the doorway.
Devon frowned. The knot was right there. She’d tied him tightly, but there was no reason to cut the ropes. Climbers hated to cut ropes, always preferring to loosen off and save the lengths for another time.
He glanced up at Vincent, but the man was pulling on a jacket, watching Lana from a few steps away. Her body was between Devon’s feet and Vincent—all the other man would see was her back and her supposedly working like crazy to cut the rope.
Only she wasn’t cutting anything. Her right hand was empty even as she continued to swing her arm. Faint hope rose as her left hand snuck around Devon’s hip, and he schooled himself to not move as she slipped the closed switchblade into his back pocket.
She stepped back, cautiously placing herself far enough to one side that he couldn’t bump into her while trying to escape.
Vincent slipped on the second backpack. That was when Devon knew he was in worse danger than he’d first imagined. “Don’t you have a flight to catch?” he asked.
The other man knelt and retied the laces of his hiking boots, and Devon eyed him carefully. The formal suit was gone. In its place was an expensive outfit, but totally appropriate for the outdoors, complete with gloves and a toque. Vincent stood and smiled, the thin line of his lips barely separating as he spoke.
“I am on the plane. Records will show I caught the flight as scheduled, and after arriving in Toronto I spent the remainder of the evening quietly at home. Tomorrow morning I catch another flight, this time to Vancouver. Oh, my whereabouts are very nicely established, thank you.” Vincent pointed down the trail. “If you don’t mind.”
Devon stood his ground. “What do you plan to do? Tie me to a tree? Abandon me in the bush to die of exposure?”
Vincent frowned. “Well, that wouldn’t make sense, would it? You’re too good at surviving in the wilderness for anyone to believe you simply got lost. No. You need to have a more thorough accident. Something that might take a while before anyone recovers your body.”
The casual way Vincent talked about killing him made Devon’s skin crawl, but he didn’t move. He didn’t take his gaze off the man and crossed everything he had, hoping that what he was about to suggest would not be taken at face value. “Why exactly would I go anywhere with you, since you plan on killing me anyway? Kill me here and drag my body to where you want to hide it. I’m not making things easy on you.”
Devon wasn’t sure why he was surprised to see Vincent pull out a gun. It was pretty well established by now that Vincent didn’t care if his actions were illegal. Devon swallowed his fear and judged whether he could close the distance between them quickly enough to knock Vincent off his feet.