The question, Jared’s eyes, those little words… they were talking about much more than getting her sister back.
Ari had never trusted a man before—not like this. She’d learned that lesson early on, and though she’d regretfully and stupidly allowed her life to be dictated and controlled by men for decades, she’d never trusted them.
But Jared wasn’t those men. He was strong and honest. Sincere. Protective. Even after everything she’d put him through—everything he’d seen—Jared Blackwell hadn’t run away. He hadn’t turned her in, or left her for dead, or threatened her, or twisted her weaknesses into something he could use against her, for his own gain.
Whatever had happened between them, whatever she’d done to betray him, Jared Blackwell had come back for her. He was here. Now. Right by her side. And one look into his eyes told her that he wasn’t going anywhere—no matter what.
“I trust you,” she whispered, and those three little words from the bottom of her heart paved the way for the next ones. The ones she needed to say tonight, right now, no more keeping them inside. “I love you, Jared.”
She closed her eyes, her body slumping forward with exhaustion.
Jared caught her against his chest, resting his chin on the top of her head.
“Ah, love,” he said, so softly Ari wasn’t sure she was meant to hear it. “What have you done to me?”
And then, for the second time that night, Jared’s strong arms encircled her, lifted her up, and carried her away to a better place.
Chapter Two
Access granted.
It was the most beautiful phrase in the world right now, second only to Arianne’s earlier confession, and Jared nearly shouted in triumph when the white letters finally appeared on his laptop screen.
He stood up from the desk in his penthouse study and stretched, rubbing the burn of exhaustion from his eyes. He’d been at it all night, working tirelessly to crack the password on the files they’d copied from Errington’s flash drives. His only breaks had been to check on the sleeping beauty in his bedroom—Dr. Harper had instructed him to wake her every hour, examining her for confusion or dizziness, any signs of concussion. But each time, she’d only stirred lightly, smiling up at him from the huge bed, murmuring his name as she drifted back to sleep.
She was a fighter, no doubt about it. Jared had suspected as much from their very first meeting, watching her try to flirt and seduce her way out of trouble when he’d caught her snooping at the auction. All of their passionate nights together, their stolen moments—hell, even the Brawler matches—had only served to reinforce his initial assessment.
She may be frightened, she may be devastated about her sister. But Arianne Holbrook was not the kind of woman to go down without a fight.
Still, the reminder did little to allay Jared’s worries. Davidson had taken Natasha—and he’d damn near killed Arianne—just to ensure a clear shot at Jared’s art collection. At this point Jared was ready to hand over the keys to the Annandale estate, no strings attached. But Jared knew that men like Davidson didn’t just go away once they got their prize. They came back for more, again and again, until there was nothing left to take.
As long as Arianne and Natasha were alive, there would always be something else for Davidson to take. Something for Jared to lose.
His insides knotted up at the thought. Seeing his woman hurt, bandaged up like she’d been in a car wreck… it damn near killed him to look at her, to know that he hadn’t been there to protect her.
Not for the first time, Jared wondered if he should just make the call—pay someone to take care of Davidson and that slimy driver of his, make it look like an accident…
No. It was too risky, especially with Natasha’s life on the line. They had to get her back before they could do anything else. He’d deal with Davidson on Saturday, from the comfort of his own home in Annandale. The moment that retched twat crossed the threshold into his foyer, Jared would be on him with a vengeance…
He took a deep breath, bringing himself back to the present moment.
Files. Evidence. Access granted.
Jared hunched over the laptop, copying the newly unlocked files to his hard drive. His original plan was a good one; they just needed to find some hard evidence irrevocably tying Davidson to the previous robberies—and possibly to the murder of Arianne’s father—and that would be enough to blackmail the bastard right out of their lives.
Jared hit the remote to open his blinds, welcoming the blaze of the morning sun through his windows. It was well after sunrise, and in the distance, the Hudson River was a vein of dark blue glass cutting through the concrete, urging him to get outside.
Jared’s muscles were screaming for a long, hard run, and today was shaping up to be a gorgeous one. But Jared dismissed the idea. He wasn’t going anywhere—not as long as Arianne was recovering in his bed. Not as long as she needed him.
After wolfing down a bagel with cream cheese and lox, and brewing up a full pot of coffee, Jared spent the next two hours parsing the files, printing out dozens of spreadsheets and notes. He had to hand it to Errington: the man was well-organized, and he kept meticulous records of his “business partnerships” and transactions. Insurance policies, Arianne had called them.
Jared couldn’t make heads or tails of it, though. There were lists of names that were likely code names, pages of numbers that looked like routing numbers and bank accounts, and multiple lists describing individual pieces of art, but beyond that, it was all done in some kind of shorthand. He hoped Arianne could crack it.
Of course she can crack it. She’s a goddamn pro.
Jared took another swig of black coffee, nearly laughing as he thought about their breaking-and-entering shenanigans last night. Not two months ago, Jared was a relatively upstanding businessman whose only trouble had come in the form of a vengeful ex-fiancé with a flair for the dramatic. He’d spent months picking himself up off the floor after that particular scandal, and now, here he was, sifting through the stolen files of an illegal art dealer like some sort of vigilante cyberhacker.
Arianne had come into his life like a typhoon, and fuck if Jared knew how to walk away. He didn’t want to walk away—not after everything they’d been through together. He loved her, and he was in too deep to pretend otherwise, no matter what the risk. Finding her nearly unconscious last night, tossed into the gutter like a piece of trash… it had clarified everything for him in an instant.
After printing out all of the files from the first batch, Jared opened the next folder—the one they’d taken from the second flash drive. Oddly, this one contained only two files: a spreadsheet and a video that were more than five years old.
He put on his noise-canceling headphones and launched the video, expecting to see grainy, black-and-white museum or gallery footage, maybe a loop from someone’s personal home security system.
What he saw instead slammed into his chest like a fist.
Three men.
A deal made.
Money exchanged for the promise of a job well done, nothing left to chance.
No one was ever supposed to know.
Jared set down his coffee mug and restarted the video, enlarging the screen for a better look. But small or large, clear or grainy, there was no room for misinterpretation.
Jared closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as the sound of Davidson’s gruff laughter filtered through the headphones, making his hands itch to pound something.
Fucking twat.
It was exactly the kind of evidence Jared had been hoping for.
And it was exactly the kind that would, no matter how badly she needed to see it, shatter Arianne’s heart.
Chapter Three
“Definitely bank account numbers,” Arianne said, thumbing through the printouts of Errington’s spreadsheets. “And the codes in the right-hand column are serial numbers. Errington probably assigns them to track the pieces he’s buying and selling. There should be a master sheet for the artwor
k somewhere.”
Jared nodded, bolstered by her confident, no-nonsense approach. The color had returned to her cheeks, and though she was still a wreck about Natasha, Arianne was focused and alert, relieved that Jared had cracked Errington’s encryption, and eager to comb through the results.
She hadn’t seen the video.
Jared had meant to show her. He’d gone into the bedroom an hour ago to wake her, with every intention of breaking the bad news. But by the time he’d entered the room, she was already awake, and when he saw her there, wrapped up in his too-big bathrobe and inspecting her injured face in the bathroom mirror, she looked so vulnerable, so… destroyed.
He just couldn’t bring himself to hurt her again.
She’d been through too much since last night. Today, she needed to eat. She needed to regain her strength. She needed to focus on decoding the rest of the evidence. She needed to find a way, with Jared by her side, to help Natasha.
“This is good stuff, Jared,” she said now, sipping her coffee as she scanned the documents. “There’s got to be something we can use.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Jared ran his hand along her thigh, comforting her—or maybe he was comforting himself. Hell, did it even matter? Right here, right now, as she perched on the edge of his desk, one hand wrapped around his coffee mug, her legs peeking out from beneath that bathrobe, Jared’s imagination wandered. For one blissful moment, he allowed himself to pretend that this was just another happily shared morning between them, Arianne looking over one of his business briefings, giving her opinion on the latest game in development at FierceConnect.
“Don’t you have to be at work?” she asked, interrupting his fantasy. “It’s after ten.”
“Working from home today, love. One of the perks of being the boss.”
She looked up at him, surprised. “But the acquisition—”
“Evan is more than capable of handling anything that arises.”
“Jared, are you… are you sure?”
How could she even ask him that? The look in her eyes was so fragile, so tentative, it was all he could do not to wrap her up in his arms and promise her he’d retire tomorrow, leave his dream job and make it his mission in life to take out every last one of the bastards that had hurt her.
“Arianne.” He cupped her face in his hands. “I’m not leaving you. It’s not up for debate. We need to go through the rest of this paperwork, find the loophole that gets us to your sister, and bring that girl home safe.”
Arianne set down the paperwork and wrapped her hands around Jared’s arms, her hazel eyes glassy with tears. She didn’t speak, but Jared saw the depths of her gratitude in her eyes.
No, love. I’m the one who should be thanking you.
Because even after the lies, the deception, the outright danger she’d brought to his doorstep, Arianne had saved him. She’d brought his heart back from the void, and made him believe in love again.
What he had with her was imperfect. It was messy. But hell, it was real.
He’d die for her. No doubt about it.
He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, careful to avoid her injuries. “Let’s take a break. You need to eat.”
She shook her head, rising from the desk and scooping up the stack of papers again. “Are these all the files? Both drives?”
Tell her, you git. She has a right to know.
Jared ran a hand through his hair, lowering his eyes. “It’s… there’s one more folder.”
“And?”
Seconds ticked by, Jared’s heart hammering in his chest. Arianne looked at him with expectant eyes, her brow furrowed, her muscles tensed for bad news. But he just couldn’t tell her. Not yet.
“I’m… still working on cracking it,” he said. He needed more time. He needed her to eat. He needed… a lot of things. But for the moment, he had to focus on the most important one. Arianne.
Her confident façade was cracking, revealing the scared and vulnerable woman beneath. She closed her eyes as a tear slid down her cheek, whispering so softly, Jared had to lean closer to hear her. “I’m so worried about her, Jared.”
“Hey,” he said, cradling her head in his hands. He pressed a kiss to the soft spot between her brows, smoothing out the crease. “We’ll get her back. I promise.”
She nodded, but she still hadn’t opened her eyes. Beneath his touch, Jared felt the tremble in her body.
“Come on,” he said gently. “Bring the files to the kitchen. You need a smoothie, straight away.”
She rewarded him with a smile, and though it was thin and only lasted a moment, it warmed him.
“Can I have strawberry-banana?” she asked softly.
“You can have whatever you want, love,” Jared said. And he meant it, too. For breakfast, for the day, for the rest of forever, he’d give this woman absolutely anything.
Chapter Four
While Arianne sat at the kitchen counter making notes on every single file, Jared put on a fresh pot of coffee and whipped up a batch of strawberry-banana smoothies.
“Look at this,” she said, pausing only long enough for a quick sip before turning her attention back to the files. With a pen she pointed to a list of works of art—including some from Jared’s own collection at Annandale—that had been assigned serial numbers, dollar amounts, and initials. “Errington inventories everything, sells what he can, takes his cut, then transfers the rest of the cash to whomever hired him. Probably direct deposit from one shell company to another, and probably making it look like a charitable donation.”
“Yes, Davidson is quite the philanthropist,” Jared said. The man’s name turned foul on his tongue. “But how have they already made money on the Annandale pieces? They’re still in my possession.”
Arianne tapped the pen to her lips, scanning the list. “These are cash deposits from interested buyers. They’ve been talking up the Annandale score for months, so it’s not surprising they’ve already got buyers lined up.”
“Risky investment, no? The deal hasn’t been done yet. Anything could go wrong.”
“Jared.” Arianne set down her pen and met his eyes. “They think Annandale is a sure thing. You and I are supposed to be out of town. They found a way to get rid of your household staff. As far as Davidson knows, the estate will be empty all weekend—his for the taking.”
“Bloody hell.”
Arianne nodded, finally going back to her smoothie. She closed her eyes while she drank, and Jared swore there was another smile on her lips.
Fuck, he wanted to see that look every morning for the rest of his life.
“So here’s where we’re at,” she said, picking up the pen again. “There’s proof that Errington is a black market dealer and money launderer, and if we can find an irrefutable way to connect the bank account numbers to Davidson, we can get him on fraud and theft. If these records are accurate, Errington has been working for Davidson for years. And this… shit.” She flipped the page, circling a few numbers on a different sheet before going back to the first. “It looks like Davidson has been skimming off the top the entire time. He’s basically stealing from the whole operation, and I’m betting the rest of the crew has no idea.”
“A thief stealing from other thieves? News at eleven.”
“What I find interesting,” she said, “and what the rest of the crew will definitely find interesting, is that all of the advanced money they’ve collected for the Annandale heist has already been deposited. After Errington’s cut, the rest went to a bank in—drumroll, please—Brazil.”
Brazil. According to the plane tickets and fake passport they’d found in Errington’s safe last night, Brazil was Davidson’s next move. He’d be traveling under the alias of Joel Irwin.
“For our friend Joel Irwin,” Jared said, “also known as good ol’ Chuck Davidson.”
“Bingo. Whatever Davidson’s planning,” she said, “he’s cut the crew out of the deal. Even his pet snake, Vincent.”
Jared bristled. Davidson and Vin
cent had been thick as thieves, pun intended, five years ago—the video proved as much. And since then Vincent had been masquerading as a forger who just happened to meet Davidson at the right time—soon after Arianne’s father died, and the crew was being restructured.
Jared was almost glad Davidson was making his own plans. Served Vincent right, the sick fuck.
Arianne flipped back to the first page, her eyes sparkling. “This is perfect, Jared. It’s exactly what I need.”
“For what?”
Arianne rose from the kitchen stool, downed the last of her smoothie, and kissed Jared’s cheek. “Thanks for breakfast. I have to go.”
Without another word, she headed into the bedroom to get ready.
Jared followed, walking in just in time to see her drop the bathrobe and strip off the shirt she’d slept in.
It took monumental restraint on his part not to lunge at her, to pin her down on the bed and sink his teeth into that sweet, perfect ass.
“Bloody hell, woman,” he said, corralling his wicked thoughts. “Are you off your trolley? Slow down.”
“Can’t. No time.” She yanked on a pair of jeans she’d left there, followed by an old FierceConnect shirt she’d found in his closet, and turned to face him. In her eyes was a determined spark he’d come to know all too well. Whatever she’d set her mind to, she was going to see it through, with or without his blessing.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked.
“I’m going, Jared. Don’t even try to stop me.”
Jared held up his hands in surrender. “Just want to know the plan, love.”
“With this shit we found on Davidson,” she said, “I’m pretty sure I can convince Trick to tell me where they’re holding my sister.”
Jared’s stomach flipped. He couldn’t stand the idea of Arianne going back into the lion’s den with little more than a piece of paper and a handful of hope.
Bared to the Billionaire: The Complete Series Page 40