I obeyed as I looked up through the glaze covering my eyes to see the trees flashing by in a blur. Are we on a train? I asked myself, but then I realized I was being carried. I could barely feel my legs, but I recognized the touch of an arm under my knees and another wrapped around my back. Freezing air rushed over the skin on my exposed side while warm muscles bled into the other.
“No.” My head shook in weak protest.
A face snapped down toward mine and a subsequent growl shut me up. I thought I might die from the pain, but then I wondered if I would die from being eaten alive by whoever—or whatever—had me in a dead run.
“Ha.” I managed a weak laugh at the absurdity of what was happening, and then everything went black
“Welcome back, Ms. Kelley.”
My limbs were paralyzed against a mattress. Only the muscles in my eyes moved as I popped them open to see a man standing several feet away with his back turned to me. He stared out the window with his hands clasped behind his back and his cuffs rolled to just above his forearms. I glanced at the expensive jacket carelessly thrown over the chair, and as his left shoulder rolled awkwardly under his conservative white shirt, it was obvious he was used to wearing bespoke suits but didn’t like to. He took a deep breath and pushed his hand through his hair, and the sunlight streaming through the window highlighted the toughened skin around his fingers. Those were not the hands of a man who answered a phone for a living or flipped through tedious documents for sixteen hours a day. Maybe he gardened on his days off from Wall Street.
“Shit, Alex.”
And there it was, the next tick on the absurd wave I was riding. Either that or he pillaged my purse for my ID.
“I thought you might die on me.” He didn’t bother to turn around.
The sun hit the sheets on the bed, highlighting the fact that I was still naked. I bolted upright, thankful that my limbs were back in working order as I yanked the sheet to cover my exposed breasts. Those black dots were back, swarming my peripheral vision as nausea hit my gut, and my shoulders lurched in anticipation of losing whatever remained in my stomach. When the heaving stopped, I straightened back up and eyed the man who still refused to do me the courtesy of turning around.
“Who are you?” My throat was thick with the remains of whatever it was that made my head feel like a Slinky crawling down a very long staircase. “And where the hell are my clothes?”
This got me a glance over the shoulder.
“Stand down, princess.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve seen a woman’s breasts before.”
“Well, you haven’t seen mine before, and how do you know my name?” I was scared—definitely scared—but outrage can have a funny effect on fear.
“They’re impressive,” he said as he continued to stare out the window. “I can take my shirt off if it will make you feel less at a disadvantage.”
“Charming, but I’d prefer to put mine back on to level out the playing field, and then you can tell me who the hell you are and where the hell I am.”
Admittedly, I was in no position to do anything but cooperate with him, but my Irish temper was flaring and I didn’t like being played with.
“Well?”
You never realize how noisy a room really is until all that noise stops. Every vibration in the room seemed to halt. Even the clock on the side table stopped ticking, and I was pretty sure I could hear the electricity running through the wires behind the walls. Thinking the slightest movement might disrupt whatever was simmering under his skin, I was afraid to breathe. The spell broke as a low rumble reverberated around the room. The sound snaked through my ears, gutting any ideas I had of further antagonizing the stranger standing by the window.
He was bigger.
“Did you just growl at me?” I asked.
“Did you just make demands of me?” he countered.
My face flashed with heat. Big set of arrogant balls you’ve got, mister, I thought.
“Irresponsible young women who play in Central Park after dark shouldn’t judge the degree of someone else’s arrogance.”
Either my thoughts were stamped in bright red across my forehead, or he was a mind reader as well. “You’re an ass.” It just slipped out because he was acting like one.
His arms dropped to his sides as his fists clenched. I couldn’t see much of him from behind, but I did catch a glimpse of his profile. His hair fell around his face as if his fingers served as a comb—a contradiction to the rest of his manicured appearance. The collar of his shirt hung slack against his neck where he’d either loosened or removed a tie. I had no doubt his front would be as impressive as his backside, if he ever let me see it.
With each contraction of those fists, his breath did the same. I’d done it. I just pissed off the man who kidnapped me and was holding me captive with nothing more than a thin sheet between us.
Without so much as a creak from the wooden floor he was standing on, he turned around. Smooth for a man his size. He was even more impressive than I expected, and that was just from the neck down. Except for the thin line of sunlight hitting the bed, the room was dim. The darkness partially concealed his eyes, but even hidden I knew they were something to be reckoned with. I had to remind myself that attractive men were just as dangerous as unattractive men. Even more so, because men like that could do a number on your insides.
His hands slipped into his pockets as he braced his legs at shoulder width and watched me from behind the veil shadowing his face. I pushed back against the headboard when he took a step forward and revealed himself. I was embarrassed by the audible snag in my breath as I saw his eyes for the first time. Blue wasn’t the right word for them. I’d never seen eyes that color before, and I resisted the temptation to ask if he wore contacts.
“Don’t be afraid of me, Alex.” His eyes moved down to where my hair draped across my bare arm. I covered the spot with my hand but regretted the silly response a second later. My reaction made him laugh, but then his face stilled and his eyes were trained back on mine. “Are you afraid of me?”
“That depends. Are you going to just stand there looking at me, or are you going to tell me who you are?”
“My name is Greer. I’m the guy who saved your ass the other night.”
“The other night? How long have I been here, and why am I naked?”
He said nothing.
“If you touched me…”
“Someone had to carry you out of the park.” His eyes trailed down my side and hovered over the exposed sliver of skin at my waist. “You just happened to be naked. Maybe you can explain that.”
“Why don’t you go fuck yourself—Greer? Is that your name?” I usually didn’t hurl profanity at strangers, but something about him infuriated me. He was smug. I detested smug, especially when it was directed at me.
“Speaking of fucking, would you have preferred that I left you there?”
“Well, aren’t you a prick.”
“And yet you’re here.” His eyes circled the room before returning to mine. “Thank God I’m such a prick.”
The smirk disappeared from his face. “You’ve been here three days. Three long days listening to you babble.”
“What happened to me? I assume it wasn’t you who attacked me.” My heart began to race as the thought occurred to me that it could have been him.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Uh…well…” I stammered while I wrapped my head around the possibility that the man in front of me might be a violent sociopath playing with me before he finished the job. But then I remembered his eyes. The man who attacked me had brown eyes.
He approached the bed and reached for my face. As I jerked away from him, he grabbed my chin and angled my face to the side to get a better look at the marks. “Did he do this to you?”
I reached for the side of my face and felt the scabs forming where my temple hit the cement the night the barcodes attacked me. “No. I fell.” Not entirely true, but the backst
ory was too ridiculous to repeat.
He glared at me with an invitation to come clean. “I’ll never lie to you, Alex. The first time you do so to me, you get a free pass. Do it again and I’ll have to teach you the importance of veracity.”
My jaw dropped “I’m not your employee, and the last time I checked I didn’t have a father.”
“Tell me, Alex, how is it that in the short time I’ve had the pleasure of your company you’ve managed to exasperate me beyond the limits of reason?” His head cocked to the side. “I have this inexplicable urge to hand you over to the opposing team and be done with it.”
“Opposing team?” I snorted. “And who might that be?”
“Need to know basis.” He turned around and continued to stare out that damn window again as if he hadn’t just threatened me. “The conversation is over.”
His posture relaxed as his hands slid back into his pockets, but I could tell he was still wired, evidenced by his jaw muscle tensing and popping as he glanced over his shoulder.
“Go ahead. Ask,” he said.
“Ask what?”
“Ask me why you’re here.”
“Hmm…” I thought about the game for a moment and decided to play. “Okay. Why am I here?”
“I knew your mother.”
I thought my heart might stop as a heavy lump formed in the deepest part of my chest. I’d come back to New York to find some connection to her. Even the smallest clue to understand why someone would want her dead would help close the gaping wound I’d lived with for twenty-one years. I was looking for a needle in a haystack, and a complete stranger just stuck it in my arm. How unbelievable was that—too unbelievable. The lump grew heavier as I weighed the odds and realized that he might have been playing me.
“Maeve Kelley.” He started vetting himself before I could ask the question. “Irish. Murdered twenty-one years ago.”
“What…you were around twelve years old when she died?” He knew the basics, but the newspapers could have told him that. The man standing in front of me couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years older than me. What kind of connection could a kid have had to my mother?
He pulled a chair up to the bed and sat. As he leaned onto his knees, he searched my face for something. Maybe he was looking for her, a clear connection between the face in front of him and the memory of Maeve Kelley. Maybe he needed proof from me.
“Alex, short for Alexander.” His eyes continued to move over my face. “You look like her. Taller. Your eyes are different—blue.”
He was right. My mother was expecting a boy. When a girl popped out, the name stuck because she’d called me that for nine months. Only three people knew that—my mother, Ava, and me.
My mouth opened, but I was too dumbstruck to speak.
“The two of you lived in the Village. You were five when she died.” He gauged my reaction before continuing. “You disappeared that night with nothing but the clothes on your back and a silver necklace around your neck.” His eyes glanced down in the direction of my chest before trailing back up to look me dead in the eye. He knew he had me on that last part—the necklace—and I got the distinct impression he wanted to know if I still had it.
“I’m listening,” I said.
“You were poisoned three days ago. Now you sleep.”
“I feel fine.” The only thing wrong with me was the fact that I was lying in a stranger’s bed.
He looked at his Rolex. “You won’t in about five minutes.”
Greer was right. As soon as the drugs wore off, I was writhing from the pain radiating from my gut. I slipped in and out of consciousness, waking occasionally to see him sitting in the dark corner waiting for the effects of the poison to wear off, or running cool cloths over my burning skin. I hated losing control, but as much as I did, I hated the pain more. It was like a bonfire burning me from the inside out. I offered my arm each time a syringe came toward me because sleep was the only thing that kept the pain away, and drugs were the only thing that made me sleep.
Greer was sitting on the edge of the bed when I came out of it for the last time. He had a distinctive smell, but it was the heat radiating off of him that hit me first. I remembered the way it felt against my cold skin the night he carried me out of the park.
“Better?” he asked.
“I feel like I’ve been put through a meat grinder.”
“Do you need more rest?” When I didn’t respond immediately, he nodded to someone on the other side of the bed. The film covering my eyes cleared enough to see a syringe coming toward my arm.
“No.” My vocal cords cracked from the dryness in my throat. “I’m fine. No more.”
He motioned the needle away.
“How long?” I asked.
“Four days.”
“Four days?” I repeated as I tried to piece together the timeframe. “Four days? Four fucking days!” On top of the three I’d already been there, that made seven.
Greer stood up in anticipation of my next move.
“Seven days!” I didn’t know this man, and he’d just kept me drugged for seven days. Connection to my mother or not, I had a life that couldn’t just be put on hold for a week. I had an apartment to find. I had a hotel room that needed to be paid for. “My room.” I fumbled with the sheets as I tried to push myself up enough to swing my legs over the side of the bed. “I have to call them. My stuff’s probably on the street.”
He laughed as I spewed a few colorful expletives at him. “You just killed any doubt that you’re the daughter of Maeve Kelley. You’re a carbon copy of her.” He tossed a pair of jeans and a sweater at me. “Get dressed.”
“Leave the room.”
“I don’t have time for modesty, Alex.”
“I’m not getting dressed until you leave.”
“Do you want me to put them on for you?” He meant it, and by the look of his raised brow I think he would have enjoyed it. I finally gave in and pulled the sweater over my head and shoulders. The sheet dropped as the sweater slipped over my breasts, but by then he had the decency to turn around.
“You enjoy that, Greer?”
His eyes traveled down my clothed body, then back up to pin me with a look that sent a bolt of heat through my midsection.
There was a time and place for a pissing contest, and this wasn’t it. I broke eye contact first, diverting my attention to the door, wondering if I was free to simply leave. I needed to salvage my property—my mother’s necklace.
“No need,” he said.
“No need for what?”
“To leave. Your belongings have already been moved.”
“You read minds, too? Where exactly is my stuff?”
He ran his eyes over my outfit. “Whose clothes do you think you’re wearing?”
The clothes were mine.
FIVE
Where are we going?” I demanded as I stumbled down the hallway behind him. He glanced over his shoulder but said nothing.
“Either talk to me or show me the damn door. I’m not kidding, Greer. I’m weak, I’m irritated, and I’m a second away from dropping to the floor.” I meant it. I was exhausted from more than just the effects of the poison, and if we didn’t slow the pace, I was going down. The stuff he’d been pumping into my veins for the past week had me feeling like a fifty-pound weight was strapped to my chest.
My threats must have worked, because he stopped and turned just in time to see me hit the hardwoods. The temperature went up as my body lifted off the floor and rested against the crisp cotton of Greer’s signature white shirt, leaving me to wonder if he ever stepped outside the safety of monochrome.
“Put me down.” He ignored me as we flew down a flight of stairs and entered a massive room.
“What is this place?” The focal point of the room was a large sunken floor surrounded by gradually elevated levels filled with posh sofas, chairs, and tables. Each furniture grouping was arranged for maximum socialization. On the other side was a long bar with liquor bottles lined
across a mirrored wall.
“Crusades.” He practically dumped me on the floor. “We’re in my club.”
The light was coming from a row of high windows along the front of the building. Judging by the brightness, it was midafternoon. I scanned the expansive front wall for a door. Survival 101—know your entry and exit points. I spotted it, but considering my options, I decided not to run. Other than the clothes on my back, this man had everything I owned. Most of it could be replaced, but I wasn’t going anywhere without my mother’s necklace.
“Drink?” he asked, heading toward the bar without waiting for my response—or preference. “Don’t even think about that door.”
When he returned from the bar he asked—no, ordered—me to sit in one of those expensive chairs.
“Do I get a treat for being such an obedient puppy?” I pulled my symbolic balls tight and looked him straight in the eye. You don’t own me.
His mouth curved as he responded with one of those looks that immediately smoothed out the edges of the tension in the room. Hard to stay pissed when the pisser looked like that. Handsome was too ordinary a word, because the real attraction was in the way his molecules mixed with yours, creating a chemistry that could easily make a woman do foolish things. I resisted that little talent by keeping track of all his annoying habits, like giving me orders or dragging me around like a puppet. The man had to have flaws. Other than his lack of democracy, I hadn’t actually seen any. But I knew his imperfections were hiding somewhere underneath all that pressed and polished stuff. Men like Greer knew how to live and had the scars to prove it. Good or bad, real living always left marks.
He dropped a glass on the table and slid it toward me. Looking first at the drink as it stopped an inch from the edge, he sat on the sofa opposite me and took a deep swig of the golden liquid. His throat contracted from the bite of the whiskey. “That’s a fine glass of single malt you’re wasting.”
I expected him to retrieve it. Instead, he relaxed deeper into the sofa as he patiently ran his eyes along the lines of my face before stopping at my mouth.
“Why are you here, Alex?”
The Amulet Thief (The Fitheach Trilogy Book 1) Page 4