Rogue Officer: A Protector Romantic Suspense Standalone (Gone Rogue)

by Patricia D. Eddy

  “I’m sure Jacob would dance with you.” I adjust my hand on Griff’s shoulder, the straps holding his prosthetic in place noticeable only because I know about them. “You can’t leave without one dance under these gorgeous lights.”

  My best friend rolls her eyes. “I asked. He said he ‘doesn’t dance.’”

  Guiding us to the edge of the dance floor, Griff stares daggers at Jacob until the former-SAS officer joins us. “Dance with the woman, for fuck’s sake. It’s a slow song. You’re not going to have to pull out any ‘moves.’”

  “Fine. But I will not be held responsible for any broken toes,” he mutters and offers Marina his hand.

  With a huge smile, she sets her champagne flute down on a tulle-wrapped table and practically floats to the middle of the ballroom.

  “Thank you.” I press a quick kiss to Griff’s lips, and his hand tightens on my waist. “She loves to dance, and I don’t know why no one else in the place is asking her.”

  His laugh warms me from head to toe. “Because everyone’s afraid of Jacob and how he’s watching her.” Shaking his head, he adds, “It’s purely professional, but men like him—like us—we train to be intimidating.”

  “Well, I like you intimidating.”

  We sashay back to the dance floor, where Griff takes my hand, spins me out and back, then dips me. He’s perfect. Serious and protective to his very core, but capable of these wonderful, light, surprising moments where he can make me laugh and forget about all of my problems.

  “Liked that, did you?” he asks, grinning as he pulls me close to trail kisses along the curve of my neck.

  “I did. You’re quite an accomplished dancer. Better than I am, and I’ve taken more lessons than I can count.”

  “My mom insisted I know how to dance properly before I went off to college. Most humiliating six months of my teenage life—ballroom dancing classes with my mother.” He chuckles, his blue-eyed gaze turning a little wistful. “She moved to Florida six years ago, and I’ve only seen her once since I got back from Pakistan.”

  “Are you close?” Thoughts of Mama and my sisters elbow their way through my earlier joy, and I hope I can call them soon.

  “We email every week or two. Before this assignment, I was planning on spending Christmas with her.” He stops so he can cup my cheek. “If it’s safe—if Volkov is no longer a threat—will you come with me?”

  The emotions rushing over me clog my throat, making speech impossible, but I nod, then swallow hard. “Yes. I’d…yes.”

  If I needed any more proof that I was in love with this man, I’d be an idiot. He understands me in a way no one else ever has. I need to tell him—right now.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!”

  The music fades away, and the Beauty and Style CEO, Franklin Meadows, stands at a microphone on a raised platform next to the tables of still-hidden catalogues.

  “Thank you all for coming out tonight. For making this year’s Christmas Book launch our best, most successful event in the history of Beauty and Style Limited. You’ve been patient as we’ve teased you time and time again, but I won’t keep you waiting a second longer!”

  Uniformed Baur au Lac employees stand next to each one of the covered tables and whip off the velvet drapes with identical flourishes.

  “It is truly my honor to present this year’s Christmas Book to the world!” Franklin bows to a round of thunderous applause, then holds up the book, revealing me mid-spin, the red dress flaring around me, a fiery plume of silk and satin, and a look of pure and utter joy on my face. I remember that shot. The photographer had just said something to make me laugh, and I was convinced the photo would catch me with the strangest expression.

  “Oh my God. Sloane, you’re…” Griff shakes his head. “It’s stunning. Perfect, even.”

  I can’t find the words to answer him because he’s right. It’s perfect. My final cover. My exit from this industry, from hiding away, from always fearing someone would learn my secret.

  This is the best ending I could have imagined. Better still with Griff at my side. Turning to him, I take both of his hands, making sure to run my fingers over the palm of his prosthetic, a move I’ve started to realize makes him feel whole. “I lo—”

  “Sloane! Congratulations!” Before I can confess my true feelings for him, half a dozen people surround us—models, executives, investors—and I have to thank every single one of them. Griff steps back, giving me space, and I glance over my shoulder, hoping he knows what I was about to say.

  From the look in his eyes, he does, and I let the rest of the crowd have their piece of Sloane Sanders, the model. Sloane Sanders, the woman? She’s all mine. Except for the piece of her heart that now belongs to Griff.

  By the time I’ve made the rounds—twice—I’m dead on my feet, and Griff looks decidedly uncomfortable. “What’s wrong?” I ask, taking his arm.

  “Nothing a quick trip to the men’s room won’t fix.” He scans the room with a frown. “I don’t see Jacob and Marina.”

  “They could have gone outside for some fresh air.” Gesturing to the glass doors surrounding the ballroom, I squint, but while I can tell the patio is crowded, I can’t make out any faces. “I see at least six more investors I should talk to before we leave. If we don’t visit the powder rooms now? It could be more than an hour before we have another chance.”

  Griff keeps his arm around my waist the entire way to the back corner of the room where a short hallway leads to the lavish bathrooms. Griff knocks on the door to the ladies’ room, then pokes his head inside. “Security check,” he calls out.

  “Griff!”

  “Not taking any chances with your safety,” he says quietly, taking my arm and leading me into the outer lounge area, then checking the stalls. Amazingly, they’re all empty. “I’ll be waiting right outside when you’re done, sweetheart. If there’s a line in the men’s room, I’ll text you. Got it?”

  “Okay.” Even after the events of the past week, his protectiveness still surprises me—and makes me feel safe. With a quick brush of his lips to my cheek, he’s gone. It takes me a full ten minutes to take care of my own needs and rearrange my dress, but before I leave the powder room, I pause at one of the mirrors in the lounge.

  My lips are a mess. Though my TD hasn’t bothered me most of the night, the lip stain I put on before the party is mostly gone. Digging in my bag, I pull out the tube and reapply, waiting the full minute for the liquid to dry to a perfect matte shade.

  My phone buzzes, Marina’s photo on the screen, and I tap the FaceTime button. “Hey, where are—?”

  Sweat dampens my palms. My heart pounds so hard against my ribs, I can barely breathe. Marina’s tear-stained face peers back at me, a strip of duct tape over her lips. The image zooms out, and I swallow my sob. She’s slumped against weathered wood, her hands tied behind her back, ankles bound too, and her eyes are swollen and rimmed with red.

  “No,” I whisper.

  “Hello, Sophiana.” Dimitri’s raspy voice is like an icy sword piercing my heart. He turns the phone, and I lock on to his cold, brown eyes. “It is good to see your face.”

  Wheezing, I start to stumble for the door.

  “Stop!” The image shifts again, and the man from the press conference—Pavel—yanks Marina against him and presses a knife to her side. She whimpers, and a small red spot stains her dusky pink dress.

  Dimitri makes a tsk tsk sound over the line. “If you take another step, Pavel will start cutting. We can make her bleed in many ways.” His heavy footsteps echo over the call, and the camera angle changes. Is that…is she in a boat? “What happens to her now depends on you, Sophiana. Do exactly as I say, and your friend will remain mostly intact. Disobey me, and not only will Pavel hurt her, but we will set the boat adrift. Lake Zurich is so big, she will bleed out before anyone finds her.”

  “P-please. Don’t hurt her,” I manage. “She doesn’t know anything about you! I kept quiet, just like you told me to. I didn’t tell anyone!
I swear on my life!”

  “On your life?” He laughs. “Or on hers? Listen very carefully, shlyukha. You will keep your video on, but I will not. Can’t have anyone seeing Ms. Marsh in this state, after all. You will not return to the party. Go out the door and to your left. At the end of the hall, there is an exit that leads outside. Tell that cocky American you are sleeping with that you need some air. Say only that. Nothing more. I have no doubt he will insist on coming with you. But that is okay. My men are waiting, and they will stop him from interfering.

  “Promise me you won’t kill him!” My voice breaks, and my chest feels like someone is squeezing it with a giant pair of pliers. “I’ll do what you want. But let Griff and Marina live.”

  My mind is reeling. If I can’t talk to Griff, if Dimitri is watching everything, how can I tell him what’s about to happen?

  The panic button.

  Carefully, trying not to let Dimitri see my movements, I reach for the button taped just under my arm. But no matter how hard I push, I don’t feel the center of the device move. The boning in the dress runs right over the quarter-sized circle of metal. Shit.

  “I am a reasonable man, Sophiana. And I have no reason to kill this…Griff. He did not take you from me. He did not lead the police to my door. No. That was you.”

  “Do you promise he’ll live?” Each word is harder to force out than the last, and all I can focus on is the terror written all over Marina’s face. Until Dimitri turns the phone again so I’m staring right at him.

  “You have my word. Provided you do not try to warn him or deviate from my instructions in any way. Remember to keep the phone held high so I can see your face. Oh, and keep talking to Ms. Marsh as if she is up in her room with a bad hangover. That way I know you have not put the call on mute. Go. Now. Before Pavel decides he wants to have some fun.”

  Marina screams, the sound muffled, but full of pain, until the audio falls silent and the video turns black. All I can see on the screen now is my own face and Marina’s name.

  Once Dimitri has me…he’ll kill me. And I didn’t even tell Griff I love him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Griff

  What is taking her so long?

  The dress, you idiot. She told you it was taped in at least six different places.

  Checking my watch and my phone, I’m about to text her when the door to the ladies’ powder room opens and Sloane emerges, holding her phone up in front of her.

  “You should have stopped with one glass of champagne,” she says. “We’ll be back to the room in an hour or so.” As she reaches my side, the phone almost slips out of her hand, but she rights it quickly. “Drink lots of water. And hang on a second, Griff’s here.” Her gaze flicks to mine for a brief moment, worry in her eyes behind the contacts. “I need some fresh air. Can we go outside? There’s a door at the end of the hall. Dealing with this dress was…difficult.”

  “Outside?” Her fingers curl around my prosthetic, and she holds on so tightly as she tugs me with her, I know something’s wrong. “Sloane, wait.”

  “Please? I didn’t take a Xanax before the party and knowing Marina’s sick…I’ll be fine once we get outside.” A tear shimmers in her eyes. I’d do anything for this woman, but my instincts are screaming at me to stop her.

  “Marina?” I ask. “Are you okay?”

  We’re at the door now, and Sloane stops, staring up at me. Her fingers tremble as she touches my cheek, then the left temple of my glasses, activating the camera—and the recording ability.

  Fuck. She’s warning me.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, then opens the door and bursts out into the night.

  “Sloane!” I call as I race after her, but the second the door closes, my head explodes in pain, and a beefy arm wraps around my neck, cutting off my air. I drive my right elbow back into my attacker’s gut, but he’s huge—and fat—and it does little to dislodge his iron grip.

  A second man, no more than a shadow, grabs my arms and wrenches them painfully behind my back.

  “Don’t fight them,” she sobs as a third asshole wraps massive fingers around her bare arm and jerks her against him. “Don’t fight and you’ll live. He promised.”

  My vision dims. “Sloane…” I croak, but she’s already fifty feet away, sobbing until the big, dark-haired thug slaps her across the face.

  Letting my body go limp, I only have time for a single thought before the world goes dark. Volkov. She’s talking about Volkov.

  Sloane

  My cheek throbs, fiery pain that snakes all the way to my temple. Anton—one of Dimitri’s generals who shuttled his girls back and forth from the hotel to the basement in Philadelphia—grips my arm hard enough to bring tears to my eyes, and I can’t stop looking over my shoulder to try to catch a glimpse of Griff.

  A black car with tinted windows idles at the curb at the end of the block, and I try to dig my heels into the soft grass, but all that gets me are two bare feet and a growl to “Stop fighting or you will be sorry.”

  I’m already sorry.

  “What are they doing to Griff?” I ask.

  “Shut up, cyka,” he snaps. Opening the back door, he shoves me into the car. The urge to try the opposite door is almost overwhelming, but if I run, Dimitri will kill Marina, and I have no idea where she is. Or Jacob. What happened to him?

  Anton’s large body squeezes in next to me, and the man in the front seat—one I don’t recognize, but who’s just as big and ugly—tosses him a roll of duct tape.

  “Hands.”

  I don’t fight. Don’t do anything but cross my wrists in front of me and let him wrap the tape around them. Six times. I count, though I don’t know why. What does it matter? I’m dead. Griff…maybe he’ll survive. Dimitri is a monster, but though he’d string his girls along with promises of fast food, hot showers, or a fix to take the pain away, the very few times he uttered the phrase “you have my word,” he followed through.

  No one speaks on the drive. Anton ordered me to keep my bound hands in my lap, so I sit quietly, my fingers drumming on my knees while I chew on my lips until I taste blood.

  Rain starts to fall, and the lights of Zurich turn to blurry streaks of bright colors outside the windows. One turn, two, three, and the car slows, making a final turn and rolling through a deserted parking lot.

  Why didn’t I pay attention to the route we took?

  Because you won’t survive this. He won’t let you. What’s the point?

  Cool air hits my skin as Anton yanks me from the car, and my feet land in a puddle. The hem of my dress drags along the wet ground as I’m dragged down a long wooden dock. Lake Zurich stretches out before us, an inky black void behind an old wooden boat house with light spilling from a crack in the side door.

  “Eto ya,” Anton calls out. The reply is muffled thanks to my heartbeat roaring in my ears, but a second later, the big asshole throws me to the ground just inside the boathouse.

  Throwing my bound hands out to break my fall is almost useless, and pain sings all the way from my palms to my shoulders. Marina. Where’s Marina?

  My eyes water, but I scramble back against the closest wall, blinking rapidly until I can focus on my best friend. The boathouse opens out onto the lake with a long wooden platform running down the center. On the far side, Marina lies in a small boat—no engine, barely even a canoe—with blood staining the whole left side of her dress.

  “Marina!” Before I can get to my feet, Dimitri aims a kick to my ribs, knocking all the air from my lungs.

  “My little Sophiana is all grown up,” he says. I struggle to breathe, curling inwards as nausea crawls up my throat. Air rushes back into my lungs in a whoosh. His scent is the same. Vodka and kvasya and sweat. “I thought maybe I would take you from the Bahnhofstrasse. You were all alone then. You and that stupid American. It would have been simple. But…you were always my favorite.”

  “Bullshit,” I croak. “Your favorite was whichever girl you thought needed to be taught a lesso
n that night.”

  He grabs me by the hair and throws me against the old wooden wall. Marina screams, the sound muffled, but full of pain and terror. My head hits hard, and my vision blurs. This is it. This is when he kills me.

  “Maybe I should keep you alive for a bit,” Dimitri says as he crouches in front of me. “Teach you to be grateful for what I have given you.”

  “You…gave me…nothing but pain.”

  “I gave you one final night to bask in your glory, Sloane. You were the darling of the whole evening. I paid one of the hotel staff a thousand francs to send me photos.” He pulls out his phone and waves it back and forth. On the screen, Griff and I are laughing, his arm around my waist, my hand on his chest.

  “Is he alive? Is Griff alive?” I ask. Tears tumble down my cheeks, and behind Dimitri, Pavel holds Marina against his broad chest and traces the sharp point of his knife along her cheek, under her chin, and down to her breasts. She whimpers and tries to pull away, but he chuckles and plunges the blade into her side. “No! Stop! I did what you wanted! Everything you wanted! Let her go!”

  “Not everything.” Dimitri stands, towering over me, and holds out his hand. “You have not suffered as I have these past fifteen years.”

  Does he seriously think I’m going to let him help me up?

  “Pavel, Anton? My little Sophie needs more motivation.”

  “No! Please, no!” I thrust my bound hands up, but it’s too late. Anton curls his fingers around the back of my dress and yanks me to my feet, dragging me halfway down the walkway so I’m standing right in front of Marina. She’s struggling to breathe, her chest stuttering, and she’s so pale. Blood seeps from around the blade, less than I expect, but still too much.

  Pavel chuckles and pulls a second, smaller knife from his boot.

  “Don’t,” I whisper, then lock eyes with Marina. “Look at me, Marina. Only at me. I love you. You’re my best friend. We still need to have that girls’ weekend.”