“It’s not about the blame, Angel,” he said quietly. “It’s about learning from that experience and making sure it doesn’t happen again. I was afraid to hurt you with words and yet it was my silence that almost caused me to lose you. This past month, when you were busy finding yourself, fixing yourself, I was doing the same thing,” he said. “I was unworthy of you.” Blaire opened her mouth to protest but Grant put a finger on her lips. “Let me get this out.” When she nodded, he continued, “I’m too selfish to let you go. Val nearly dying fucked me up, but I shouldn’t let it define how I dealt with my anger. I’m a grown-ass man. No excuse not to control my temper or the words coming from my mouth around the people I love. Last night, I realized I haven’t had the instinct to shut down in a while—”
“A half day.”
“What?” His brows drew together.
“When you get angry you have half a day to process your anger, but that’s all I’m giving you,” Blaire declared. “We talk about the issue no matter how much we want to strangle each other.”
He smirked. “Somehow my desire to wring your pretty neck always ends up with me wanting to fuck you.”
“That’s a problem?” A delicate eyebrow rose.
“That sassy mouth,” Grant lowered his head, murmuring against her lips. “Needs to be wrapped around my cock.”
She pushed away from his chest to stare up at him. “Agreed?”
“Half a day it is, Angel.” He wouldn’t need that time. Like he said earlier, Grant had learned his lesson. “Can I ask you something?”
She cast him a wary look.
“I know December was pushing it, but something was bugging me about your aversion to that date.”
Blaire muttered under her breath. Something about taking “communication too far.”
Grant chuckled. “It goes both ways, baby.”
“It’s just that I’m still in therapy,” she mumbled. “I’m afraid the stress of preparing for a wedding might set me back. And I really, really want to be perfect for you.”
Something tugged at the muscles of his chest. “Oh, Blaire, you’re nothing but perfect for me,” he whispered. “But I understand,” he added. “I’ll defer to you to set the wedding date, but I’m not waiting longer than May.”
She nodded, but was staring at his chest, tracing the lines of the design on his shirt. Her feather-light touch was a direct stimulant to his groin.
“Anything else?” he cleared his throat.
Blaire glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “Maybe you can come with me to my last sessions with Dr. Jones?”
“Name the time. I’ll be there,” Grant replied without hesitation. He’d been wanting in on some of her therapy appointments, but she hadn’t been ready. He was pleased she’d initiated the idea from her end.
“Thank you.”
“Blaire?”
“Hmm?”
“I need to fuck you.”
Without waiting for her response, he leaned forward and grasped the back of her legs, lifting her and moving forward to where the counter was clear. He set her on top and wedged himself between her thighs.
“Grant …” Blaire whispered, her hazel eyes heavy-lidded. Oh yeah, she was ready for him.
“Sexy as fuck,” he purred. He freed his cock, moved her sleeping shorts to the side and thrust up into her. Mouth, tongue, hands, and cock, he was all over her. He made her come quickly, and not long after, he poured his release into her.
And that was how that weekend went. They talked, ate, fucked, and, when they weren’t doing any of those things, Blaire caught up with this zombie apocalypse series she was hooked on.
He once thought he’d be happy living a hedonistic lifestyle with Blaire, but he knew that, just like him, she would need balance and time away from him. He could easily smother her with his insatiable need for her and it was fortunate that his business commitments forced him to leave the house. But ever since Blaire’s abduction, fear of letting her out of his sight had gotten into the mix. Maybe he needed to talk to a therapist himself because the fear wasn’t fading and had only gotten worse.
Grant would think back to this time and realize his psyche was giving him a premonition.
The call came late Sunday evening. Blaire was already sleeping and Grant was in his office finishing up a call with his Hong Kong office.
“Grant.” His name on his father’s gruff, tormented voice was enough to send the blood draining from his face. He held the phone tight.
“What’s wrong?” Shit, he hoped Mom was fine.
“It’s Valerie.”
Grant sighed, relief briefly taking over. “What did she do now?”
“Grant, they took her!”
“What? Who took her?”
“Andy went over to see her and she wasn’t at her house. He thought she was just mad at your engagement and took off without telling anyone.”
“How do you know someone took her?” Grant asked. “You know Val has a habit of going off on her own when she’s upset. And where the hell was her security?”
“They called with their demands,” his father’s voice grew hoarse. “Her two bodyguards were found dead inside the house.”
“Jesus Christ. Do we know who they are? Is it one of those white supremacist groups?”
“No, Grant. It’s the people who took the paintings.”
Dread unlike any gripped his lungs in a strangle hold, and he knew, just fucking knew, what those fuckers wanted.
Or who.
“They want Blaire for Val,” the senator said raggedly.
39
Blaire
Something woke me. It felt like a light brush on my lips. Grant was leaning over me, his features shadowed in the darkness.
“Grant?”
He twisted and turned on the night lamp, illuminating his ravaged face. Something was terribly wrong. I jacked knifed to a sitting position and put my hand on his arm.
“I didn’t mean to wake you, Angel.”
“What happened?”
He studied my face, emotions conflicted, until a determined gleam entered his eyes. “The men who took the paintings kidnapped Val.”
Oh, no. Words refused to come out of my mouth. I swallowed.
“Dad is meeting me at the office within the hour.” He kissed my forehead and got to his feet.
When I realized he was simply leaving, I scrambled off the bed, noting briefly that it was one in the morning. “Wait, Grant!”
I cursed his long legs as I struggled to catch up with him and tugged on his arm. “It’s me they want, right?”
“Yeah. Not happening.”
He shrugged off my hold and continued stalking down the hallway. I ran past him and confronted him in the kitchen. Jake, Tyler, and two new security guys I didn’t recognize were there.
Grant tried to side step me, but I mimicked his movements.
“I don’t have time for this, Blaire!” he growled.
“Bull!” I retorted. “Why am I not included in the efforts to get Val back? I’m the one they want.”
His face darkened, jaw tightening. “I’m not making the same mistake.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I chose my family before and I nearly lost you.”
“It’s not about choosing. You put a tracker on me—you’ll always know where I am.”
“No.” Tired of trying to side step me, Grant gripped my shoulders and handed me to Jake.
“You know that’s the right choice!” I yelled at his retreating back as I fought Jake’s hold. “If something happens to Val, you’ll resent me. Is that what you want?”
Grant paused, spun on his heel, and prowled back to me. “No. That’s not what I want, but if I trade you for Val and I never get you back, I’ll hate her forever. I can live with resenting you. I’ll even live with Mom and Dad hating me, but don’t ever ask me to live without you, Blaire.”
“You’re not thinking this through.” I tried another tact. “I can defen
d myself. Val can’t. I can delay giving them what they want until you all come up with a plan to extract me.”
He shook his head, face torn in anguish.
“Grant …”
“No.”
“I don’t understand—”
“I won’t risk you!” he roared as his breath sawed through his lungs. “My decision is final. Jake is staying with you. I’m taking Tyler with me.” It went without saying that Grant didn’t trust Tyler not to get compelled by me to go against his wishes. I watched helplessly as Grant got into the elevators with his men and disappeared from our penthouse.
Jake released me.
I lowered my head, shoulders slumping. “You know I’m right, Jake.”
“Mr. Thorne is scared of losing you. He thinks he can throw enough money at Val’s abductors to render the value of the paintings nil.”
“This wasn’t his decision to make.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
I raised my tear-filled eyes to Jake. “If we don’t get Val back, it’ll destroy him.”
He nodded. “It will change him, but he’ll survive. Losing you, Blaire, will kill him.”
40
Blaire
I had never felt as isolated as I did now. Jake wasn’t telling me anything and I was ready to climb the walls. I heard Amelia had been transferred to a secure location, and I was feeling guilty enough to leave her alone. Even Andy wasn’t answering my calls or texts. He could blame me all he wanted, but, dammit, he’d always been logical about this. Then I remembered Grant, and how I couldn’t reason with him. I was fighting for us—why couldn’t he see that? An eternity of resentment wasn’t how I envisioned our lives together. That wasn’t a life … that was going to be hell.
My phone buzzed.
Andy calling.
Finally.
“Andy!”
“Hey.”
“How are you holding up?”
There was a deep exhale. “I don’t know what else to do, Blaire. The senator has shut me out. I think he blames me.”
“Why in the world would they blame you? I’m the one those assholes want.”
“So Grant wouldn’t give you up, huh?” There was bitterness in his tone and even if I understood how he felt, hurt pinched my heart.
“I tried to convince him to give me up.”
“Listen,” Andy sighed. “I’m kinda drifting right now, hoping the senator or Gus will return my calls. I’m in Manhattan and was wondering if I could crash at your penthouse. I need someone to commiserate with.”
“I would love nothing more than someone to talk to, Andy. I’m slowly losing my mind waiting for news.”
“You think your guard dogs would let me up?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
I argued with Jake for five minutes.
“When everybody abandoned me at the ER, Andy was there for me, Jake,” I said. “He got shot because of me and needs my support now.”
“He’s going to mess with your head,” Jake responded. “He’s going to want you to take Val’s place.”
“As I should!” I gritted out. “But you’re here to stop me. So what’s the harm in letting him up?”
Jake glared at me for a second longer before allowing the building guard to let Andy into the elevators.
My friend walked in, looking haggard. Dark circles smudged his under-eyes and his already light complexion had become more pasty. Poor Andy. He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, a far cry from the suits and crisp white shirts he wore as part of the senator’s staff. His red brown hair couldn’t get more mussed up, but it was like he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly.
“Andy,” I whispered. I ignored the fear of rejection and walked up to him and hugged him tightly. He was stiff, but he gave me a token one-arm hug. “I’m sorry.”
He sniffed a laugh. “Yeah. You must feel like shit, but I can’t hate you, Blaire.” His eyes were shifty, as if he wasn’t certain he should be here. He eyed Jake and the other bodyguards.
“Come on, let’s go to the living room. Have you eaten? Do you want something to drink?”
“I’ll have a glass of water if you don’t mind.” He crashed on one of the couches with his forearm over his eyes.
I was feeling more torn up by the second as I walked into the kitchen to fetch Andy his water. I wished Grant would call soon. It’d been over two hours since he’d left to meet his father in his Lower Manhattan office. Waiting sucked.
Grant
Grant arrived at Thorne Industries and waited for his father who was already en route from the Manhattan Heliport. The senator was bringing in reinforcements, but he didn’t elaborate who or what. This was making him antsy and he wished he’d kept Blaire in a separate unknown location. Even if he knew his dad wouldn’t stoop to kidnapping her, the possibility had crossed his mind. There’d been a minute of charged tempers on that first phone call with his dad because Grant wouldn’t consider using Blaire as bait.
His office phone buzzed and the night guard announced the arrival of his guests.
“Send them up.”
He couldn’t sit still, so he got up and walked out of his office, past the reception area, and waited for the elevator car to arrive. It didn’t take long. The elevator doors slid open and the senator stepped out flanked by two men as tall as Grant. Both were built—one had light blond buzz-cut hair; the other had dark hair. Both were about forty, but it was hard to tell with the blond one, there was a depth of experience in his ice blue eyes.
“Viktor, Sully,” the senator said. “You haven’t met my son, Grant. Grant, this is Viktor Baran and Sully—Gabriel Sullivan,” he said flatly, gesturing to each man in turn. “They work for Artemis Guardians Services.”
He shook hands with the two men. Grant sized them up, not only as former military, but he’d bet they’d been in special-ops.
“Gentlemen,” Grant waved his arm toward his office.
“They specialize in international K & R but offered to help given the circumstances,” the senator explained.
“Do you think we can convince Val’s kidnappers to take a ransom instead?” Grant didn’t waste time in asking.
They’d entered his office and he motioned for them to sit. The sitting area comprised of two sofas and two wingback chairs surrounding a coffee table. The senator sat in one of the chairs; his two companions remained standing. Viktor leaned against the door frame and Sully stood with arms crossed.
“No,” Viktor clipped.
“Why can’t we just pay for whatever those paintings are worth,” Grant said. “I understand there may be more valuable work hidden underneath, but everything has its price.”
“Agreed,” the blond man said. “However, your net worth is roughly twenty-billion dollars, Mr. Thorne. You’re six billion short of what those paintings are worth.”
“You’re shitting me,” Grant whispered.
“I’m not,” Viktor responded. “Sully, do you want to explain?”
“Most of the intel is classified,” Sully said. “And what I’m about to tell you does not leave this room or this could undermine months of intelligence work.”
Grant backed into his desk and perched on the edge. What the hell was going on?
“You’re familiar with the Russian oligarchy. You’ve done business with a few of them and your recent rival for the Galleria Development was Ivan Yashkin,” Sully said.
“Go on.”
“There’d been a recent shake-up in the oligarchy. Billions of dollars were mishandled and became lost in the infighting. Roughly twenty-six billion were in offshore accounts and were set to be invested in the U.S. with the ultimate goal of destabilizing the financial market.”
“Jesus,” Grant muttered.
“I’m sure, as a business man, you understand the intricacies of market volatility. They also planned to infiltrate the U.S. banking system via these offshore accounts. It was believed that Sergei Kostin was entrusted the lost account numbers by his brothe
r, the former most powerful mafia boss in Russia.”
“What happened to Kostin’s brother?”
“He was assassinated. It was a brutal shake-up. The Kremlin, the Oligarchs, and the Russian mafia are this one big happy family until they turn on each other. We believe Kostin was tortured regarding the account numbers and he revealed where the paintings were, however, the interrogation proved too much for his weak heart and he died. Yashkin couldn’t get to the building where the paintings were hidden.”
“That’s where we had an advantage on the bid,” Grant said. “There was bad blood between the family that owned the Galleria Development and Yashkin. He’d attempted several hostile takeovers of that family’s corporation before. Wait, are you saying the account numbers are hidden under the paintings?”
“Correct.”
“Blaire mentioned some technology that can scan through the pigments.”
“Yes, but since they’d kidnapped the senator’s daughter, it appears that method had failed. They need someone who’s familiar with Kostin’s technique to get to it.”
Sully’s phone beeped and he excused himself to take a call.
“How did they find out about Blaire?”
“We’re not sure,” Viktor said. “Kostin must have talked about Paulina Antonova and Yashkin had strong ties to Orlov. I think they were aware that Kostin had taken to Paulina and had built her up as an unwitting protégé.”
Sully returned. “That was our analyst. He’s sending me a dossier on the men we think got to Valerie. This is also the reason why we didn’t bring any of the senator’s staff with him.” He handed the tablet to the senator. His father looked at the screen and paled. “Oh, Christ, Valerie.” His father’s fingers shook as he rubbed his temple while reading through the information just received.
Viktor must have received the same transmission and handed his own device to Grant.
His eyes zeroed in on the picture staring up at him and absorbed the supporting intel. His blood turned to ice. “Son of a bitch!”
Blaire
Captive Lies Page 26