by Lucy Farago
“Stop arguing with me. I’m trained to do this. But I can’t if I am going to worry about you getting shot. Rhonda, please trust me. Believe I know what’s best.”
She didn’t like it. Didn’t like it one bit. But he was right. This was his department and, like it or not, she wasn’t in control.
He pressed his mouth to hers, his lips warm and alive. She thought about telling him she loved him. So he’d know, in case she never got another chance. She wanted to order him to survive, because she was carrying their baby. But this wasn’t the time.
“Go,” he told her “and don’t look back.”
Staying close to the wall, she did as she was told. He was right. He didn’t need to worry about her on top of the shit pile, and she didn’t want the father of her baby to die. Or the man she loved. They may not have forever, but she wanted his forever to go on, even without her.
She made it to the kitchen and opened the secret door behind the wood paneling. She stood in the dark, Blake having taken the flashlight. It didn’t matter. There’d been nothing to this but one narrow, straight passage. She could maneuver it if she had to. She caught her breath. Time passed, but she didn’t move. Pressing a hand to her flat stomach, she promised they would get out alive. All of them.
Rhonda flinched as more shots rang out. Her heart would come out of her chest any second now. What if he’d been hurt? How long had she been here? She couldn’t tell. She’d go insane. He could be out there bleeding to death. Again. Her mind rebelled against her tight muscles, making her nauseous. She tried to slow her breathing, now coming in panicked puffs. Blake would be furious, but she couldn’t stay here forever. Sooner or later she had to get to the car. Shaking out her hands, she decided on action and turned away from the passage.
To her right was a set of stairs. Servants’, she guessed. If she could get upstairs, maybe she too could see who was shooting at them, if he was still here. If Blake wasn’t dead. She prayed that wasn’t the case. With her heartbeat pounding louder than the rain, she climbed the staircase.
Many of the rooms on the second floor had been stripped down to their old wooden timbers. In some, plaster peeled and ancient wallpaper fell. Careful not to make a sound, she passed bathrooms in need of remodeling and what looked like another drawing room. In the dusty, cobweb-filled hallway, she heard voices coming from downstairs. Her relief palpable, she forced herself to continue. Blake was alive.
The windows in the next dark room were boarded up, but the gaping hole in the floorboards gave it away. The voices were loudest here. Blake was back in the ballroom—with the gunman. Rhonda released the fists she hadn’t realized she was making, and decided she’d make less noise on her hands and knees. She crawled toward the hole, terrified she’d find Blake in a position he couldn’t get out of. She chose to lie flat on her stomach. Her breasts squished against the dirty floor, the first time she noticed they were sore. Great. A fine time for her body to remind her she was pregnant. Ignoring the discomfort, she peeked through the open space.
She couldn’t see Blake, only the back of the man he shouted at.
“You’re fucking scum,” Blake gritted out.
“Depends how you look at it,” the other man said.
She’d heard that voice before, but it wasn’t Russian. Using the back of her hand, she wiped the sweat off her brow.
“Any way you look at it,” Blake growled.
Where had she heard that voice? Blake knew him. So it had to be someone she’d met through Blake. That narrowed it down to Ryan’s men, Dozier or Cowboy, nix on that, or … the police? Holy shit. She wanted to throw up. Harris, the Interpol guy she’d met outside the cheap motel.
“You told Orlov where to find us.”
“He was taking way too long to do his job,” he said, as if they weren’t talking about someone trying to kill them.
“How much are they paying you?”
Harris laughed. “It’s not always about the money, pretty boy.”
Rhonda’s temper flared. No one called him pretty boy but her.
“Krupin, the greedy bastard, found out Maddy was sleeping with me. He threatened to tell his nephew, if she didn’t divert some of the diamonds back in his direction. She wasn’t stupid. She understood what would happen if she double-crossed the people I work for. She decided she wanted out. Unfortunately, her fiancé didn’t want to let her go. So she took sensitive data off my hard drive and threatened to go to the police if I didn’t help her escape.”
“You killed her.”
So Harris was the one she was having the affair with. Did the Russian want Blake to lure him out? To expose him as a terrorist? Something wasn’t right. Who were the people he worked for, if not Krupin?
“No. She was a pawn in a long line of many, but I still needed her. She called me on her way to the airport to let me know the diamonds weren’t the only things she’d be carrying. I searched her place when she left for the airport, in case she’d lied. Then, two hours later, you found her.”
“So you think I have it?” Blake asked incredulously. “Maybe she had a safety deposit box.”
“She wasn’t that smart. She gave her engagement ring to a friend who probably would’ve pawned it for coke if Maddy hadn’t disappeared. No, she’d been on her way to the airport with the stones. Whoever took the stones took what I want.”
“Maybe Krupin killed her?”
Harris laughed, and it chilled Rhonda’s already cold body.
“You and I both know what Krupin is like. He’d have taken what he wanted then sold her. He doesn’t kill women, not ones that could make him a lot of money. She’d have disappeared, never to be seen again.”
Rhonda shivered. They were all scum as far as she was concerned.
“So whoever killed her took the data. Sorrentino then.”
“No. You see, I was the one who told Filipov that Sorrentino killed his girl. His only job was to fence stones in the United States. But his fuckups were becoming public knowledge. Starting with you and your pal putting him away ten years ago. Then that other idiot, Desilva, gets caught with the lasered diamonds. When Sorrentino got out of jail, the people I work for asked him to pay retribution, so he thought it was a good idea to teach Desilva a lesson by taking out his son. Moron,” he said with disgust.
Like what he was doing was any better? What the hell was wrong with these people?
“No one knew for certain Desilva was working for Sorrentino. But that asshole goes after the strippers and again, he’s back in papers and back on GCHQ’s radar. Your pals connect Desilva’s offshore account to Sorrentino, and everyone’s asking how the diamonds play into this. And how deep is Krupin’s involvement. Let me tell you, it’s kind of hard to start a revolution when everyone is watching.”
Damn, Rhonda wished she’d watched the news more. She had no idea what revolution Harris was talking about and what that had to do with diamonds. Blake didn’t react so he must know.
“You sent me after Filipov. Why not let the kid kill Sorrentino?”
“You don’t think that was the plan?” he asked derisively. “You were there to witness Sorrentino being taken out by Filipov. Not the other way around. I wasn’t happy about Maddy dying, but her death gave us the excuse.”
There was silence. She tried to maneuver her body to see Blake, but a loud boom of thunder startled her and by the time she’d regained her senses, Blake started talking.
“You wanted Filipov to go down for killing Sorrentino. You still need Krupin, so taking out his nephew wouldn’t have been a good move for you.”
“My associates weren’t happy when the kid used one of the diamonds for an engagement ring,” he said. “What kind of dumbass puts that big a neon sign over his head?”
“Two birds one stone?”
“Are you stalling with all these questions? It’s not going to help you. Give me what you took and I promise not to go after the stripper after I kill you.”
“Leave her the fuck out of this,” Blake threat
ened. “You haven’t killed me yet.”
Rhonda swallowed but her mouth was so dry, her throat hurt.
Harris grunted. “Damn, you’re cocky. Now give me what I want.”
“Madison had proof that linked you and Krupin to the Georgian uprisings, didn’t she?”
“What makes you think it’s Georgia?”
“The guy in jail for the heist. He’s Georgian.”
Harris, the slimy bastard, shrugged. Holy shit, what had she been dragged into?
This wasn’t going to end well. Should she risk the life of her baby? Her baby. Hers and Blake’s. Maybe she wasn’t thinking straight. And maybe she couldn’t have forever with Blake, but for the first time since learning she was pregnant, she thought of this unborn child as her baby. Not a baby she was carrying, but hers. Hers to love, hers to have. Yes, it was yet another life she would be responsible for, but who the hell was she to deny this baby its mother … or its father? Her life would be shit if she had the chance to help Blake and didn’t. Her life would be shit without Blake, but better alive than not in her or her baby’s life at all.
“Lucky guess.” Harris started waving his gun. “Now, are we done socializing? Or do you want me to shoot you and get what I want from the girl?”
“I said, leave her out of it. She doesn’t know a thing.”
Rhonda needed something to draw the scumbag’s attention off Blake. But the room was empty except for … She squinted, unable to see clearly. Was that rope? Propped up against the door jamb? She smiled, saying a quick thank you to the BBC. It was the cast iron counter-weight used inside old sash windows. She crawled back to the door and made the mistake of grabbing the rust-covered twenty-inch pole with one hand, nearly dropping it in the process. If she hit Harris in the head, it could do serious harm.
The shouting grew louder. Time had run out. If Blake did have a plan, she hoped she didn’t screw it up. She made her way back to the opening, thankful the downpour outside masked any sounds she might unintentionally make. She propped one elbow against the floor. With her other hand, she lifted the heavy bar, pulled back and after a fast, silent prayer, she threw it. It nailed Harris in the knees. He stumbled forward. The rest was a blur.
Blake dove at Harris, catching him in the waist and taking him down. Shots rang out. Rhonda squealed as the floorboard beside her face exploded, catching her in the cheek. Blake would kill her if she got shot. She stood—ready to run—when a loud crack split the air. Her legs wobbled as old floorboards began to splinter. She braced herself, reverting back to her hands and knees, hoping—like on cracking ice—it would distribute her weight. The old pine complained but held. Until it didn’t, and she was sucked down.
She had no time to scream as the ballroom floor slammed into her back—hard. Her lungs decided not to take the plunge with her and she couldn’t breathe. She barely started to register the pain, when the floor she’d been kneeling on seconds earlier came crashing down on top of her and everything went dark.
Chapter Twenty-three
Blake paced the corridors of the hospital, impatient to hear and far too eager to punch someone. Why hadn’t she stayed in the secret passage like he’d told her? Because she was Rhonda, that’s why, and Rhonda didn’t like being told what to do. She had to do things her way. Well, for once in her life, couldn’t she have let someone else be in charge? Frustrated, he looked at his watch. One hour. What was taking so long? Thankfully the village had a fire brigade. It had taken everything he had not to move her, not to risk hurting her more. She looked so bloody helpless, strapped to that board, her body immobilized.
The doors swung open and a doctor in blue scrubs emerged. Mid-forties, gray hair, he looked competent enough. Not like the teenager trying to pull off being a resident and asking all kinds of stupid questions Blake didn’t have the answers to. She fell, goddamn it. Fix her.
“My Lord.” The doctor extended his hand.
Normally, Blake didn’t like to throw around the family name, but if it got Rhonda faster medical attention, he’d take out a fucking ad. “How is she?”
“Remarkably well, considering. She has a broken arm and a concussion, with some minor lacerations from the timbers.”
He didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to feel the pain of losing a child before it was ever born. He didn’t want to live his brother’s agony. But he forced the words out, because avoiding the question wasn’t going to save the baby. “Doctor …” He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. He had to know. Of course, that meant the doctor would assume the baby was Blake’s. He’d have to remind him of doctor confidentiality, but as the Jameson family was a generous donor to the hospital, Blake felt assured no one would talk.
The doctor put a hand on Blake’s shoulder. He prepared himself for bad news.
“Mother and child will be fine. She’s been given something to sleep. It’s the best thing for her now.”
He closed his eyes and allowed the relief to wash over him, to ease the vice grip he hadn’t realized had a hold of his heart. “Thank you,” he said, shaking the doctor’s hand.
“You’re welcome. There’s been some light spotting. Nothing to get too concerned about,” he quickly added, probably after having seen the color drain from Blake’s face. “But we’re going to keep her overnight. Better to err on the cautious side.”
“Can I see her?”
“I’ll have one of the nurses show you to her room once she’s settled. And may I be the first to congratulate you. I have two of my own and another on the way. There’s nothing more humbling than when you hold that wee babe in your arms for the first time. And I know …” He trailed off, his dark eyes widening. Then he bowed his head.
Bloody hell.
“My Lady.”
“Doctor Bowes. How is your wife?” Blake’s mother asked.
“Much better. I hope you received our thank you card for the lovely flowers you sent?”
Blake didn’t want to turn around, but didn’t have much of a choice.
“I did, and give her my best, will you?” she said, giving Blake her scariest stare.
“I will. I was just about to sympathize with Lord Blake. Pregnancies are not without their worries.”
Would the man ever shut up?
“No, they are not,” she said pointedly.
The doctor asked Lady Helen about an upcoming charity event, but Blake was too busy trying to think of a way out of this to listen. He was screwed. Far too quickly, Dr. Bowes left, leaving them alone.
“Mother. What are you doing here?”
“I sit on the hospital board. We were meeting.” She wore the same expression she always did when he pissed her off, the never blinking, deeply hurt, deeply ashamed, how could you? frown. “Have something to tell me?”
He’d never been one to shy away from a challenge, never ran from anything in his life. Today, he considered it.
“Don’t you dare,” she said, as if reading his mind.
“Look, I only just found out myself.”
“First, what happened? I came out of my meeting to a barrage of police and reporters. Imagine my shock when they told me my son had shot an Interpol agent.”
“We were being followed. He cornered me, and Rhonda was hurt in the process. She …” He cleared his throat. “She fell through the floor.”
“I don’t understand. What floor? How badly is she hurt?”
“I’ll explain later. Right now I really want to see her.” He glanced back at the swinging door hoping to see the nurse Dr. Bowes had promised.
“I’m coming with you.”
“No,” he said, with an edge he hadn’t intended. “Look, Mother, she doesn’t know I know.”
“She didn’t tell you she was pregnant?”
“No.” And that still irked him.
“Perhaps she herself didn’t know.”
“She knew.” He also didn’t know why he was discussing this with his mother. Where was that bloody nurse?
“But why wouldn’t s
he tell you? What exactly is going on between the two of you?”
“It’s complicated.” Wasn’t that an understatement. “When we first … I mean when all this began, we agreed it wasn’t forever.”
“Why would you do that? You date a woman and see where things go from there. You don’t put an expiration date on it.”
He did if he didn’t want to hurt the woman. “We weren’t dating. We were thrown together by circumstances out of our control. One thing led to another, and I didn’t want Rhonda to get hurt.”
“You mean you didn’t want her falling in love with you, and you with her. That might lead to something more permanent. God forbid you risk taking the inheritance from your brother. That’s even more ridiculous than putting a time limit on a relationship.”
“It was for her own good.” Where the hell was that nurse? Two more minutes and he’d go looking for her himself.
“No, it was for your own good.”
“Mine?” he said, annoyed his mother would think he wasn’t considering Rhonda’s feelings, when that’s all he’d ever done.
“Yes—”
“My Lady, My Lord.” Throngs of reporters ran toward them, microphones in their hands, cameras flashing and video rolling behind them.
“We’ve just heard the man Lord Blake shot is dead,” one said, thrusting a microphone in his face.
“Are the police pressing charges?” another asked. “There are rumors of terrorism.”
Blake blinked as flashes lit up the small hallway. Harris was dead. Good riddance.
“What of the woman? Who is she?” asked the only woman in the group.
“Gentlemen, and ladies,” his mother said, far more skilled with reporters than he was. “Perhaps you should wait for the police to issue a report.” And for her to find a way to spin it as far from her son as possible. His mother was good at that. Where his grandmother lacked tact, Lady Helen Cameron could run for office.
“What about the woman who was injured?”
Blake spotted two police officers elbowing their way through the crowd.
“I hear she is recovering nicely. Thank you for asking,” she said to the short, bald man who asked.