The Promise of Love

by Billi Jean

  “Leg still bad?” Sonya asked instead of answering.

  The redhead was one tough cookie, but David had never tried to take her on. He owed her too much. Right now was not the time to start either.

  “Yep,” he admitted. “It’s been what? Two days since you saw me last.”

  Cody whispered something to her, which made her grin. The woman had once been a spy—and not for them. David had never seen her happy. She was more than happy now—she was all set. Cody fit her. Kind of like he thought Paris had fit him. As soon as he found her, she would again, too.

  “Petrok.” Will leaned forward in his chair and put on his mission face, which meant a total lack of emotion.

  Sonya was smart enough to see it, too, and got down to business.

  “Right, so that counts you out of this mission, Jansen, you’ll have to wait on the sidelines, but Will, you’re going to have to go in. The man we’re after—”

  “Hold it, hold it, what are you talking about? We are done. Out. You were a charity mission, Red, nothing more,” Will said quickly, frowning over at David.

  “Explain, Petrok, what mission and why?” David said, instead of agreeing with him.

  “Savage.”

  The one word stilled the already quiet room in a way only bad news that suddenly got worse could.

  “Fuck!” David slammed his hand down on the desk, nearly upsetting the laptop, but he was too far gone to worry. “Now he shows up? You’ve got to be—”

  “Settle down, Jansen,” Will muttered.

  David spared his partner the briefest of glances. “Walters contacted that slime, didn’t he? It wasn’t Duke. And he has what? The drug? Chung’s or Duke’s?” he asked, although both fucked up the person who took them. “And you want me to settle down?”

  Walters had been one sick bastard by the end. David knew from Walters’ autopsy results that most of the man’s sickness was from overuse of Duke’s drug. Chung, the scientist behind the first DNA trial, was examining the results, but David had read them. It wasn’t just the report either. He’d known just from looking at the man he’d been in trouble. Thin wasn’t even close to what Walters had become—hell, he’d seen scarecrows with more meat on them. The guy had once been a rock, if not a bit too buffed for his own good. When David had turned him over, he’d been shocked down to his boots at the changes.

  “Yes,” Sonya said, “he did. Savage received several samples, and the footage from Duke’s compound.”

  Will leaned forward. “What footage is that, Petrok?”

  David gave Sonya credit. She didn’t back down when confronted with an angry Will, she simply said it like it was. “All the footage, Will. Every room was filmed—except the apartments you two were given. Outside of that and the garage, the entire compound was rigged for show and tell.”

  She let that settle only for a minute before she added, “But that’s where this gets worse, fast. He has names to go with the rooms. Your names were fake. So no worries. But someone put Paris Masters down on that guest list, and it wasn’t Duke.”

  A chill, as if a goose walked over his grave, rushed David at her words.

  “Who would have done that?” she asked.

  “Are you telling me Savage has Paris’ ID and location?” David asked so quietly most wouldn’t had realized how angry he was. But everyone present knew, and by the serious frown on Carson’s face, he’d expected nothing less.

  “I am,” Sonya said, with sympathy. “He’s had this list from the start, but now he’s collecting the people on it. My guess is he wants to discover for himself what the drug was like before he markets it.”

  “Fuck,” David groaned. He grabbed his crutch and would have stood if Will hadn’t laid his hand on his shoulder.

  “No. Sit.”

  “What? Are you insane? He knows where Paris lives!”

  “But my guess is he hasn’t collected her.” Will turned at the finish to face the screen.

  “No, he hasn’t. We had men go…well, fetch her. From all accounts, she’s not happy.”

  “What? What do you mean you sent men?” David demanded.

  “When you two went off radar, this all exploded on me! I did what I thought you’d want! They picked her up yesterday,” she added with a bit less heat.

  “Where—” He paused and swallowed. Off radar? They’d gone to get a new truck so his damn leg would fit in it all stretched out. Less than twenty four hours and they were off the radar? “Where is she, Sonya?”

  “Back at Duke’s. We have the entire perimeter secure and she’s safe, but somewhat vocal about how unhappy she is. Didn’t see that coming,” she muttered. “She seemed too nice, or,” she added with a glance at him, “way too patient for that.”

  She isn’t happy.

  The last day, at Duke’s, she’d asked him to stay, cried for him to stay, but he’d had to go. He’d promised to come back. She had to believe he’d broken that promise, or worse, he’d died.

  “I have to go to her,” he said, then louder, “I’ll go take care of her, you get me if you need me—”

  “Or when your leg heals,” Carson said. “Get that taken care of, Jansen. You don’t want that kind of thing hassling you all your life.”

  “Yes, sir.” He stood.

  Will got to his feet as well. “Just be honest. It might help, and remember, she’s not used to this—any of this—so just be honest, like you were before.”

  “Just get this bastard and hurry up on it, too. She’s not safe until you do.”

  With that he turned and, leaning on his crutch, made it out the door before they saw him sweating in a panic.

  Hell, panic? I’m a mess.

  What if she wasn’t just vocal, but pissed off at him and already settled down with some big Canadian Mountie?

  She’ll just have to forgive me, that’s all. Then he could see about making a promise that was going to last a hell of a lot longer.

  Chapter Twelve

  “There is only one answer that’s going to please me right now,” Savage said, making certain the man in front of his desk understood him. “Bring me the drug. And, this time, I want David Jansen’s dead body at my feet.”

  “Yes, sir,” Murphy said on cue, nodding to reinforce the affirmative.

  “If you find me Petrok and Bryson, your fee is doubled. But Jansen’s the man responsible for this shit,” Savage shouted and threw the empty bottles of Duke’s sex drug at Murphy’s face. “You and your men have had six months. Six fucking months. If I have to show you how to run this operation I pay you to run, than why would I need you?”

  Murphy shifted but kept his Irish mouth shut.

  Behind him, Marcus, his South African killer, also stayed silent, but Marcus wasn’t stupid. He’d let Jansen get the mark on Martinez, so his days were numbered simply because he’d been there when Martinez had died. He’d been instructed to protect one man—Savage’s brother—and he’d failed. Failure wasn’t tolerated.

  “I want this done. As quickly and quietly as possible. Now.” He turned and buzzed in the man he’d left to wait outside. A few seconds later, Ashton Potter walked in. He lifted an eyebrow at Savage, most likely for the plastic surgery he’d had done after the Duke fiasco. The heat surrounding his club had been too much for him to retain his own identity. The new face was just shy of Hollywood and resembled an assassin he’d killed last year for double-crossing him on a deal. The irony was possibly only understood by him and Martinez—if his brother had still been alive to enjoy it.

  “How’s the new drug coming along?”

  The chemist sat and crossed one leg casually over his knee. Not much dismayed the MIT graduate, not even, it would seem, Savage’s new look.

  Savage leaned back in his chair. The younger man pulled a file out of his briefcase and placed it on the desk.

  “So far the subjects have tested well. Now that we are picking up the people who were on the Duke drug, the process should be much smoother. By the end of the month, I think we’ll h
ave a product.”

  That surprised Savage, but he didn’t show it. Potter was good at what he did, and charged a fortune for it. He wasn’t a wimpy college kid, but a genius, who, Savage gauged, had no morals or conscience. The kind of man he dealt with, but from a distance. If Savage went after someone, he killed the man—sometimes face to face, other times using the same methods as Murphy and Marcus. But Potter wouldn’t go for someone like that. He liked suffering, and the more he caused, the more interested he became.

  A serial killer in the making. Or maybe already made. Didn’t matter to Savage. One way or another, he was getting what he wanted, and Potter seemed more than happy with what he received each week in subjects to work on and digits in his bank account.

  “That soon,” Savage murmured, cutting off his thoughts about the oddity of the man and shifting his focus to where it should be. Making money. His new club was run on high-priced women who did whatever the client wanted, but this drug would make him a billionaire if it did half of what Duke’s had done.

  Inhaling, he tapped his desk with a pencil and nodded. “Good. Send me an update when you have one,” he added, standing.

  Potter stood as well. “There’s just one more thing I’ll need.”

  Savage paused from pulling out a Cuban cigar from the box on his desk.

  “And that is?” he asked, nodding for Marcus and Murphy to leave. As soon as they had, he offered a Cuban to the kid. Potter took it, staring at it as if it were a science experiment, then pocketed in the front breast pocket of his suit. As always, he was dressed in the latest fashion from his hand sewn shirts to his handmade Italian shoes. Every detail of his appearance was neat and orderly, down to the part in his brown hair. Savage knew he also kept his home and lab the same way—OCD off the charts, one of his girls had told him after a night with Potter. Kayla had also threatened to quit if he ever let Potter near her again. If even half of what she’d said he’d done with her was true, none of his girls were ever going near him again.

  “I need these women.” Potter flipped the file open. “Paris Masters and Sara Stevens.”

  Savage clipped his cigar and lit it, drawing on it deeply before he answered. They’d already brought in almost all the other ‘volunteers’ from Duke’s compound. Masters was on the list but in Canada, a stretch for him right now when he had a new club to organize, a drug to get on the market and some scores to settle. But the other girl, she was an unknown.

  “Get me both of them, and you’ll have your drug.”

  “Leave the file. I’ll see what I can do.”

  The sick bastard smiled tightly. “Good. I’ll see that your drug is ready.”

  With that, the little prick walked out.

  Savage contemplated the doorway Potter had walked through. If so much wasn’t riding on the drug, he would have killed Potter for what he’d done to Kayla. Business wasn’t good though. A full shut down and bust hadn’t helped his clientele feel protected, neither had his promises for more of the drug, then not delivering.

  If Potter wanted Paris Masters and this other girl in exchange for the drug, he’d have Murphy bring them both in. Two women’s lives weren’t worth losing billions. Not even close.

  * * * *

  Paris paced the length of the room, giving the mirror, which she knew was a window that someone was behind and watching, a dirty look as she did. It wasn’t her first experience with two-way glass after all.

  Or this place.

  No one had come back in, but then, she’d thrown their water at them when they had. It had to be illegal for them to snatch her from her home in Canada, cross the border and bring her here—this place of all places.

  She heard footsteps leading up to the door and turned, arms crossed. Whoever it was, she was ready to snap someone’s head off. It opened and the last man she expected to see stood—or leaned on a crutch—giving her a somewhat tentative, but cocky grin.

  Her mind went completely, utterly silent.

  “Hey, princess, I hear you’re not—”

  “David Jansen, I should kill you,” she said, then ran to him and hugged him as tightly as she could. Tears blurred everything, even the six months of heartache, as his solid body and warm pine scent settled around her. He’s here. He’s here.

  “Whoa, there, no killing me before I get to explain.”

  His voice sounded deeper than she remembered. Rougher. Then his words registered. “I am so mad at you, so very, very mad at you! You left me, here, then dragged me back…here!”

  “I’m sorry, hell, I didn’t mean for them to do this, I didn’t know they were doing this,” he said, sounding oddly choked up.

  Probably because I’m squeezing his neck too tight.

  She let go and stepped back, giving him a once-over. He was dressed in combat clothes, the kind of dusty brown camo that men in the military wore. He wore it better than the men behind him. But he looked better, too.

  Don’t go there. He left once. No more second chances.

  Even as she thought it, she knew such a thing could never apply to David.

  “Why am I here?” she asked, a sudden suspicion and the memory of the last time she’d seen him rising to the surface. “Where is Will?”

  “Look, you’re not supposed to be in here,” he said firmly, and waved off the two big MPs behind him.

  She glared at them. They’d been the ones to pick her up at home and drag her to the SUV then drive her down here. Maybe she’d been very unwilling to go, but they shouldn’t have manhandled her like that. “Will is, well, he had to go clean up more of this mess. But I’m here now.”

  That caught her attention. Will hadn’t come. She explored her feelings on that and found no hurt, just worry over him. David was here, that was why, too. David the blue-eyed, cocky soldier who made her knees grow weak with his sleepy eyed smile. The man who’d made her choke on sandwiches from his insane questions. The man who’d woken her heart, then ripped it out.

  “So it’s just me,” David muttered and reached up to rub a hand over the back of his neck with a wince.

  After this long, it’s just him. That’s all he has to say?

  Go slow, don’t jump in. Steady, just slow down. Don’t give your heart out so quickly—again.

  She folded her arms and assumed a bored posture.

  “Oh, great,” she muttered. “At least you’re not dead. Although I’d love to hear how you searched for me, because that would be a truly tall tale since I was right there, in the same hotel room, in town, waiting for you.”

  He widened his blue eyes, but quickly gave her his big confident smile, the one that had got her into his bed—and Will’s arms—all in one wild week of such passion she even now woke up aching for more.

  Adjusting his crutch, he said, “Look, princess, it’s—”

  “Don’t. I don’t like it here. I want to go home. I have work I’m missing. This place stinks and those men were rude and very, very uncool dragging me out of my house the way they did. Who knows what this will do to my uncle, and I really, really don’t appreciate being ignored for months, then shoved back into this as if no time had passed. You—”

  “Whoa, that’s a lot of pent-up anger. You’d better calm it or you might just end up burning your wick at both ends.”

  She snapped her mouth shut then speared him with the glare she reserved for very spoiled brat skaters wanting her to let their lazy skating slide. “My wick and ends are none of your concern. You left me here!”

  “I didn’t leave you here!” he exclaimed with heat. “I left, and when I came back, you were gone!”

  Shocked, she stared at him, unable to believe all her pain and loneliness was that easily explained. He came back and I was been gone? That was it?

  “We told you to stay here, to wait—”

  “What? Are you saying it’s my fault? That if I’d just stayed here everything would have been okay?” she asked, waving at the entire compound. “Everything would have been fine?” she shouted.

 
“Yes. If you’d stayed put, none of this would have happened—”

  “None of this? What do you know of this, Mr. Smarty-Pants G.I. Joe? Nothing! You would have left too if you were suddenly surrounded by sick perverts thinking you’re their next play toy!”

  “Holy hell,” he breathed, and his crutch crashed to the floor. He hobbled over and suddenly she was in his arms again, and just like before, it was okay. More than okay, so much better it was good enough she felt tears spilling free. “I’m sorry, Paris, sorry, hell, I never would have left you here to deal with that, if I’d known.”

  “I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout at you—”

  “Hell, I’m listening, shout away, as long as you tell me you’re okay and you missed me, but come on, Mr. Smarty-Pants G.I. Joe is the best you got?”

  “What!” She pushed at his chest, but he only kissed her temple and didn’t let her go. He’d tricked her, hadn’t he? God, she shouldn’t have felt her heart melting at that, but she did.

  “Just come on, say it, whisper it if you need to,” he murmured, stroking her back. All those times he’d said that then done everything she’d whispered came back with a full body shiver. Even her traitorous breasts grew heavy and achy at the sexy tone of his voice.

  “You got hurt,” she said, instead of dragging him into the room and whispering exactly what she wanted from him. She moved back enough to inspect the brace he wore on his leg and knee. “And you shouldn’t stand on it, either!” she exclaimed and picked up his crutch.

  He took it, but she could tell he wasn’t completely buying her nervous attempt at changing the subject. It was too soon, and she was too close to falling for him all over again. The last time she’d barely survived. David had shown her what real heartache meant—she wasn’t ready to lose again, so soon. But God, he had great reasons, and such an earnest expression mixed with his bad boy grin, she wished they were alone.