by Alison Ryan
I was exhausted.
On the way up the tarmac to the waiting jet, the driver handed me a cell phone.
“Mr. Titan wanted me to give you that,” he said. “It has only his number in it. In case of an emergency.”
“What about Nolan’s?” I asked.
The driver shook his head. “I don’t know anything about a Nolan. Just Mr. Titan. He asked that you text him once you’ve landed in Reykjavik.”
Reykjavik?
“Iceland?” I asked as he stopped the car. “That’s where I’m going?”
“Yes, Miss Hunt,” the driver said as he hopped out of his seat and opened my car door. “You’ll get further instructions once you’ve landed. Good luck, Miss Hunt.”
My sole piece of luggage was already being carried onto the jet by one of the pilots as I slowly walked toward the air stairs of the plane. A toothy, smiling stewardess greeted me, a tray with a flute of champagne balanced on her manicured hand.
“Welcome,” she said. “We’re happy to have you aboard today.”
I nodded, taking the champagne and downing it in one quick gulp. I placed the empty flute on her tray. “Thank you. Keep those coming. I’m going to need them.”
Iceland.
It was definitely not on the list of places I’d expected to be going to any time soon. It had been on my list of places I’d like to see… eventually. I just never suspected I’d be in the situation I was in when I ultimately found my way there.
As I settled into my seat I pulled out my iPad. It hadn’t been used since before I’d left Charlottesville with Nolan, so I assumed it was safe to at least check my email on it while I was on the flight. After drinking three flutes of champagne I wasn’t completely thinking straight. And I had a long journey ahead of me. The pilot had mentioned it would take a little over 7 hours to get to our destination.
So might as well play online.
I opened up my Gmail account first to see if anyone had emailed me from school. I had some friends who were expecting me to be in Europe right now. We’d planned on hosteling a bit and splurging on luxury digs in the bigger cities.
A couple of them had emailed me wondering where I was and why I wasn’t answering my text messages.
But those weren’t the emails that had caught my eye.
In the subject line: IMPORTANT.
The sender? Jessa Ladson. The Hunt Group.
I hesitated for a moment, suddenly sober. Why would Jessa be emailing me? If I opened the email, would they somehow be able to tell I was in a plane on my way to Iceland?
Without thinking, I clicked on the subject which opened up the email in its entirety to me.
Camilla---
It has been brought to our attention that you have been spending a lot of time with Nolan Weston, a former employee of The Hunt Group. Now, it’s truly none of our business how you spend your personal life, but we felt it was only fair to warn you of what you are dealing with when fraternizing with someone like Nolan.
He is dangerous. Your father found this out too late, sadly. We have suspicions that Nolan was involved in his death, but nothing certain. We hate to bring up such a tragic subject with you, but we feel it is our due diligence to protect the owner of this firm. You do still hold a majority stake in it, after all. Therefore, we hold a huge stake in you.
Nolan has most likely not told you everything about his past. It’s important you know about it, so I have included some attachments for you to peruse at your leisure.
We understand you’re taking this time to travel the world and sow your oats, so to speak. We look forward to your return so that we may introduce you to the firm and your place in it.
I am only an email or call away should you need me.
-- Jessa Ladson
I wasn’t sure what to think.
The fact that she mentioned Nolan being involved in the death of my father had her losing quite a bit of credibility with me. Unless Nolan had lied about him still being alive. But what would motivate him to do that?
I shook my head. This was just part of the firm’s tactics to get me to turn on him. And there was no way that was happening.
I clicked on the first attachment of three. They all appeared to be photos.
What I saw next shattered my heart into a million pieces.
Chapter Eight
It was a photo of Nolan in a suit next to an exotically beautiful woman in a wedding gown. They were posing together, their hands clasped and fingers entwined.
At the bottom of the photo someone had written:
Mr. and Mrs. Nolan Weston. Married June 2010.
I wanted to throw up.
Nolan was fucking married?
I stared at the couple. They both looked so happy. Nolan’s eyes were so different than the eyes he had now. There was joy in them. Peace.
I love you too. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.
Why was I surprised he could lie so easily? It had been all he’d done since I’d known him. And now I was stuck on a plane over fucking Canada sobbing as I realized that everything I wanted was a big hoax.
What was the purpose in doing this to me?
I clicked on the next attachment. Another photo of him and his wife. It was a candid one, they were on a beach somewhere tropical. They were both laughing at something very funny, her head was thrown back and one hand was on her perfect stomach, her long dark hair billowing down her back. She was in a bikini and she had the body of a model. She was tall and lean and perfect.
The photo could have been the ad for a luxury resort. They both looked like staged models. And again… He looked at her like he loved her.
It was so painful to see. At the bottom of this photo: Nolan and Adrianna Weston, on their honeymoon at Copacabana Beach.
So they’d honeymooned in Brazil. Of course. She looked like she was probably from there. I wondered if she was related to Giselle?
I shook my head. I hated being so jealous. But it couldn’t be helped. I also hated Jessa Ladson in that moment for sending me this.
The third photo was them again. This time arm in arm as they walked down an urban sidewalk. Maybe New York City, I couldn’t tell. They were both bundled up in pea coats and scarves. She was clutching his arm as he pointed to something across the street. They looked Cosmopolitan and chic, like they didn’t have a care in the world.
Fuck Nolan Weston.
I threw my iPad across the plane. It hit the window with a smack which must have been loud because suddenly the stewardess was back in the cabin, a look of concern on her face.
“Miss Hunt, is everything alright?” she asked looking around. “I heard a thud.”
“It was me, throwing my iPad,” I replied. “Sorry.”
“You have an iPad?” she asked, her voice suddenly concerned. “Did you just access anything online from it?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I checked my email on it. Why?”
Suddenly her flawless veneer was gone. “Where is it? We have to get rid of it. If you opened any emails on it the firm could easily track us now. Did you open any emails from The Hunt Group?”
Her voice was stern, it reminded me of Nolan’s.
“Yes,” I admitted, hanging my head. “I wasn’t thinking…”
She didn’t bother to listen to me. She picked up the iPad and immediately went to the back of the cabin.
“Miss Hunt,” she said. “Please buckle your seatbelt.”
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“We’re going to need to decrease the plane’s altitude and pull out the landing gear so I can open the door and throw this out.” She looked at me. “So please buckle up. I’ll be letting the pilot know.”
“Who are you?” I asked, buckling my seatbelt with shaking hands. “And I’m sorry I fucked up. I’m… not used to this kind of thing.”
She looked at me, a cool expression on her face. “I work for Emerson Titan. It’s okay. We’re trained to handle things like this. It’s good that you threw that iP
ad. Otherwise I never would have known. So whatever you saw, I’m grateful it upset you.”
I sighed. Fantastic. Not only was I emotionally a mess, but I’d possibly screwed up this entire mission of getting me somewhere without the firm finding out about it.
The stewardess was gone for a moment, speaking to the pilot. Suddenly I felt the plane moving down and the sound of the landing gear moving beneath us.
“Why do we have to lower the landing gear?” I asked.
She sighed. “The plane door won’t open when the cabin is pressurized and the landing gear is up. Safety protocol. We need to be at a lower altitude and once that happens, we can open the hatch quickly and toss the item out. It will be quick.”
“Could it hurt someone?” I asked, feeling like such a horse’s ass for allowing this to happen. “If you throw it out?”
“We’re in a very barren part of Alberta at the moment,” she assured me. “No one will be hurt and no one will ever find this. Now, Miss Hunt. I’m going to ask you to please sit back. I’m giving you a sedative that will have you sleeping the rest of this flight. Okay?”
I shook my head. “I don’t need that. I’m sorry I messed up.”
She walked over to me. “This is not a choice I’m giving you.”
Suddenly her very strong hands held me down and a syringe was plunging into my arm.
“I’m sorry to do this,” she said. “You’ll sleep and once you’re awake, you’ll be in your hotel room.”
“What will I remember?” I asked, already feeling the sleep hit. “I can’t forget what was in those emails…”
I was asleep before I could hear her answer.
Chapter Nine
It seemed like just a few minutes later I was awake.
This time I was in a plush bed, still wearing the clothes I’d had on when I boarded the plane. My head hurt a bit, but I guessed it was from being dehydrated. The room was dark and cool. The stillness and quiet freaked me out a bit.
My eyes adjusted and I could see I was in a hotel room. I had no idea what time it was. The clock next to me said 8:30 but I couldn’t even hazard a guess as to whether it was morning or night.
I slowly sat up and noticed there was a bottle of water on the nightstand. I opened and chugged it, hoping it would help with my sedation hangover.
I was still pissed about that. Had it really been necessary?
Memories of the last 12 waking hours flooded into my head at once. I could still see Nolan’s face with his wife. So that answered my last question I’d asked before passing out on the plane.
I definitely hadn’t forgotten about the fucking emails.
After contemplating my situation for a few minutes I walked to the hotel room door. Something told me there would be suits on the other side of it.
I was wrong. There was only one person. The stewardess.
She was sitting in a chair, reading a magazine. She’d changed into a pair of linen pants and a button down. Her hair was down now. She looked less like a career day cut-out and more like someone who would work for Emerson.
She looked up when I opened the door.
“Ah. You’re awake,” she said, setting down the magazine. “How do you feel?”
“Shitty,” I said. “What the hell was that about? With the needle?”
She gave me a sympathetic look. “I know. Over the top, right? We did it so we could transfer you more easily. It sounds terrible… But we wanted to disembark without anyone seeing you.”
“So?” I asked. “Tranquilizing me was the answer?”
“Yes,” she replied, looking me in the eyes. “That way we could put you in a large, ventilated chest of Louis Vuitton luggage. Your file said you were slightly claustrophobic, so we assumed it would be best. And it was. You have no memory of it, no one could possibly have seen you and now you’re safe.”
I guffawed. “You put me in a piece of luggage? What the fuck?”
She smirked. “Welcome to the world of espionage, Miss Hunt. Your father taught me everything I know.”
I looked at her blinking. “You know him?”
She nodded. “Yes. I owe him everything. He was my mentor. He trained me in Israel. Krav Maga. No one knows that better than Richard Hunt.”
Hearing the word “mentor” made me think of Nolan. I wondered if this stewardess/super-spy had been “mentored” the same way Nolan had done for me. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to this strange world of moguls, mentors, spies, faked deaths, and bodyguards. UVA and the relative normalcy of college life seemed a million miles away.
I sighed. “Yet someone else who knows more about my father than I do.”
“I was very sorry to hear of his passing,” she said, solemnly. I looked at her, having almost forgotten people weren’t supposed to know he was alive.
“Thanks,” I said. “What’s your name?”
She shook her head. “We don’t give those out. Titan protocol.”
“Of course,” I replied. “So anyway. Am I in prison now? Can I venture out beyond my room or what?”
She nodded. “You can go anywhere you want. You’re presently at the Silica Hotel. It’s on the famous blue lagoon here in Grindavik.”
“I thought we were flying to Reykjavik,” I said. “We’re in Iceland right?”
“We flew into Reykjavik and then drove here. It was about a 40-minute excursion,” she replied. “Those were our instructions.”
“I see,” I said. “So you’re not with the firm? Just with Emerson?”
She nodded again. It was all she seemed to do. “Affirmative. And I’m to guard you until Mr. Weston arrives.”
The sound of his name filled me with rage. Especially a woman saying it. When I called him that, it was in the heat of passion. Or what I thought was passion. Before I found out the truth about his marriage. “I don’t want to see him,” I said. “I’m going back into my room now.”
“Very well,” she replied, not seeming to care or notice that I was upset. “I’ll be stationed here. I do have another partner with me, he’s sleeping until his shift.”
I closed the door behind me without replying to this. I didn’t give a shit.
I walked back toward the bed and threw myself on it, burying my sobs into one of the down pillows.
Nolan. Married.
Besides the news of my father’s passing, nothing had crushed me more than this.
Chapter Ten
I slept almost all of the first day away.
I’d woken up later that afternoon and thrown back the curtains. Sure enough, in the distance, I could see what I could only surmise was the blue lagoon. And blue it was, a chalky indigo that stood tranquil. I envied its peace. Beyond it, a jagged field of dark rocks. I could definitely relate to that.
I’d ordered room service but barely been able to touch any of the food. It was a hot dog or pylsur, something I was told Iceland was a little famous for, and it was good. But it was hard to enjoy anything in the mood I was in.
Life had lost its color. Again.
I kept thinking about Adrianna. She was stunning, much more aesthetically suited to Nolan than someone who looked like me. Was he with her now? Was she a loose end he had to tie up? Or was I the loose end? Did she know about me?
Doubtful.
Why? And how? It scared me how easily he could lie and it disappointed me how easily I could fall for it. Over and over.
No more.
The rest of the next day was spent in bed. I watched Icelandic television and sometimes stared out at the lagoon. During the day, the water filled with people, couples and families, people enjoying themselves. They’d leave Iceland with lifelong memories of the lagoon and the landscape. I was destined to leave hoping I’d picked up all the pieces of my shattered heart and stuffed them in my bag, not having left any slivers in the carpet or under the bed. Not that it seemed likely to ever put back together again.
The stewardess/guard had been replaced by another suit, a gruff looking wall of a man. I stuck m
y head out at one point and he said nothing, just watched me.
I wondered if Nolan was really coming. And my father… was he here? Or somewhere else? I felt guilty, I’d barely thought of my father since I’d gotten here. I wasn’t as enthusiastic about seeing him as I’d been before. I wasn’t keen to see anyone, if I was honest with myself. I’d quickly fallen into such a dark depression over Nolan. It angered me that I’d allowed myself to be this woman.
But I ached for him so much. And now I knew it had never been real.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to show up or not. I was prepared to live and die in that hotel room by the lagoon. I just didn’t care about anything anymore.
On my third morning I heard a familiar voice in the hallway.
Nolan was here.
I looked awful. I’d lived in the same pair of yoga pants and white t-shirt for the most part, having only showered once to get the smell of lamb off me. (Iceland was famous for its lamb of all things. And for good reason- it was delicious.)
My body was tense at the sound of him. Tears stung my eyes. I didn’t know what to expect when he walked through the door. But at least I’d have the chance to confront him, to let him know I wasn’t the most gullible fucking idiot on the planet, even if I felt like it.
I could hear the sound of the key card sliding into the door.
“Camilla,” he beckoned. “It’s me.”
And of course he looked gorgeous. He was in a slate colored, Tom Ford suit, tailored perfectly to his body. He unbuttoned the jacket as he walked in, a smooth and sexy movement that made me want to jump into his arms.
I knew that’s what he expected me to do when he saw me standing across the room near the window. As soon as he saw the expression on my face, he grew alarmed.
“Camilla,” he said. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
He rushed over to me now but I extended an arm out.
“Don’t come near me,” I replied. “And don’t call me baby.”