Chayton (3 page)

He arched a brow. Realizing she was standing there staring like a silly girl, Kate approached the chair and set the kit on the counter. Opening the lid, she rooted around for everything she needed.

Chayton sat, knees parted, hands resting on his thighs.

The easiest place to stand was directly between his legs, she thought, and frowned at the swirl of nerves in her belly. Gusting a breath, exasperated with herself, she dampened a sterile pad with antiseptic and stepped into his personal space.

“This might sting,” she warned him, just before the pad touched his skin.

. . .

Chayton sat motionless while Penelope—not her real name, he knew—got the supplies ready. The woman was an enigma, one he'd yet to figure out. What he
did
know, was that she was on the run from someone and didn't want to discuss the details. He no longer thought she had anything to do with the trafficking ring, and didn't feel guilty or bad for using that angle to keep her where he wanted her.

After all, he spent his time saving lives, and he wondered if this one needed saving, too. The flight instinct could be all consuming depending on who was doing the chasing, and he understood she might need a little extra convincing to feel safe in his presence.

When she stepped between his thighs, he parted them another few inches to give her plenty of room. If he was honest, he was a little tense that she might be desperate enough to use the needle as a weapon, maim him enough to escape. It kept him on edge. He was only allowing her to stitch him so he might squeeze her for a little more information.

Because of his job with the Royal Elite, he was a man who took note of every detail. Like how narrow her hips were. Even with the extra layer of apron, she was tiny. Her breasts, on eye level thanks to his height and her own, were small yet full. There was something in one of the pockets of the uniform, foretold by a faint clink he heard every time she moved. She had a slender throat and clear skin and perfectly plucked eyebrows. A single, dark brown mole sat far back on her jaw.

“Don't worry. I can take it,” he said after her warning. The sting was far less painful than the metal knuckles that had put the wound there to begin with. He endured in silence—his preferred state of being. Chayton couldn't recall the last time he'd talked this much at one time.

“I don't know how well this numbing gel will work,” she said next, swabbing some of it around the cut.

“It'll be fine. I've been stitched before with no painkiller and nothing to numb me.” He watched her retreat to the kit and come back with a threaded needle. His thighs tensed as well as his shoulders. She stood closer this time, close enough for him to feel the heat from her body. Close enough to detect the vague scent of alcohol.

“Okay, here we go.”

The first bite of the needle brought a flicker to the corner of his eye. He felt her breath brush across his hairline, sensed her intense concentration. The suture thread pulled through his skin, tugging at it. Then the needle bit again. As she stitched, Chayton grew less worried that she would stab him in the eye or the throat.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“Fine.”

“Good. Not too many more.”

“Where did you learn how to stitch?”

“It's not a perfect job by far. You'll probably have a decent scar, unlike if you'd gone to the hospital.” She paused for another stitch, then said, “I learned it in basic survival training. My friends and I used to take three or four day hikes into the mountains and it's a good idea to know how to get by if an emergency arises.”

“Used to?”

“Yes.”

“You don't go anymore?”

“Not in the last year or two.”

“Why not?”

“I need to concentrate,” she whispered. The needle pierced his skin.

Chayton grunted. Just when he thought she might stumble into truths rather than lies, she used his wound to clam up.

A stitch later, she said, “Okay. That was the last one. How does it feel?”

“Like I have five or six stitches in my forehead.”

She dabbed the edges of the wound and cleaned the rest of his face with a gauze pad. Her eyes met his when the gauze slipped off his jaw.

Chayton held her gaze until she cleared her throat and stepped out from between his thighs. He watched her clean up the small mess of bloodied gauze pads and swab disinfectant over the needle. Like they might need to use it again.

Standing up, he moved the chair back to the main room, placing it near a window. Turning back to find Penelope standing in the archway to the bathroom, Chayton waited for the inevitable.

“Are you going to let me go now?”

She wasn't a part of the trafficking ring, he would have bet his life on it. Yet he didn't want to turn her loose without knowing more, without offering some kind of protection. How crappy would he feel if he woke up tomorrow and her face was all over the news, found dead in a dumpster behind the hotel? He could use the trafficking ring as an excuse, like the first time, or the fact that she'd broken into his room to detain her. Neither choice made him feel any better inside.

“Yes.
But,
” he said, stalling her before she could bolt for the door, “I want you to know that you can rest here tonight. Sleep in the bed. I'll sleep in one of the chairs. You can recover tonight and figure out what you want to do in the morning.”

His offer gave her obvious pause. Chayton didn't mistake the calculation in her eyes, the sudden wringing of her hands. She glanced at the bed, then to him, and then to the door.

“No one knows you're here. Right? Whoever is on your tail won't expect you to be in a guest's suite, which should throw them off your scent. By morning, you should have a decent shot to get where you need to go.” Chayton didn't feel one ounce of regret trying to sway her decision. Any other member of the Royal Elite would likely be a little more insistent that the woman allow them to give her shelter. With the situation at an impasse, the least he could do was provide a safe sanctuary.

“A few hours,” she finally said. “I'll stay a few hours.”

“All right. Are you hungry? I can order up something to eat.”

“I'm...yes. Actually, I'm starving.”

He crossed to the phone on the nightstand and picked up the receiver. Despite the prickly tension, he asked, “Now then. What do you want?”

. . .

Kate stared at her nearly empty plate, one hand on her stomach. The halibut, steamed carrots and house salad had tasted as good as it had every other time she'd ordered it from her own suite. For most of the meal, Chayton had picked at his food, watching her rather than attack his steak and seafood platter. She'd been too hungry to care, eating with an appetite that rivaled any man.

Now she suffered from exhaustion enhanced by having an overly full belly. Undisturbed sleep sounded so good. Too good to pass up.

Rising from the seat, she took full advantage of Chayton's offer and stretched out on the bed. She wasn't about to take off the uniform, though she did toe off the shoes and let them fall to the floor.

“Will you wake me in three hours?” she asked.

“Yes.” The sound of his fork clinking his plate came several times before silence reigned.

“Thank you.” Kate laid an arm over her forehead and another across her waist. She felt mildly conspicuous taking her ease while he finished his dinner. Not knowing when she might get another reprieve like this, Kate allowed herself to sink further toward sleep. She discovered she wasn't nervous about being unconscious in Chayton's presence, and she didn't know if it had to do with viewing his license or because they'd come to some sort of strange truce. Either way, she let the creeping blackness rise up to meet her and carry her away into dreams.

When she woke, Kate jerked upright in bed. Confused and disoriented, she clambered off the mattress, wincing when she banged her knee into the nightstand. The shadowy figure slouched in a chair by the window caused her heart to stutter in her chest—until it all came rushing back.

The maid uniform, hiding in Chayton's closet, their brief battle and stitching his wounds.

Oh yes.

Rubbing her eyes, she jammed her feet into her shoes and sought the digital clock next to the lamp.
3:47
a.m. So much for a three hour nap. Chayton had failed to wake her, apparently because he'd succumbed to sleep as well. She thought she only had a narrow window of time to make good her escape from the hotel, and that time had nearly come and gone. Anton's henchmen wouldn't be stalking the halls in the middle of the night, and probably wouldn't be waiting in the parking lots or curbside, either. They would be back at dawn, lurking in the foyer and downstairs restaurants and perhaps even in her suite again. She needed to leave right now.

At the door, she paused to glance at Chayton. All things considered, he'd treated her decently. He'd kept his word—except for waking her, and that wasn't really his fault—and made her feel safe for a few hours. A precious commodity she'd been short of lately. The hesitation she experienced just before stepping into the hallway was a lingering desire to put her trust in someone other than herself. That foolish notion would get her in trouble, lead to Anton getting his hands on her when she least expected it.

After a glance along the corridor to make sure it was empty, she eased the door closed and chose to take the stairwell to the main level rather than use the elevator. It was a long way down. Out of breath by the time she reached the ground floor, Kate followed the hallway to its end, where a door let her out into the darkness of early morning. A cool layer of mist hung above the tall lampposts shining light down on a private parking lot in use by customers of the hotel. Vehicles of considerable expense sat in neat rows, paint gleaming, windows dark.

Nothing moved.

Locating the automatic gate, she headed that direction. All she had to do was put as much distance between herself and the hotel as possible, making it that much harder for Anton to find her.

Putting Chayton from her mind, she disappeared into the city.

Chayton waited until the door closed to pull his phone out of his pocket. Pressing a button once the screen lit up, he brought the device to his ear and waited for an answer.

“Leander, I need a favor.”

“What's up, old man? We got your earlier text and we're all outside, watching the hotel entrances and exits.”

“Good. Keep a very close eye on the back doors and the parking lot. I believe a woman should be on her way off the property. Follow her, find out where she's
going. There could be an attempt by others to snatch her off the street—do whatever you have to so that doesn't happen.”

“Specifics?”

“She'll probably be in a maid's uniform. Gray, with a white apron. Unless she had other clothes stashed close by, but I doubt it. Blonde hair, gray eyes. Petite.”

“We'll let you know.”

“Thanks. I also need you to tap resources and find out who Anton Bertini is, what he's been up to.”

“Anton Bertini?”

“Yes.”

“Got it.”

Chayton ended the call and got to his feet. He tossed the phone on his bed and raided the first-aid kit for the waterproof skin protectant he'd spied earlier while Kate was preparing the needle. Carefully, he covered the stitches with the liquid and put everything away. Stripping out of his damaged clothes, he stepped under the hot spray of the shower. Blood tinged the water circling the drain. Washing away the grime accumulated from his earlier activities, he made quick work of the task and got out, careless of his bruises and wounds while he dried. At least the blur had gone from his vision.

Eight minutes later, dressed and ready for action, he picked his phone up to find a message waiting from Leander.

She's heading away from the Continental. I'm on her tail.

As he exited his room en route for the elevator, Chayton texted Leander to keep following Penelope and then he put in a call to Mattias.

“Yes?”

“Can you keep an eye on the hotel? I'm going to catch up with Leander.”

“I've got it covered. I have a couple of our
assistants
helping out.”

Assistant was another term for contact, or liaison. They were a chosen few who worked with the Royal Elite, doing all the underground work the rest of them didn't have time to do. These were men who could go unnoticed and disappear in a crowd. Faceless, nameless, unmemorable. Unlike most of the royals or elite, who were often hounded by media everywhere they went.

“Good. Call me if you see anything suspicious,” Chayton said, and signed off. He pulled up a different screen on the phone as the elevator whooshed to a stop, vacating the carriage at a brisk walk. Following a GPS locator attached to all the Elite member's phones, Chayton left the hotel by a back door, crossed through a parking lot, and let himself onto the street.

Breaking into a jog, he followed the illuminated path on the tracker toward Leander's position. He judged the distance to be approximately two blocks, give or take. A natural runner all of his life, Chayton had little trouble navigating the streets and intersections, and wasn't a bit out of breath when he rounded the last corner, coming up on Leander's flank.

Roughly six foot, wearing clothing the color of shadows, Leander looked like any other casual pedestrian out for a stroll. Brown haired and lean, the long time member of the Royal Elite might have escaped Chayton's notice if he hadn't known where Leander would be.

“What's the update?” Chayton asked, scanning the sidewalk ahead. He didn't see Penelope anywhere, but knew Leander had a bead on her regardless. Tall buildings sat on either side of the street, some containing upscale residences, others commercial business. Most of the structures had lights attached to the facade, creating blue, red or lavender hues that spilled out over the sidewalks and roadways.

“She's on the other side of the street, walking with her head down, about a half block up,” Leander said.