by Addison Fox
She took the one he offered, sniffing the liquor before setting it aside.
“Take a sip. It’ll warm you up.”
“Nothing will warm me up.” She turned toward him and saw the lines of tension that bracketed his mouth. Knew she had to have similar lines creasing her own face. “Nothing can change this awful, awful thing. Or the fact that I insisted we come here.”
The words were freeing as they finally took shape and form and Abby set her glass down, unwilling to numb the guilt with liquor.
She was responsible for Paul’s death. Further, she was responsible for putting her entire board in danger. And she could add Stef’s death, as well, even as she knew Campbell wouldn’t listen to that in her litany of charges.
The only saving grace was that all of the restaurant’s patrons had escaped unharmed.
She didn’t know what she’d do if she had the blood of innocent bystanders on her conscience, as well.
“Nothing will warm me, Campbell.”
He reached for her but she pulled back, standing instead to pace the room. She saw the hurt that flashed in his eyes and wanted to erase it, but couldn’t bring forward the proper emotion to do so.
“Don’t push me away, Abby.”
“I didn’t listen to you. You said I should cancel this until we found out who did it but I didn’t listen.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
“Of course it is.” The urge to rant and rail rose up in her throat, yet all that came out was a quiet voice that couldn’t be silenced. “It’s all my fault.”
He moved behind her and she stepped away from him once more. “I need to go up.”
“Let me come with you.” He stretched out a hand before pulling it back. “Let me hold you. Nothing more. Just let me hold you.”
She wanted that, Abby knew, more than she could ever say. But she’d gone into this alone, unwilling to take anyone’s counsel.
And now she needed to face the consequences alone, as well.
* * *
The night sounds of the Bois de Boulogne drifted around him as Lucas opened his flask and took another drag of his Scotch. The liquor burned a light path to his stomach but it couldn’t divert his rampaging thoughts.
Couldn’t make it quiet.
Why wouldn’t the voice stop?
He’d taken action, securing yet another kill along the way, but nothing worked. Nothing quieted that damned voice that whispered in his ear and taunted him.
Undeserving. Unworthy. Unloveable.
The voice rose up out of the woods behind him as the hit man Lucas had hired came into view. “Nice meeting place. I like the atmosphere. And the group of addicts I just passed will ensure even if we’re overheard, we’re not going to be disturbed.”
The smile was broad—jovial even—and Lucas knew the killing had calmed the hit man even as it had given him a high. A soaring height bigger than the one the addicts down the path were searching for yet would never find.
Lucas observed him just as he had at their first—and only—meeting.
Slim form, nondescriptive face, expensive shoes that looked like loafers but were in reality designed for speed, with rubber soles that made no noise when he walked.
The man’s reputation was unprecedented, but he’d grown increasingly tedious.
Even as he’d proven highly effective.
“Ms. McBane’s home is on the other side of this park.”
“Avenue Foch. I did my homework.” The man’s dark eyes glinted in the moonlight, a mix of avarice and anticipation.
“Indeed.”
“I’ve told you that you can’t touch her. She’s for me.”
“I can take care of the boyfriend.”
“I’m coming to think of him as mine, as well.”
That anticipation flared once more in those predator’s eyes before the hit man tamped down on it, silencing whatever emotions—or lack thereof—fueled him.
“I’ve done what you asked.”
“And there will be more jobs. But I’ve changed my mind on Abigail and the man she’s sharing her time with.”
“Suit yourself.”
“You don’t agree?” The words were out before Lucas could censor them.
Traitorous words that allowed an opponent to think him weak. That he’d be willing to reverse his position.
“I never enjoy giving up prey.”
“Neither do I.”
“Yet you were more than content to allow me to do your dirty work. First your girlfriend, then the driver earlier tonight. Tell me, what’s changed your mind?” The man shifted on the balls of his feet and Lucas had the disorienting sense the man had moved closer, even though that couldn’t be quite right.
Could it?
“You get a taste for it? She piss you off enough to make this personal.” Shift...shift...shift. A gun flashed from his waistband.
Lucas followed the man’s eyes yet still had that disturbing sensation the man was moving closer. “Or was it the fella? New boyfriend in the mix. Changes the rules. Maybe you’ve got a little thing for the woman and don’t like him horning in?”
At the idea he’d want Abby in that way, the increasing discomfort crashed through Lucas with the speed of a bomb blast. He leaped on the small man, dragging him to the ground.
Lucas reached for the man’s neck, the urge to squeeze the very breath from him the only thing that would bring him peace.
The only thing that would quiet the voice.
The hit man was spry and Lucas knew immediately he’d underestimated his foe. Underestimated the powerful strength in that slim body and those careful hands.
The ground was hard beneath them as they rolled, crashing into a small copse of flowers as they struggled against each other. Lucas had the physical advantage but the hit man had years and years of brutality and sheer stubborn will on his side.
A heavy fist to the stomach knocked Lucas’s breath but it was in that moment, as his free hand went to his stomach, that he remembered the small syringe he’d prepared in his vest.
It had been impulse, really, that quick purchase when he’d entered the park, but now knew the advance planning would be his saving grace.
He’d learned a long time ago not much beat a well-placed dose of heroin. Especially not when it held twice the limit most humans could reasonably consume.
Regaining his feet, Lucas hunched over as if to attack, bull-style, but the move was intended to shield the work of his hands. The hit man moved back, deflecting the blow Lucas telegraphed with his stumbling steps, but he wasn’t fast enough to see the lethal flight of one lone hand gripped tight around a syringe.
Lucas plunged the needle the moment he found open flesh—a thin thigh as it attempted to connect with his stomach—and depressed the plunger with one swift thrust.
He then moved out of the way to enjoy his handiwork.
* * *
Campbell tugged at the ends of his hair with frustrated fingers, the glow of his computer screen taunting him as a clock somewhere in the house rang in 1:00 a.m.
He’d spent the late hours alternating between anger at Abby and anger at the stubborn set of codes he couldn’t seem to crack.
How the hell had this guy made himself so damned elusive?
He’d already rerouted all of Abby’s data so it appeared as if the device still had access to her systems, even though all it could pull was a dummy interface, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get the codes right on the reverse engineering part of the equation.
The closer he got, however, the more convinced he was he could trace the user.
An image flashed in his mind once more of Lucas Brown and his strange reaction to questions on his tech device but even that seemed a bit flimsy under the circumstances.
Especially since Kensington still hadn’t turned up a thing on the guy. Everything he was purported to be—namely the well-respected owner and head partner of a major European private equity firm—was all she could find.
Maybe some liquid relief would free his mind to look at the problem a different way.
Again, Campbell thought ruefully, it couldn’t hurt.
He stalked down the hall to the small sitting room that sat at the end of his wing. The room boasted a beautiful view of the city and a few minutes of fresh air at the windows along with his drink should go a long way toward clearing his head.
Until he saw Abby standing at the window, her hair rippling against her temple in the light evening breeze.
She still wore the outfit she’d worn to dinner—a slim pencil skirt and silk blouse tucked in at the waist. Her heels were long gone but she hadn’t changed into something more comfortable.
Or clean.
He could still see the scuff marks that ran along the side of the fawn-colored skirt from where he’d pressed her to the ground outside the restaurant. “You haven’t changed.”
“Haven’t I?” She turned from the window, her gaze distracted and unfocused.
“What are you looking at?”
“Nothing. Everything.”
He tried his question again. “Why haven’t you changed yet?”
“I will. It seems...” Her hand floated into the air. “I guess it just feels that if I change, it means I’ve accepted what happened. It means I’ve accepted that Paul died.”
He felt the tug of her sad, sad eyes and couldn’t resist walking toward her. “No, Abby. It doesn’t. He’s still going to be gone, long after you change. Long after you leave here. Long after we catch who’s doing this.”
“I just keep seeing it and no matter how many times I do, I can’t believe it happened. One minute we’re wrapped up in each other, that sexual hum between us practically dragging us from the restaurant, and the next the car’s exploding in flames.” She dropped her head in her hands as her face crumpled. “Paul’s lying in a pool of blood next to the burning car.”
“Abby.” Her earlier resistance be damned, he closed the distance and pulled her into his arms, pressing his lips to her temple as he crooned nonsense words. “Shh. It’ll be all right. Shh.”
“It’s not all right. And it won’t be. So many dead. Gone.”
“That’s not you. Why can’t you see that?” He stepped back and held her slim, quivering shoulders in his hands. “Why can’t you understand that?”
The grief that rode her eyes receded, replaced with a hard, burning anger he’d never seen before as she shook off his embrace. “My entire life I’ve avoided entanglements. Avoided caring about people or sharing my life with them. That was the way to sadness and grief and I wanted no part of it. Yet here I am.”
She whirled back to stare at the window, looking at something only she knew, but her voice drifted over toward him. “It found me. Grief and sadness and hurt found me, anyway. Only now I have the blood of innocents on my hands.”
He refused to let her take the blame.
Refused to allow her to think she owned the actions of others or that her own actions were somehow responsible. Before he could argue with her, she flung his imagined words back at him.
“You claim I didn’t do this. That Stef made her own choices. That Paul was a trained operative.”
“Yes.”
“None of it changes the fact that they would still be alive if they weren’t a part of my life.”
“You can’t think like that. Can’t assume you have responsibility for others.”
“Like you, Campbell?”
He heard the question. Heard the soft, probing undertones. “What do you mean, like me?”
“Sarah. That poor sweet girl who lost her life a lifetime ago. Are you over her? Are you over thinking you have any responsibility for that?”
“It’s not the same.”
“No?” She turned from the window. “It’s exactly the same. You were barely sixteen years old. How could you have done anything to change that?”
“You know nothing about it.”
“No? I know it haunts you. You admitted as much to me. Admitted it was the act that drove you to what you do. Can you honestly stand there and tell me it doesn’t drive you still?”
The urge to deny it was strong on his lips but Campbell held back, certain in the knowledge Abby was right.
He had let Sarah’s death and the subsequent loss of his parents define that time in his life.
And he continued to allow it to define his adult choices. Who he let get close and the majority who he kept at a distance, or more likely, pushed away.
With that knowledge came more. He wanted Abby in his life. Wanted to pull her close and never let her go. “Don’t push me away, Abby. Please.”
He wanted her to come willingly—wanted her to take what he offered and give it back to him in return—but he couldn’t stay away. Couldn’t stand there and not touch her.
“Campbell.”
“Let’s take it, Abby. Reach for it and take it with open arms.”
And then she was in his arms and there were no words. No more conversation. Only the two of them and what they shared.
“Yes.” She whispered the words against his lips.
If her rejection earlier had left him ice-cold, the heat arcing between them had him thinking of the hottest summer days. The air around them sizzled and even the cool breeze floating in through the window could do nothing to dim what passion generated between them.
How had he lived without this woman?
Or had he never found anyone else because no one else was Abby?
The events of the past days flashed through his mind on a loop as he touched her.
The competent businesswoman. The beautiful society woman. The fearless leader.
All were a part of her—and parts she played—but none of them came close to the thoughtful woman who lived with a world of hope in her heart, even as she hid herself from the world.
And he wanted all of them. All the things that made Abby the amazing, incredible woman she was.
A fresh swirl of air blew across his hair as he bent his head and for the briefest of moments he stilled and simply stared at her, breathing her in.
The heat of her skin highlighted the delicate scent that defined her. Her pulse throbbed at her throat, passion evident in the heavy beats under that delicate band of skin. A light sigh escaped her lips as a small smile spread across those lush lips.
And in that moment, Campbell knew he loved.
The vague, faceless woman of his dreams was real and tangible in his arms.
And she was better than he’d ever imagined.
Secure in the knowledge of his feelings, he painted kisses over her lips, down her cheek then into the concave dip of her collarbone. He flicked his tongue lightly against her flesh, satisfied when her breath caught in her throat just before she tightened her grip on his waist.
Another light breeze wafted over them and he wanted to take it in—wanted to feel it blowing across them as he stripped her—and turned her so she faced the window, his body at her back. He was already hard and aching for her, the heavy thrust of her butt against his groin the most exquisite torture. He settled a hand against her stomach, pulling her back so that soft cushion could press more intimately against him and used his other hand to work the small pearl buttons of her blouse.
One by one, the buttons slipped from their holds and he used his pinky to caress the flesh that spilled over the cups of her lace bra before moving lower to flick one hardened nipple.
Abby’s moan encouraged him on and he kept up the contact unwilling to relent for the slightest moment.
He wanted to brand her. To scorch his need for her so deeply into her skin there’d never be room for another. A long soft moan drifted up to him, floating on the air just as he slipped the last button free.
And just as he turned he
r so her breasts were flush with his chest, the loud, shrieking burst of the house alarm went off without warning.
Long, low screams of the alarm echoed through his ears as Campbell dragged her away from the window.
“What’s that?”
“The garage. The cars.” Her eyes were wide in her face, the passion that had filled them vanished with the silence.
“Someone’s in the house.”
Chapter 16
Abby gathered her shirt as she followed behind Campbell’s retreating form. The combination of his long legs and the fact he still wore shoes gave him the advantage and she took off after him, stopping briefly in the hallway.
A dim memory of leaving a pair of running shoes proved correct and she dragged them out of the hall closet, slipping them on before shifting to focus on her open blouse.
Heavy action flooded the stairs and David and his men descended, guns in hand, and Abby had the briefest moment of panic.
“We need you secured, Abby.”
“Campbell!”
David blocked her way. “You’re the job. Back in the room.” He gestured for one of his guys to escort her back to the study and Abby had the briefest urge to race away before she tamped it down.
She’d follow where they told her to go and would rationally figure out a course of action.
Until the man in front crumpled like a rag doll as his body fell to the ground, blocking the rest of them. Gunfire still echoed around the small landing as heavy footsteps thudded back down the stairs toward the first floor.
“Man down!” David screamed the order as he and his men dealt with their fallen comrade, then followed in the direction of the gunfire.
Whatever limited acquiescence she had to staying put vanished at the two thoughts that clanged through her mind.
Campbell’s safety and her unwillingness to sit alone in her house, unarmed, not knowing who might await her.
Another gunshot echoed from the direction of the garage and she raced toward it. Carnage greeted her as she stepped over the threshold as another of David’s men lay on the ground. She saw the retreating form of another as he raced down the street in pursuit.