by James, E L
My answering grin is just as broad. “Let’s go.”
“It’s so good to see you so happy, darling,” Grace says, her gaze unwavering as she presses her palm against my cheek.
“Thanks for lunch.” I give her a quick peck.
“You are welcome, always, Christian. This is your home, too.”
“Thank you, Mom.” I pull her into an impulsive hug. She beams up at me, then turns her attention to Ana, hugging her hard. When I manage to pry Ana from my mother’s clutches, we wave our good-byes to everyone else and head to the car. As we do, it occurs to me that her decrepit Beetle must have been a stick shift too.
Let’s do this, Grey.
“Here.” I toss the R8 key at Anastasia. She catches it with one hand. “Don’t bend it or I will be fucking pissed.”
“Are you sure?” Her voice is full of excitement.
“Yes, before I change my mind.”
What’s mine is yours, baby. Even this…I think.
She lights up like Christmas, and rolling my eyes at her elation, I open the driver’s door to let her in. She starts the engine before I’m even in the car.
“Eager, Mrs. Grey?” I ask as I fasten my seat belt.
“Very.” She flashes me a wild-eyed smile and I wonder if I’ve made a huge mistake. She doesn’t take the top down—my girl is not wasting any time. Slowly, she reverses so that she can turn the car around in the driveway. I glance behind us, and Sawyer and Ryan are scrambling into the SUV.
Where were they?
Ana reaches the end of the driveway and glances nervously at me. Her early bravado has slipped a little. “You’re sure about this?”
“Yes,” I lie.
She inches out into the road and I brace myself. As soon as she’s on the pavement, she puts the pedal to the metal and we shoot down the street.
Fuck. “Whoa! Ana! Slow down! You’ll kill us both!”
She eases off the accelerator. “Sorry,” she says, but I know from her tone she’s anything but, and I’m reminded of our time, only yesterday, on the Jet Ski.
I smirk at her. “Well, that counts as misbehaving.”
Ana slows down a little more.
Good. That’s got her attention.
She drives steadily along Lake Washington Boulevard and through the Tenth Street intersection. My phone buzzes. “Shit.” I struggle to retrieve it from my jeans. It’s Sawyer. “What?” I snap.
“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Grey. Are you aware of the Black Dodge following you?”
“No.” Turning around, I survey the street behind us through the cramped rear window of the R8, but as we’re on a bend, I don’t see any cars.
“Mrs. Grey is driving?”
“Yes. She is.” Ana turns onto Eighty-Fourth Avenue.
“The Dodge set off after you left. The driver was waiting in the car. We ran the plates. They’re fake. We don’t want to take any chances. Could be nothing. Or it could be something.”
“I see.” Myriad thoughts dart through my mind. Maybe this is just a coincidence. No. After everything that’s happened recently, this can’t be a coincidence. And whoever is following us could be armed. My scalp prickles with alarm. How could this have happened? Sawyer and Ryan were out there the whole time. Weren’t they? They didn’t think it odd that someone was sitting in a car? Did it follow us to my parents’ place?
“Do you want to try to lose them?” Sawyer asks.
“Yes.”
“Will Mrs. Grey be okay?”
“I don’t know.”
When has she ever let me down?
Ana is concentrating on the road ahead, but her earlier spirit has vanished and her grip on the steering wheel has tightened; she’s figured out something’s wrong. “We’re fine. Keep going,” I tell her in the most soothing tone I can muster.
Her eyes widen, and I know I’ve failed to reassure her.
Shit. I pick up the phone again. Sawyer is talking. “We haven’t been able to get a close look at the driver. The 520 is probably the best place to try. Mrs. Grey could try to lose them there, too. The Dodge is no match for the R8.”
“Okay, on the 520. As soon as we hit it.” I say.
Damn, I wish I was driving.
“We’ll be right behind the Dodge. We’ll try to come alongside it. Are you okay with this?
“Yes.”
“Do you want to put us on speaker, so Mrs. Grey can hear us?”
“I will.”
I slot the phone onto the speaker cradle.
“What’s wrong, Christian?”
“Just look where you’re going, baby,” I murmur gently. “I don’t want you to panic, but as soon as we’re on the 520 proper, I want you to step on the gas. We’re being followed.”
Ana blinks several times as she absorbs this news, and the color drains from her cheeks.
Shit.
She sits up straighter and squints into the rearview mirror, no doubt trying to identify our pursuer.
“Keep your eyes on the road, baby.” I speak softly. Calmly. I don’t want to spook Ana any more than she’s spooked already. We just need to get back to Escala as quickly as possible and lose this asshole.
“How do we know we’re being followed?” Her voice is high-pitched and breathless.
“The Dodge behind us has false license plates.”
She drives carefully across the Twenty-Eighth Street intersection, around the roundabout and up the 520 on-ramp. Traffic is light, so that’s something. Ana’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror, then she takes a deep breath and abruptly seems to slow down.
Ana, what are you doing?
She’s studying the flow of traffic; suddenly she drops a gear and floors the gas so we shoot forward through a break in the traffic onto the highway. The Dodge has to slow right down to a crawl to wait for a gap to follow us.
Whoa. Ana. Clever girl!
But we’re going too fast!
“Steady, baby.” I keep my voice even, though inside my stomach is in knots. She drops her speed and starts to weave between the two lanes. Knotting my hands together, I hold them in my lap so I don’t distract her. “Good girl.” I glance behind us. “I can’t see the Dodge.”
“We’re right behind the unsub, Mr. Grey,” Sawyer’s voice says over the speaker. “He’s trying to catch up with you, sir. We’re going to try to come alongside. Put ourselves between your car and the Dodge.”
“Good. Mrs. Grey is doing well. At this rate, provided the traffic remains light, and from what I can see it is, we’ll be off the bridge in a few minutes.”
“Sir.”
We speed past the bridge control tower. We’re halfway. Ana is traveling fast, but smoothly and confidently. She’s got this. “You’re doing really well, Ana.”
“Where am I headed?”
“Mrs. Grey, head for I-5 and then south. We want to see if the Dodge follows you all the way.”
The lights on the bridge are green, thank goodness, and Ana continues at speed. “Shit.” There are cars backed up coming off the bridge. Ana slows, and I see her glance in the rearview mirror, looking for the Dodge.
“Ten or so cars back?” she says.
Staring behind us, I spot it. “Yeah, I see it. I wonder who the fuck it is?”
“Me, too. Do we know if it’s a man driving?” Ana directs her comment to my phone.
“No, Mrs. Grey. Could be a man or woman. The tint is too dark.”
“A woman?” I ask.
Ana shrugs. “Your Mrs. Robinson?”
What? No!
I’ve not heard from Elena since—well, since the wedding, when she sent that fucking text. I reach for my phone and pull it out of the cradle to mute it.
“She’s not my Mrs. Robinson,” I grumble. “I haven’t spoken to her since my birthday.”
That’s not right, Grey. I called her when I gifted her the business, but now is not the time to mention that. “Elena wouldn’t do this. It’s not her style.”
“Leila?”
“She’s in Connecticut with her parents. I told you.”
“Are you sure?”
“No. But if she’d absconded, I’m sure her folks would have let Flynn know. Let’s discuss this when we’re home. Concentrate on what you’re doing.”
“But it might just be some random car.”
“I’m not taking any risks. Not where you’re concerned.” I sound brusque, but I don’t care. Ana, as ever, is challenging. Unmuting my BlackBerry, I place it back in the speaker cradle.
The traffic starts to ease, and Ana’s able to increase her speed along the intersection.
“What if we get stopped by the cops?” she asks.
“That would be a good thing.”
“Not for my license.”
“Don’t worry about that.” The arson attempt and Charlie Tango’s sabotage are all part of a police investigation. I’m sure any police officer would be more interested in our stalker.
“He’s cleared the traffic and picked up speed.” Sawyer’s disembodied voice is calm and informative. “He’s doing ninety.”
Ana accelerates and my beautiful car responds like the finely honed machine she is, climbing to ninety-five with ease.
“Keep it up, Ana,” I assure her.
Ana coasts onto I-5 and immediately crosses several lanes to get into the fast lane.
Smooth, baby. Smooth.
“He’s hit one hundred miles per hour, sir.”
Fuck. “Stay with him, Luke,” I bark at Sawyer.
A semi lurches into our lane and Ana hits the brakes, so we’re thrown forward. “Fucking idiot!” I shout.
Christ. He could have killed us!
“Go around him, baby,” I grit between clenched teeth. Ana maneuvers across three lanes, past several cars and the fucking semi, then back into the passing lane, leaving the asshole behind us. “Nice move, Mrs. Grey. Where are the cops when you need them?”
“I don’t want a ticket, Christian,” she says without heat. “Have you had a speeding ticket driving this?”
“No.” But nearly.
“Have you been stopped?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“Charm. It all comes down to charm.”
Yes, Mrs. Grey. Believe it or not, I can be charming.
“Now concentrate. Where’s the Dodge, Sawyer?” I ask.
“He’s just hit one hundred and ten, sir,” Sawyer says.
Ana gasps and she puts her foot down so the Audi picks up speed.
There’s a Ford Mustang in our way.
Fucking hell.
“Flash the headlights,” I yell.
“But that would make me an asshole.”
“So be an asshole!” I hiss, trying to keep my anger at the Mustang and my spiraling anxiety in check.
“Um, where are the headlights?” Ana asks.
“The indicator. Pull it toward you.”
The prick gets the message and moves over, giving us the finger. “He’s the asshole,” I mutter. “Get off on Stewart,” I tell Ana. “We’re taking the Stewart Street exit,” I inform Sawyer.
“Head straight to Escala, sir.”
Ana glances in the mirror, her brow furrowed. She signals and moves across four lanes of the highway, straight down the off-ramp, slowing down and then turning smoothly onto Stewart Street.
She’s amazing.
“We’ve been damned lucky with the traffic. But that means the Dodge has, too. Don’t slow down, Ana. Get us home.”
“I can’t remember the way,” she squeaks.
“Head south on Stewart. Keep going until I tell you when.”
She cruises down the street.
Shit, the lights at Yale are on yellow.
“Run them, Ana,” I urge.
Ana overreacts and we’re thrown back as we speed through the intersection. The light on red.
“He’s taking Stewart,” Sawyer says.
“Stay with him, Luke.”
“Luke?”
“That’s his name.” Didn’t you know?
She glances at me.
“Eyes on the road!” I yell.
“Luke Sawyer?”
“Yes!” Why are we talking about this now?
“Ah.”
“That’s me, ma’am,” Sawyer says. “The unsub is heading down Stewart, sir. He’s really picking up speed.”
“Go, Ana. Less of the fucking chitchat.”
“We’re stopped at the first light on Stewart,” Sawyer informs us.
“Ana—quick—in here.” I point to the parking lot on the south side of Boren Avenue. She turns sharply, gripping the steering wheel, and the expensive tires on my magnificent R8 squeal in disapproval, but Ana holds it, and swerves into the crowded lot.
Shit. That must have been a quarter-inch off the tread.
“Drive around. Quick.”
Ana takes us to the back of the parking lot. “In there.” I point to an empty space. Ana gives me a quick, panicked look. “Just fucking do it,” I growl. And she does. Perfectly. As if she’d spent her whole life driving my car.
Well done, Ana.
“We’re hidden in the parking lot between Stewart and Boren,” I tell Sawyer.
“Okay, sir. Stay where you are; we’ll follow the unsub.” He sounds a little irritated.
Tough.
I turn to Ana. “You okay?”
“Sure.” Her voice is deathly quiet, and I know she’s really shaken.
I try for humor to calm us both. “Whoever’s driving that Dodge can’t hear us, you know.”
Ana laughs. Loudly. Too loudly. She’s masking her fear.
“We’re passing Stewart and Boren now. I see the lot. He’s gone straight past you, sir.”
Thank Christ. The relief is instant, for Ana, too. I blow out a breath. “Well done, Mrs. Grey. Good driving.” Reaching up, I startle her when I stroke my fingertips down her face. She takes a huge gulp of air.
“Does this mean you’ll stop complaining about my driving?” she asks.
I laugh, and it’s cathartic. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”
“Thank you for letting me drive your car. Under such exciting circumstances, too.” She’s trying to stay bright, but she sounds brittle as if she’s about to break.
I switch off the ignition, as she’s made no attempt to do so. “Maybe I should drive,” I offer.
“To be honest, I don’t think I can climb out right now, to let you sit here. My legs feel like Jell-O.” Her hands are shaking.
“It’s the adrenaline, baby. You did amazingly well, as usual. You blow me away, Ana. You never let me down.” I stroke her cheek again with the back of my hand because I need to touch her, to reassure her and me that we’re safe. Tears well in her eyes, and her choked sob surprises us both as tears start coursing down her face. “No, baby, no. Please don’t cry.” I can’t bear to see her cry. Reaching over, I unbuckle her seat belt, grasp her waist, and pull her over the center console into my lap; her feet remain on the driver’s seat. Smoothing her hair off her face, I kiss her eyelids, and her cheeks, then bury my nose in her hair as she curls her arms around my neck and sobs into my throat. Cradling her close, I let her cry it out.
Ana. Ana. Ana. You did so well.
Sawyer’s voice startles us. “The unsub has slowed outside Escala. He’s casing the joint.”
“Follow him,” I order.
Ana wipes her nose with the back of her hand, sniffles, and takes a deep breath.
“Use my shirt,” I offer, and kiss her temple.
“Sorry,” she says.
“What for? Don’t be.”
She wipes her nose again, and I hold her chin, tipping it up and kissing her tenderly. “Your lips are so soft when you cry, my beautiful, brave girl.” I keep my voice low, conscious of our security at the other end of the phone.
“Kiss me again,” she whispers, and all I hear is the need in her voice. It lights a fire in my soul. “Kiss me.” Her voice is husky and insistent. Retrieving my BlackBerry from its cradle, I hang up and toss it on the seat, next to her feet. I weave my fingers through her hair, holding her in place while my lips find hers and my tongue finds hers. She welcomes it, her tongue caressing mine and kissing me back with an intensity that steals my breath away. She clutches my face, her fingers skimming over stubble as she takes all I have to offer.
I groan. And my body responds. All the adrenaline heading south.
Fuck. I want her.
I move my hand down her body, feeling her, brushing her breast, her waist, and landing on her backside. She moves, sliding on top of my trapped dick. “Ah!” I pull away, panting.
“What?” she says against my lips.
“Ana, we’re in a car lot in Seattle.”
“So?”
“Well, right now I want to fuck you, and you’re shifting around on me; it’s uncomfortable.”
“Fuck me, then.” She kisses the corner of my mouth, as her words take me by surprise. I stare into her dark, dark eyes that are nearly all pupil. All lust. All need.
“Here?” I breathe, shocked.
“Yes. I want you. Now.”
I can’t believe she’s said that. “Mrs. Grey, how very brazen.” I scan our environs. We’re well hidden. There’s no one here. We won’t be seen. We can do this. My hunger for her goes into overdrive. I tighten my grip on her hair, holding her where I want her, and kiss her again. Harder. Deeper. Taking. Taking. More and more.
My other hand skims again down her body to her thigh.
She grips my hair.
“I’m so glad you’re wearing a skirt.” My hand travels up her thigh. She wriggles on top of me.
Ah!
“Keep still,” I grunt, tightening my grasp on her hair at the nape.
She’s going to unman me.
I cup her through her lace panties; they’re damp already.
Oh, baby.
With my thumb, I circle her clitoris, once, twice, and she groans, her body quivering at my touch. “Still,” I whisper, and capture her lips with mine while my thumb teases the swollen bud beneath the dewy lace. I move the material aside and sink two fingers inside her.