by Lydia Rowan
Hand holding her wrist, he moved to the suite’s large, well-appointed bathroom, one that she’d fallen in love with on first sight. He pushed her behind the rosewood credenza that held linen and whispered, “Be silent and don’t move.”
With that he moved to the opposite corner of the vast bathroom, and Nola’s panic increased. She stared at him imploringly, but he didn’t spare her a glance, and instead stood confidently, eyes glued to the partially closed bathroom door, weapon up and at the ready.
Understanding clicked in her mind. It would take a second or two for someone entering the bathroom to notice him, but he had no such disadvantage. From where he stood, he had an unobstructed view of the door, and from his periphery, he could see the bathroom mirror, which reflected partial views of the bedroom and sitting room.
He had a plan, and most importantly, he wasn’t leaving her.
Nola held to that. It had to mean something that he hadn’t left her. She wasn’t sure about him or what he wanted, but she knew with certainty she was far better off with him than whoever and whatever awaited her outside. Being with him was the best of all of the awful alternatives and he seemed to have her safety in mind. She tried to make that her sole focus, something that got harder as the seconds passed and the muffled voices that had begun in the living area drifted ever closer. With each moment that passed, her heart beat a little harder and her nerves got a little more frayed, so frayed she thought she might burst from the tension of it. Or even worse, scream.
With that thought, the urge to scream, to flee, to do anything but stand there overwhelmed her, and Nola quickly jammed her fist into her mouth and bit down, desperate to stifle the sound. The sharp pain of her teeth piercing her hand helped focus her, and though she didn’t let up, the urge calmed just enough that she didn’t scream.
She glanced at him again, noting that he hadn’t moved a bit. But this time, he did look in her direction and even in the shrouded shadows of the bathroom, she could see his unspoken admonition.
One voice, then another, closer this time, and she realized that the intruders had reached the sitting room. They spoke in hushed whisper tones, not that it was necessary. Her Vietnamese started at xin chao and ended at tam biet. But she didn’t need to speak the language to know that they were moving through the room, methodically, unrelentingly, and that they would soon enter the bathroom and find them.
The man knew it, too. He seemed even more alert now, his large frame strung tight, ready for an attack, one she prayed would never come. She bit down even harder, begging the Lord to let this be over soon.
The sound of a zipper opening and then stuff being tossed filled the room. And oddly, the noise helped her focus. If she could picture what they were doing, she wouldn’t have to wonder how close they were, how close she was to the end. No, instead she could listen.
To the stuff being thrown.
To the softly voiced whispers.
To the receding footsteps.
She dropped her hand and exhaled for what felt like the first time in hours and then looked at the man, who still hadn’t moved. She started to take a step, but he shook his head twice, eyes never leaving the door. Nola froze, foot in midair. The pounding of her heart redoubled in its intensity, drowning out all other sound. But though she couldn’t hear, she knew something was wrong.
And so, not breathing, not moving, she watched the man as he watched the door.
Watched the mirror from the corner of her eye.
Watched the door move ever so slightly open.
And watched the tight, corded muscle of his forearm flex as he pulled the trigger.
What she didn’t watch was the trajectory of his two rapid shots. Or of the two that came after.
He moved quickly as he fired, crossing the bathroom in what seemed an instant, but Nola stood where she was, kept her eyes on the spot he’d vacated.
Time passed, though she couldn’t have said how much. And where before she’d wanted out, right now, this bathroom seemed the safest place, the only place where she wouldn’t have to confront what had happened. Suddenly, light flooded the bathroom. Nola blinked twice but didn’t move.
“Hey,” the man said, shaking her. “Hey,” he repeated when she didn’t turn.
Then he stood in front of her, body close enough that she felt its heat. He grasped her chin and lifted, forcing her to meet his eyes. He didn’t speak again, but she saw the worry that marred his face.
“You all right?” he finally said.
“D-did I…? Did they hear me?” she croaked.
She didn’t bother to ask if they were dead, his relative calm confirmation enough of that fact. His eyes softened as he shook his head.
“No. They would have come in either way. I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said. When he spoke again his voice was gentle. “Does this look familiar?”
He held up a small black memory stick.
“N-no. I’ve never seen that before,” Nola responded, surprised she’d even managed to get words out.
“This was what they were looking for. And they’ll have backup. We gotta go now.”
And as he’d done what now felt like an eternity ago, he grabbed her wrist and led her, this time out of the room.
7
Cruz marched out of the hotel with Nola Bailey behind him. She hadn’t released so much as a peep, and he knew that shock was taking hold. Her wide eyes were shadowed, and if he’d had any doubt about the veracity of her story, it was gone. In its place now resided responsibility. He had to take care of her, at least until he had a better hold on what was going on and who was involved.
When they’d put some distance between themselves and the hotel, he stopped and faced her, the ever-present crowd moving around them like a river around a rock even as the hour got later.
“Nola Bailey, right?” he said, and then she nodded.
“I’m Cruz. Just stick with me, okay?” he said, holding her eyes with his own. “Okay?”
She nodded again, and he continued, eyes scanning the crowd for any threat, his senses heightened in a way he knew wouldn’t leave until they reached their destination. He marched Nola through Ho Chi Minh City’s District 1, passing expensive, high-end hotels and shops and other tourist destinations as they went. Cruz watched the crowd like a hawk, but he and Nola didn’t seem to be garnering any extra attention. When they finally got to the safe house, he entered quickly, relieved when he saw Ace and Sam waiting, curious but otherwise unruffled.
Nola looked at the two men and then moved a bit closer to Cruz, something that gave him an unexpected sense of satisfaction.
“Is there a restroom?” she asked.
Neither Ace nor Sam spoke, so Cruz jumped in and led her to it.
“You good?” he asked, gaze searching her face.
She nodded quickly and after one last searching look, he left her.
“What happened?” Ace asked when he returned.
“That’s Nola Bailey. And there’s a mess at the hotel,” he replied.
“You recognize them?”
“No, but I got what they were looking for,” Cruz said, handing the memory stick to Sam, who brightened immediately.
“Let’s see what we got,” he said, rushing to his computer.
Sam had only been with the team for a couple of years, one of Lucian’s projects, but if he could help unravel this, he’d more than earn his keep.
“You’re buying her story,” Ace said, voice gruff and suspicious.
“Yep. I don’t think she knows anything, and she’s definitely never seen anyone die before.”
Ace shrugged. “That’s not proof. She could be in operations and not necessarily involved with the more messy aspects of the business.” Ace then turned to Sam.
His friend was unconvinced. The two men had been through more fires than Cruz could remember, but Ace’s mind was his own, and he wouldn’t change it until he was good and ready.
“What do you see, kid?” he said to Sam.
&n
bsp; “Stick is encrypted, so this might take a while,” Sam responded, gaze moving across the screen as he typed furiously.
“But you can find out what’s on there?” Cruz said.
Sam stopped typing and glanced up from the screen, looking offended. “Of course. It’ll just take some effort.”
“That’s your priority. Figure it out.”
Ace looked over Cruz’s shoulder, and then turned and watched Nola as she eased back into the living room.
“Have a seat, Ms. Bailey,” Ace said, his voice easy, but the wolfish grin on his face anything but.
••••
“So you’re from Thornehill Springs?”
Nola wanted to scream in frustration, but she bit back the urge. “Yes, I am, like I told you a hundred times already,” she said, letting at least some of her frustration out. It was bad enough that she couldn’t really remember what had made her think this trip was a good idea, when, as the evening’s events and this relentless third degree proved, it had been a very bad one.
The man who was questioning her narrowed his eyes, and Nola slammed her mouth shut quickly.
“Ace,” Cruz said, sounding as dangerous as he had when she’d first spied him in her hotel.
But Ace didn’t let up.
“Name the three high schools in Thornehill,” he said.
Nola’s patience snapped, and she sat up straighter and met Ace’s gaze head-on.
“There’s only one high school, and I’d expect you to know the same, considering it’s the same as yours, Asa Thornehill IV,” she gritted out through clenched teeth.
He’d left town long ago, but she’d immediately recognized him, his dark hair, dark eyes, and intense demeanor things that had always made an impression. Her answer made him pause, but only for a moment.
“You know me, so why don’t I know you?” he asked, his features, which had always been menacing at home but seemed downright lethal here, twisted with skepticism. An improvement over the outright disdain and disbelief that had marred them earlier Nola supposed.
“No reason you would. The Thornehills don’t get over to the east side too often,” she said. She might have been skirting the edge, sparring with this dangerous-looking man, but her quota of fucks to give had been exceeded.
The younger guy at the computer chuckled under his breath.
“Sam?” Ace called over his shoulder, voice a mix of danger and question.
The younger guy stopped laughing and then began to spout off facts.
“I have employment records and school transcripts for one Nola Bailey, born at the Thornehill Springs Medical Center, graduate of the aforementioned Thornehill Springs High School, associate’s degree from a community college outside of Charlotte.”
“Satisfied?” Cruz said, glaring at Ace. And as silly as it was, Nola felt a flood of warmth for him sticking up for her.
Ace looked at her and then back at Cruz. “I buy it.”
“So, you see, this is all some kind of terrible mistake. You can let me go now,” Nola said, not bothering to try to hide the pleading in her voice.
Cruz, who was now facing the computer screen, replied, “’Fraid not. Looks like you’re stuck with me for a while.”
“Stuck with… No!” she exclaimed, looking around the room wildly. There was no way. She had to get out of here, get to the airport, and get her butt back to North Carolina where she belonged and doubted she’d ever leave again.
Ace and Sam stared at her, but there was no laughing; no one popped out with a camera and giant microphone telling her that this had all been a horrible joke. No, to a man, each of their faces was set and determined. But maybe…
That fledgling little seed of hope was crushed when she looked at Cruz again. He’d turned away from the monitor and now glanced at her with eyes that were deep, rich, and, much to her annoyance, as damn dreamy as they’d been on the shuttle.
They were also completely, absolutely, utterly unyielding.
“You can let me go,” Nola said. “I’ll go straight to the embassy.”
Cruz moved from the computer, stalking over to her with precise steps, his bulky body somehow more intimidating now than it had been before. She’d seen the man kill, for God’s sake, had nearly had a heart attack when she’d first glimpsed him in her hotel room, but neither time had he seemed as uncompromising and implacable as he did now.
When he stood directly in front of her, he stopped and stared down at her, his expression growing even more unyielding with each second that passed. But Nola, finding courage she didn’t know she had, didn’t shrink away. She wanted to, couldn’t think of a situation in her life when she wouldn’t have, but something, probably the loss of higher brain function due to fear-induced psychosis, made her hold her ground.
“I need to go to the embassy,” she said, keeping her eyes on Cruz’s.
“Do you have a passport?”
“Yes!”
She brightened and lifted the tiny handbag that she’d somehow held on to during everything that had happened, and thanked the Lord that she hadn’t cared how nerdy she might have looked. The travel guides had warned her against standing out and wearing anything that would make her more of a target, but the small cross-body bag that she hadn’t had a chance to take off in her hotel room was still around her midsection, the strap nestled between her breasts. She unzipped it, reached into the second zipped compartment, and retrieved her passport. It was still stiff from disuse, sporting a single stamp, but she held it up as if it were a talisman. And in a way it was, the one thing that might get her out of this mess.
“See! I have it, so I can just go to the embassy. They’ll help me.”
She watched Cruz, trying to figure out what was happening behind those intense, unreadable eyes. He moved before she could even process it, and plucked the passport from between her fingers.
Her mouth dropped open with shock. Without her passport, she had no way to prove her identity, no way to get out of this country. If he had it, she’d have no choice but stay with him. That or take her chances in a foreign country, which he knew she wouldn’t do. He was forcing her hand. But Nola wasn’t giving up so easily.
Gritting her teeth, she stretched up and grabbed at the document, but Cruz easily lifted it out of her grasp. She shot out of the chair, stood chest to chest with him. He was close, his strong, masculine body dwarfing hers, and Nola didn’t doubt for one instant how easily he could crush her without even breaking a sweat.
But she didn’t care.
This was a matter of life or death, and while she was certain he didn’t plan to chop her to pieces, and no matter how handsome he might be, she needed to get the hell out of here, and that passport was her only ticket.
She speared him with her most intimidating gaze, and he had the nerve to look amused.
“Give me that back,” Nola said, reaching toward his lifted hand, trying to snatch her passport.
Swiftly, effortlessly he again pulled it out of her grasp, but Nola was not deterred. She reached again, trying to break the hold his strong fingers had on the paper.
Doing so proved as impossible as walking home would have been, and seized with a heady rush of frustration, excitement, and fear, she pushed his chest, which was rock hard, something that she was annoyed she even noticed.
The…jerk had the gall to chuckle. Chuckle! But maybe that was a good thing, because Nola was as afraid and angry as she’d ever been, and maybe that would fuel her, help her draw on reserves she hadn’t known she had and allow her to wrestle the paper out of the iron grip of the mountain of muscle that stood in front of her.
She launched herself at him, ramming into him with all of her not inconsiderable weight as she reached up for his hand.
He didn’t move an inch, not a single, solitary millimeter. But he did loop his arm around her shoulders and, with seemingly no effort, held her locked in place, a prisoner between his chest and arm.
“Sorry, Nola,” he said, voice surprisingly soft and
full of regret.
The softness in his eyes seemed genuine, but that didn’t change the fact that this was insanity. She shifted as much as his hold would allow, her breast brushing against his chest, and turned to face the others.
“Ace?”
When he said nothing, she turned her gaze to Sam.
“I just work the computers, ma’am.”
She looked between them and then back at Cruz, who, while his eyes were soft, had also clearly not changed his mind.
“But why? I mean, can we all agree that this is some kind of terrible mistake? I’m a nobody. Entirely insignificant. I shouldn’t even be here,” she said, voice cracking over the last word. “Just let me get to the embassy. Just let me go home.”
Cruz just shook his head softly, and a heavy weight settled in Nola’s stomach, the cold dread of the truth making her dizzy.
There was no way around it. She was stuck.
8
Cruz stole another glance at Nola.
“She hasn’t moved in the ten seconds since the last time you looked at her,” Sam said as he typed furiously without looking up.
“Stuff it, Sam,” Cruz returned, but the retort was weak because Cruz knew he’d been busted.
Nola had lobbied, rather vehemently, in fact, to be dropped off at the embassy. But Cruz had kept his arm wrapped around her and explained that doing so was not an option. She put up a good fight, one Cruz could admit he’d appreciated because it gave him a chance to enjoy the feel of the lush weight of her breasts pressed against him as she’d pleaded her case.
Eventually, and to his regret, she’d given in and flounced over to the love seat, what he suspected were her usually friendly brown eyes stabbing daggers at him until the excitement of the day had gotten to her and she’d fallen asleep.
Cruz had known that once the adrenaline faded, she’d crash, but that didn’t explain why his gaze was so unerringly pulled to her. Maybe it was just curiosity. He’d watched her in the airport and on the shuttle, and during those tense minutes in her hotel room. And through all of them, terrified, angry, panicked, that light, innate goodness had seemed to radiate from her. Even now as she slept, her face marred with tension, he still saw it.