Explain? Explain what? That he was planning to screw this girl in front of her? No. No, no, no, no, no.
That familiar sense of panic engulfed her, sucking the air out of her lungs, making the walls close in around her. Frantic now to escape, she looked around for her purse, which she’d dropped when she’d foolishly thrown herself at him the second he’d opened the door.
“Okay, I know you’re upset,” he said, “but just slow down.”
Upset? He thought she was upset? The placating tone in his voice only sent her fury higher. Her sister used that tone when she thought Olivia was freaking out, and while Olivia tolerated it from Eve because she knew her sister was simply worried about her mental stability, she wasn’t putting up with it from Landon. Not after this.
Somewhere behind him, the redhead sighed. “Does this mean we’re not going to have a threesome now? Someone make up their mind.”
Olivia’s humiliation went sky-high. Face burning, she spotted her purse on the floor a foot away, snatched it up, and reached for the door with hands that were shaking more than she liked. “Sorry to interrupt your evening. You can go back to whatever the heck you were about to do before I arrived.”
“Olivia, wait.” Landon’s hand flew out to push the door closed the inch she’d opened it, and Olivia reacted. She didn’t think, didn’t plan, just let go.
Her elbow jerked back and connected with his sternum. He grunted but didn’t move, so she stomped down on his instep and yanked her arm up, sending her fist back to slam into his face.
“Son of a bitch.” Landon stumbled back, and his hand flew to his nose, but Olivia didn’t wait around to see if he was okay. The fight response might have kicked in, but the need to flee was definitely winning out now. She couldn’t stay here. Not a second longer. Not when everything she’d foolishly hoped for was crashing down around her.
She darted into the hall and rushed for the elevator.
“Olivia,” Landon called somewhere at her back. “Goddammit. Please just listen.”
She didn’t want to listen. Didn’t want to hear any excuses. She just wanted to run. The doors opened, and a smiling couple stepped off the car. Olivia darted around them and into the elevator, whipping back to push the button to close the doors.
The couple’s laughing banter turned to surprised gasps as Landon rushed past them.
“Olivia!”
Olivia glanced up and saw him heading her way, a menacing mass of black—black slacks covering his strong legs, black dress shirt over a chiseled muscular torso, which, only moments before, had been pressed up against her, and thick, dark hair rustling as he walked. The only spot of color was the droplet of blood trickling from his nose. Blood she’d put there.
Hot, useless tears blurred her vision. Tears that only fanned the flames of her humiliation. She hadn’t meant to hurt him—she’d just wanted to get away—but right now his little injury didn’t even compare to the pain she was feeling inside.
She stabbed at the button again, willing the doors to close faster. “Come on, come on, come on . . .”
He reached the elevator just as the two metal halves were coming together. Heart racing, she lurched to the back of the car and gripped the railing. The doors snapped shut, and the elevator’s motor began to hum.
But the slap of his hand still echoed in the empty car. As did one agonizing word.
“Please.”
“Motherfucker.” Landon punched the call button repeatedly and looked up at the elevator lights, indicating the car was on its way down.
Just let her go.
Common sense screamed not to go after her, but he had to. She’d flown all the way here to see him, something that had to have taken pure guts considering everything she was still recovering from, and he didn’t want her running off in a foreign city, upset and not thinking straight. Which was exactly what she’d done, thanks to him.
Asshat.
Oh yeah, that’s exactly what he was. That and so much more.
He hit the call button one more time. If he waited for the elevator to come back up, he’d never catch her. She’d reach the street and be gone, and he’d be lucky to find her. He moved for the stairwell, then remembered his cell phone. If he couldn’t find her, he could at least call her—and try to talk some sense into her.
He raced back to his room, thankful to see the door hadn’t closed all the way. Inside, he grabbed his phone and was about to shove his feet into his shoes when something whizzed by his ear. A thwack echoed behind him, drawing his head up.
An eight-inch knife stuck out of the wall inches from his scalp. A chill spread over him, and he turned slowly, looking toward the center of the room where Chantal stood barefoot, twisting a similar knife in her long-fingered hands.
“I didn’t have to miss,” she said in that thick French accent that was no longer heavy with arousal but with warning. “I missed on purpose.”
“I see that,” he said slowly, straightening. His mind whirled, and his body tensed. The set of her jaw, the way she held herself, the way she was staring right at him as if he were prey told him loud and clear she wasn’t just some psycho chick upset she’d walked in on him kissing another woman. She was more.
She placed the tip of the knife against her palm and twirled it slowly until a tiny droplet of blood welled beneath the blade. “Don’t worry about your little friend. I’m sure she’s fine. Or will be.”
Fear pumped through his veins, and his pulse ticked up. A fear he’d never felt—not even when an op went to shit—because he’d never had anything to lose.
His gaze shot to the chair where he’d left his jacket and his Sig. Both were missing. His focus snapped back to her. The lift of her brows said she knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Sit down, Landon Miller.” She pointed to a chair with the knife. “We have much to discuss.”
She knew his full name. He’d only given her his first in the bar. His mind ran back to the edge of the tattoo he’d seen on her shoulder in the elevator. This wasn’t a random hookup. He was her mark, and he’d fallen into every trap he’d been trained not to go near.
Every internal alarm he had screamed. He glanced around the room. A two-way radio sat on the small table next to the couch.
He needed to get to Olivia, but first he needed to make sure this woman—whoever she was—couldn’t follow. Cautiously, he moved toward the side, watching her movements from the corner of his vision. A foot from the chair, he grabbed the base of a lamp, yanked it from the wall and end table, and hurled it across the room toward her.
She ducked out of the way. The lamp crashed against the far wall. A whir cut through the air, and Landon leaned to the side, just barely avoiding being stuck like a pig.
“You want to play?” Chantal said in an amused tone. “I can play.”
Another whir echoed. Landon shifted the other direction. The blade cut through the air, nicking his right temple.
He grabbed the end table and flung it toward her. The wood smacked into her body, knocking her backward. She grunted, hit the floor with a crack, and tumbled across the carpet. Spotting one of the many knives she’d hurled at him on the floor, he lunged for it. She growled and charged. Her bare foot connected with his hand before he could throw it back at her, sending the knife flying. She landed another roundhouse kick to his ribs. Pain spiraled across his side, and he dropped to one knee. The next kick sent pain echoing across the side of his face.
“I needed a good workout,” she gritted as she kicked out again. But before she could make contact, Landon caught her foot, twisted her leg, and flung her across the room.
She hit the couch with a grunt. The piece of furniture tipped over, the back cracking against the floor.
Swiping at the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, Landon pushed to his feet and looked toward the upended couch. Son of a bitch, he didn’
t have time for this. The woman clearly didn’t want him dead. If she did, she’d have used a gun and just shot him. That meant she was toying with him. Whatever mental hang-up he had about kicking the crap out of a woman, he had to get over it.
Chantal lurched to her feet, tugged the hem of her dress up, and pulled another knife from a holster at her thigh. Her red hair was a wild mess around her face, and her dark eyes were wide and on fire. She gripped the knife tightly in her hand as she stared at him, her gaze as piercing as her blade. Whoever she worked for and whatever this was about, it was personal to her.
He held up both fists, ready to arc out as soon as she came at him. “Think about this,” he said calmly. “You can live or you can die, but I’m not someone you want to mess with.”
Chantal chuckled, a dark, menacing sound, then charged. Stepping on the seat of the couch, she used her body weight to right the upended sofa and propel herself forward. Landon waited until she got close, swung out with his arm, and knocked the weapon from her hand. It skittered across the floor. She threw her body toward him, stronger than she looked, knocking him to the ground. He managed to hook a leg around her waist and flip her off him.
She scrambled to her feet, swiped at the blood on her lip, looked down, and sneered. “Things aren’t always what they seem, Landon Miller.”
She lurched for the two-way radio on the side table, closed her hand around it, and then darted for the balcony window. The sliding door was open. Landon jerked to his feet and reached for her, not knowing what the hell was out there or what she had planned. His fingers hooked in the strap of her dress. Fabric tore. The tattoo he’d seen earlier flashed—a circle cut by a compass and two diagonal blades—and then she flew from his hands.
Holy shit, she’d jumped. Landon rushed out onto the balcony and watched in shock as her arms and legs flailed in the air. She hit the shimmering green-blue water of the pool on the roof four stories below with a splash. Her head popped back up. Flicking the water out of her eyes, she turned and looked up at him. A victorious smile spread across her lips. Then she swam toward the edge, hauled herself out of the water, and took off at a run, disappearing into the building far below.
“Things aren’t always what they seem . . .”
“Don’t worry about your little friend. I’m sure she’s fine. Or will be.”
Every muscle in his body tensed. She was a decoy. For what and why he didn’t know. All he knew was that he had to get to Olivia.
Before it was too late.
Olivia’s whole body was shaking by the time she made it to the street.
She turned right out of the hotel, not knowing where she was heading, just needing to put space between her and the building. Lights shone down from above on the wide Barcelona street, and tall, old-world architecture rose to the dark sky. At this hour, close to ten p.m., there weren’t that many people out. A smattering of cars whizzed by, and dim storefront windows blurred as she moved.
She’d been so totally stupid to just show up like that, unannounced. So completely pathetic to build up this stupid romance in her head these last few months. And for what reason? Because he’d saved her life? She had a seriously messed up case of hero worship. Or was it Stockholm syndrome? She wasn’t sure. But one thing was clear. As if making up fantasies in her head wasn’t bad enough, she’d made it a hundred times worse by kissing him.
Mortification burned hot in her gut as she passed an alley between the hotel and another building. He must think her the biggest fool on the planet. He and that woman were probably getting quite a laugh about it all right this minute.
“Olivia!”
She turned before she could stop herself. Landon stood on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, scanning the area.
No. No, no, no. Her heart rate shot up, and her skin grew cold and clammy. She didn’t want to talk to him, didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Her stomach jumped into her throat, and she whipped back around, walking faster to get away.
“Olivia, wait!”
She was almost to the corner. The light was red. If she hustled, she could get across before traffic picked up, and then he’d be trapped on this side.
Her pace quickened. She stepped off the sidewalk. A van screeched to a halt right in front of her, and the side door flew open.
Olivia gasped and jerked back. Two masked men, dressed all in black, jumped out of the van. Behind her, Landon screamed, “Olivia!”
Things happened so fast, she didn’t have time to react. One man slapped a hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming. The other grabbed her feet, jerking her body away from the sidewalk. She struggled and tried to wiggle away, but they held her too tightly. Panic spread through every inch of her body, and her muffled screams rang in her ears.
Some kind of commotion echoed behind her. She recognized the sound of fist hitting bone, of grunts and a fight. And she knew Landon’s voice. Telling them to let her go. That he’d cooperate. That they wanted him, not her. But she couldn’t focus enough to figure out what was going on.
They pulled her into the van. She kicked out and nailed the guy holding her feet in the ribs. He grunted, then released her leg with one hand and pulled his arm back. The flat of his hand connected with her jaw. Pain spiraled across her face, and she screamed.
“Stupide imbécile,” the man behind her snapped. “Ne pas lui faire du mal. Il nous faudra peut-être elle.”
A roar echoed near the door of the van, and then the sound of a struggle amplified, followed by Landon’s panicked voice.
“Olivia. Don’t fight. Stop struggling.”
Don’t fight? She had to. She had to get free. Her muscles burned as she twisted and tried to break away, but they held her too tightly.
A chuckle sounded near her feet. Her body landed with a thud against the floor of the van. Before Olivia could find her balance and lash out again, a black sack was dropped over her face, blocking out all light.
“Good advice,” the man said in a thick French accent. “You should listen, mademoiselle.”
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. Flashes of three months ago, when she’d been trapped in that metal box, ricocheted behind her eyes. Her pulse rate soared. Panic spread to new heights. The door to the van slammed shut. The engine revved, and the van began to move. Someone pushed her onto her stomach, and she cried out as her face hit the floor, pain spiraling across her cheek all over again.
A loud thud sounded through the van, coming from somewhere near her feet. She couldn’t see what was happening, was too focused on her own pain to pay close attention, but she heard the heavy breaths of a struggle, followed by a grunt.
“If you hurt her again,” Landon growled in a menacing tone, one she’d never heard from him before, “I swear to God I’ll snap your neck so fast you’ll never see me coming.”
“And how do you plan to do that?” another man asked in that same thick French accent. “When you aren’t even able to move?”
Olivia’s hands were wrenched behind her and tied together with something plastic. A sharp stab pricked the skin of her inner arm. She winced. The van made a right turn, then a left. And though it went against every instinct she had, she stopped struggling and tried to focus on which direction they were heading.
“That’s it. Good girl. See? You are nice to us, we are nice to you.”
Another grunt echoed from the back of the van. Another thwack of fist hitting bone. Even though she couldn’t see, Olivia closed her eyes tight and tried to block out the sounds so she couldn’t imagine what was happening to Landon. Hot tears burned her eyelids, but she held them back, breathing deeply through her nose to keep from losing it.
Her limbs grew heavy, her head light. A clack, clack, clack echoed through the van, as if they were going over something bumpy, and she realized the pain in her arm had to have been from a needle. They’d given her so
me kind of drug. The edges of her consciousness were already darkening.
A fresh surge of fear rushed through her, but her body didn’t have time to react. Sound dimmed. She couldn’t hear Landon anymore, didn’t know where he was or what they were doing to him, but she knew one thing for certain.
She’d survived being taken once before. She could survive this too. She might not know what these people wanted or why they’d grabbed her, but staying alive was the only play she had. And she wasn’t about to give up without a fight, no matter what Landon told her to do.
Marley Addison reached for her cell phone and frowned down at the empty screen. Miller hadn’t responded to her last three texts, which she’d sent over five hours ago, and that wasn’t normal for him.
She set her phone down and looked back at the computer screen, trying not to let paranoia get the best of her. Something in her gut screamed things weren’t right, though. Miller always responded or called back right away. The guy was anal about checking in so Ryder didn’t send someone to track him down.
She chewed on her lip and flipped screens. The GPS in Miller’s phone showed he was still at his hotel. Probably sound asleep. Barcelona was six hours ahead of Louisville, Kentucky. It was well after midnight there, and he’d just come off a three-week op. His very last for Aegis.
“It’s seven thirty, Marley.” Jake Ryder strolled into her office and reached for the report she’d drawn up earlier from the corner of her desk, the one detailing the activities of each of his operatives currently on assignment across the globe. “If you don’t head home soon, I’m going to think you don’t have a life.”
Marley bit her tongue as she peered over her glasses toward her boss. In typical Jake fashion, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, he’d tugged off his tie hours ago, and his thick, dark hair was tousled, as if he’d run his fingers through it numerous times, which, knowing him, he probably had.
A frown tugged at her mouth as she switched screens again, pulling up a satellite picture of Landon’s hotel. She didn’t have a life. She was in the office from sunup to sundown. And he was only just now figuring that out? She’d worked here for three freakin’ years.