London Calling

by Veronica Forand

  “Sit down, Ms. Ross. The embassy can’t help your father, but we can.” Derek pointed to her chair, but she remained standing and looked down at him, searching his impassive face for his next move.

  MI6’s involvement meant this matter had far more significance to the U.K. than a missing businessman.

  “Your father was working on an oil deal in Russia. With the sanctions still restricting transactions, his work dealt with risky situations,” he explained, something she already knew.

  She ignored the other men in the room, since Derek’s expression offered more information. “So he was illegally making oil transactions with Russia?”

  He didn’t even blink in response. “At this point, we’re not sure who took him, but his behavior did place him in compromising situations.”

  “Where is he?”

  He took a deep breath. “We don’t have that information.”

  The answer had an aura of truth around it. Her father was missing, and no one knew where he was, but there was something they weren’t telling her. Something important. She turned toward the exit. “This is a waste of time. I’ll give my cell number to your secretary.”

  Macknight opened the door for her. His expression hinted at amusement. Those eyes. Stormy blue. Damn. “Good luck,” he whispered, as though joining her team against Derek’s.

  “Thanks.”

  Derek called out, “Bring her back in here.”

  “I can’t, I’m grounded.” The words rolled from Macknight’s lips in a Scottish brogue.

  “Bloody hell.” A chair scraped over the floor, and she could hear leather soles chasing her down the hall. “Ms. Ross, I must insist you come back to my office.”

  “I must insist you tell me everything,” she said, still walking toward the elevator.

  “I can’t do that.”

  She shrugged and pressed the down button.

  He stood next to her, his focus on the skeleton crew of workers around him. “Okay. I’ll give you enough information to understand the gravity of the situation,” he muttered.

  She leaned against the wall and waited.

  “Not here. Back in my office.” He looked at his door, where Macknight was observing the entire scene. “Come back.”

  She took control and led Derek back to his space, but she remained standing. When he sat at his desk again, he tented his fingers in front of his face.

  Macknight shut the door behind them.

  “Your father’s work for British Petroleum gives him access to many people across many borders.” Derek tapped his fingers together and swallowed. “The knowledge he gains is useful.”

  Her father worked on high-level deals. That was true. The news was not the breakthrough she’d wanted. “What kind of knowledge?”

  “That’s classified.”

  “What was his last known location?”

  “That’s classified.”

  Her father had told her he had to go to Finland and then Belarus. Was he lying? “Did he disappear willingly?”

  “Classified.”

  The lack of answers pressed into her gut. “Is his life in danger?”

  “At this point, we don’t know,” Derek answered.

  This conversation was going nowhere.

  She sank into the chair, ignoring the urge to ease the knot growing in her stomach. “I have to return to work in a few days, but I’ll stay here until then. I want updates.”

  “As you wish. We’re having a meeting here at nine in the morning to go over the details of the search operation. You are, of course, invited.” Derek phrased his request like an invitation to breakfast to discuss colors for a wedding. His change in personality from defensive jackass to amenable aristocrat did not make his refusal to share her father’s status any more palatable.

  “Thank you.” Tomorrow, when she’d had enough sleep, she could figure out what was going on and how to handle the next few days. “I need a meal and some shut-eye. I’ll be back tomorrow to discuss this.”

  “Why doesn’t Macknight escort you to the Hotel Windfield for the night? It’s the least we can do after dragging you over here. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  She took out her phone and Googled the place. Hotel Windfield was a four-star hotel with nice views of the Thames and a decent breakfast. If it had a comfortable bed, it would be perfect. “I can make it there on my own. Thank you for everything.”

  Derek stood up, causing her to stand as well. “I insist, after everything we’ve put you through. I thought getting you here would assist us in locating him by learning more about him and his habits.”

  “I understand.” Although she didn’t at all. There was way more going on that they weren’t saying. The sooner she could regroup at the hotel and call Chief Nolan for some assistance, the better. Her boss had mentored her through some of her toughest moments at the police department. He was the reason she’d been promoted to SWAT.

  Macknight remained still until Emma stepped toward the door.

  “Do you have any bags?” he asked.

  “At Rose’s desk.”

  He nodded, and without a goodbye to anyone, he touched her elbow and escorted her from the office. The unexpected tenderness of his fingers took her by surprise. The blister from her new shoes slowed her pace, but he remained in sync with her steps. His connection broke when they stopped in front of the secretary’s desk and he picked up her carry-on and backpack.

  “Care for a chocolate?” Rose held out a bowl of Cadbury chocolate bites.

  Without anything in her stomach for hours, that touch of sugar would at least keep her alert until she could find a place for dinner.

  “Thank you. Do you mind if I have two?”

  “I have a whole bag. Enjoy.”

  Macknight stood next to her, waiting. “Are you ready?”

  “I can order a car.”

  “It’s no bother. I’m headed in that direction, anyway.” He looked at his watch—interesting that he even wore one in today’s world—then looked back toward Derek’s office. He didn’t seem as aristocratic and obnoxious as Derek, but something about him hinted at money, influence, or power. Or all three.

  “Okay. Know of any decent places for dinner?” Not that she was inviting him to join her, although a drop-dead handsome guy who also happened to have information about her father would make the perfect dinner companion.

  “A few. Indian, Italian, a pub? What do you want?” he asked.

  She wanted a glass of wine, some French fries, and a pillow, but now that she’d insisted on going out, she responded, “Pub food would be perfect.”

  He nodded. They took the elevator to the parking garage under the building and walked past about twenty cars, mostly black, mostly sedans. He unlocked one of them—a Mercedes. Although the car gleamed with luxury, it didn’t scream for attention.

  He escorted her in silence. Those veiled blue eyes and long black lashes of his, however, kept Emma’s interest for the entire walk. He opened the trunk and dropped her things inside. Perhaps he was an intelligence officer. He bore the same ambiguous expression as an overworked Secret Service Agent.

  “Nice wheels.” She brushed her hand over the polished hood.

  “Corporate car.” He held the door for her, and after she sat inside, he wiped her fingerprints off the hood with his sleeve and then went to the driver’s seat on the right side of the car.

  She sank into butter-soft leather and shut her eyes. It had been too long since she’d slept in her own bed back in New Hampshire.

  He pulled out two water bottles and handed one to her. “Thirsty?”

  His water disappeared in about three chugs. His posture was upright, and his eyes were now bright and alert to everything around them. Her eyes were probably bloodshot.

  She took a few small sips and placed the bottle in the cup holder next to her. “How long is the drive?”

  “Not long.”

  A heaviness fell over her. “It’s near the Tate Museum. How far is that?”


  “Not far.” He let the car idle in his parking space for a few minutes while he read something on the screen of his phone. He didn’t seem to be in a rush. “Buckle up, and then you can sleep.”

  “I thought we were stopping for food?” Her hunger was a step lower than her fatigue, but both were screwing with her ability to think clearly. The chocolate, still lingering over her tongue, was the only satisfying thing she’d eaten in hours.

  “Can you buckle up?” he asked again.

  “What about dinner?” Her voice drifted around her like storm-filled clouds, the kind that seemed heavy and ready to downpour.

  “Later,” Mr. Articulate replied. He reached over her, pulled the buckle, and placed it in her hand.

  She jiggled it into place, more than a little annoyed at being treated like a recalcitrant toddler.

  Having never visited London, Emma watched the architecture and people blur by her window. Her father could be anywhere. His absence added an emptiness to her already aching stomach.

  Her head swam, altering the sights and sounds around her. She couldn’t concentrate. This wasn’t normal fatigue.

  Someone had drugged her.

  “The water? You bastard,” she said, before passing out.

  Chapter Five

  Macknight didn’t want to babysit the ice queen. She’d be fine secured away until they analyzed her risk factors. With Lucy’s death still staining his worldview, he hungered for the chance to locate Edward Ross. His daughter was more inconvenience than assistance.

  With her impossibly long legs and her dark brown hair fluffed up like an advertisement for some perfume that promised the most erotic sex of a man’s life, she was a distraction and a drag on service resources. No one looked that delicious without a damn good reason, and her reason would be to get into the arms of some operative who could tell her things she shouldn’t know. She could forget about it with him. He’d been suckered by her father—he wouldn’t fall under her spell, too.

  Part of him tried to rationalize her presence there. An innocent who just happened to be born to Ross. That scenario would also create problems. If she wasn’t working with her father, she was a walking target. But that was ridiculous. How could she have no idea what the hell her father had been doing all these years? If Macknight had a daughter at risk and this exact situation arose, she might not know details of his life, but she’d understand how to handle herself in a compromised situation.

  Thanks to Rose and the chocolate, Emma never noticed the awkward taste in the water. The chloroform mix worked fast enough to prevent her from learning the location of the safe house, which was more important than her comfort. From the dark circles under her eyes, she needed sleep anyway. As an added bonus, she was no longer babbling about the buildings in London.

  Not that he gave a damn about the pretty face from the States. As far as he was concerned, she was either working for a man who was a double agent, or she had a high level of loyalty to him.

  Derek phoned him a moment after Emma went cold with some interesting background about her. She was a police officer, so not completely defenseless. That also meant she was unlikely to sit passively at the safe house while her father remained at large.

  Keeping her in the safe house, however, was not his priority at the moment. He had other things to deal with, like identifying the asshole following him in a gray Range Rover.

  “I seem to have developed a tail,” Macknight said.

  “Already? They must have known about her.” Derek always knew more than he revealed, an annoying trait.

  “Who?”

  “The GRU, I assume. If they want Ross to talk, what better method than torturing his daughter?”

  “Unless he’s working for them. In fact, don’t you think she was a bit too calm about her father’s disappearance?” He still doubted the allegiance of Ross to the U.K. Some men were more loyal to a bank account than their own countries or families.

  “Your only job right now is to keep her safe. Go ahead with the stats,” Derek ordered.

  “Gray Range Rover, BP99 NPC. And can you speed it up? I’ll be beyond my exit in about five minutes.” If they decided to take out his tires once they hit the rural roads, he’d have no cover and no backup.

  “I’m working on it.”

  He tried to remain on the M40 to Stokenchurch, but if he missed his exit, it would take a few hours of one-lane roads to meander back toward his destination, and Emma would wake up in the middle of something. He changed lanes and pressed on the accelerator, taking his speed to eighty miles per hour. Nothing over the top, just something to test his tail’s devotion to keeping him in sight.

  The Range Rover stayed back for a mile and then gained speed, never switching into Macknight’s lane until an old Peugeot blocked its path.

  “Barlow? You still there?”

  “It’s a corporate rental, not much information on it. I’ll try to track down who we’re dealing with.”

  “I hope Ms. Ross is a sound sleeper.” He accelerated to one hundred and ten.

  The Range Rover noticed and lost all pretense. They caught up quickly. The driver was a mere shadow—or maybe the speed was blurring the image—but either way, Macknight needed to lose them.

  He drove past his exit with a frown. Let one damn thing go right for once. This easy assignment was either going to kill him or keep him up all night. He cruised down the highway for about forty miles, always watching for his shadow out the back windshield. Several lorries in front of them acted as obstacles to move around, but otherwise the road wasn’t too congested.

  The phone rang, and he answered through the car system.

  “What? I’m a bit busy right now. Can you at least send me some backup?”

  “No one will be in your vicinity for another thirty minutes.”

  “I don’t have thirty minutes, unless you want me chased all the way to Manchester.”

  “Lose them, but don’t stop. You screw this up, and we could lose all our insiders in the Kremlin.”

  “Thanks for the support.” Macknight hung up to prepare to eliminate the car behind him. He wouldn’t lose this model Range Rover on speed alone, and if they were after Emma, they’d be as well-trained as him.

  It would be better to lose them on the highway. He sped up beside two lorries. The three vehicles blocked all three lanes, leaving the Range Rover behind.

  As he passed another exit, Macknight sped up, crossed in front of the lorries into the breakdown lane and slammed on his brakes. The trucks and several cars behind them kept the Rover moving forward for a bit. Macknight hit reverse until he reached the exit, then turned off and drove through several country roads, moving back toward the area from which he’d been detoured.

  Emma remained unconscious next to him. Her head flung about at the shift in momentum. Before the next sharp turn, he clasped her neck to keep her from slamming into the door window.

  Chapter Six

  Emma had no idea how long she’d been under, but she awoke on a particularly sharp turn on a country road not built for high-speed driving. A large hand gripped her neck. She shifted away from it. The hand, belonging to the MI6 officer Macknight, held her tight, not choking her, but restraining her movement. When they hit a straightaway, he released her. Countryside flashed by the window. This was not London. This whole thing had been a setup.

  “Where are we going?” She pulled on the door handle, but it was locked.

  “You’re safer not knowing.” He glanced over at her and frowned, then refocused on his insane driving.

  “I don’t feel so safe right now.” She’d stepped out of her normal life straight into the Twilight Zone. “Can you slow down? I can barely sit up straight.”

  He made a sharp turn, slamming her into the door. “My job is to keep you alive, not happy.”

  “You’ve smashed my shoulder into the door, drugged and strangled me, making me completely miserable, but without killing me. Damn, you’re good.”

  “Misery isn’t a
bad thing.” He spoke as though he’d had a lot of experience with the emotion. Causing it or feeling it, she wasn’t sure. “At least you have hope. Hope that your father’s alive. Hope that you’ll live to see the sunrise again.”

  “Macknight the philosopher. You must be a killer first date.”

  “You’d be overwhelmed at how attentive I am with the right woman.”

  “I don’t need your kind of attention. Just a steak and some water that doesn’t have drugs in it.”

  The bastard laughed.

  She stretched her arms over her head to pull her body out of the Macknight-induced coma, then reached into her pocket for her cell phone. Any sense of control hovered out of reach. “Where’s my phone?”

  “I have it. You’ll get it back when this is over.”

  “If you don’t release me immediately, you’ll be looking at years in prison.”

  He remained silent and didn’t take his eyes off the road, which was good, because he was going way too fast and low stone walls bordered both sides.

  The facts as she knew them so far: her father was missing, and MI6 had called her to London and then kidnapped her. She had no idea where she was going, and she didn’t trust the man sitting next to her. Not one bit.

  She gripped the door and held on, her still-groggy body not handling his insane turns. “You’re going to kill us.”

  “Just the opposite, princess.”

  As if it materialized to prove her point, an SUV swerved from a side road straight in front of them, nearly pushing them off the road and into a large tree. The shock vaporized some of the fog from her brain.

  The driver in front of them sped up and then slammed on their brakes. The road wasn’t wide enough to maneuver around the other vehicle. Macknight came within inches of hitting it, then threw the Mercedes into reverse and raced backward down the narrow country road. It was not a perfect performance. He nearly drove them into a tree, then slammed the back bumper into a stone wall, sparks flying at the contact. He then raced backward around a corner as the other car careened into reverse for what looked like a high-speed three-point turn before they disappeared from view.