Kidnapped by the Billionaire (29 page)

“Gabe thought it best if you didn't know,” Eva said. “Elijah's a smart bastard, and we didn't want him picking up on things he wasn't supposed to.”

Well, that was true. Remembering that sharp black gaze that seemed to see right inside her, Honor could see the wisdom of their decision. Even thinking about it made her shiver. Made her also wonder just what the hell Violet thought she was doing.

“Okay, fair enough,” Honor said aloud. “But you realize that tracker will only work if she keeps the sweater.”

Zac folded his arms. “Oh, I think she'll keep the sweater. She didn't have any other clothes, did she?”

“No,” Honor admitted, thinking about the coffee-stained clothing she'd left in Gabriel's laundry. “She didn't.”

Gabriel thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Okay, so now we're all caught up, the plan is to find the name of the asshole Elijah is trying to take down. And we track Violet, see what's up with this meeting. Then we go get her. Agreed?”

“What about Elijah?” Honor looked up into his dark eyes, knowing the answer already.

Gabriel smiled. “Then I fucking kill him.”

*   *   *

Elijah pushed open the door of the apartment, resetting the code on the security system even though it was pointless. If Eva King could hack into it at a moment's notice then there wasn't much point even having a coded lock. Then again, the imperative to keep the place locked down had gone now that Violet was here of her own free will.

Coming back to the apartment was probably a stupid idea, especially now that Woolf and his friends knew the location. He had a few other bolt-holes scattered around Manhattan he could fall back on, but none of them had the remains of the life he'd had with Marie stored there and he couldn't just abandon that. He may have gotten rid of the grief, but the same urge that had made him gather that small store of belongings after she'd died and keep them safe had him heading back to it now.

He closed the door after Violet and locked it reflexively.

She stared at him as he did so, making him pause. Did she think he was going to keep her captive again? “You made your choice,” he said flatly. “Are you regretting it?”

“No.”

“So what's the problem?”

She studied him for a long moment. “Are you going to give me the code?”

A simple question with a not so simple answer.

Part of him wanted to say no, she couldn't have it because he just couldn't risk her leaving, not now, not at this stage. And yet, another part of him wanted to give it to her because back there, in Zac Rutherford's hallway, she'd taken his hand. She'd told Honor she'd trusted him.

Of course, her trust or otherwise was irrelevant to him … wasn't it?

Bullshit. You liked that she trusted you. You wanted her to. And now you want to give her something in return.

The space between them suddenly shimmered, becoming thick with something he didn't quite understand. But he could still feel the warmth of her fingers twined with his, her grip firm, certain. And he could still see the desolation in her blue-green eyes. She was hiding it, but it was there. She'd been dealt a blow and if he wasn't careful, it could be mortal.

“Yes,” he heard himself say. “I'll write it down for you.” He turned to the console table beside the door, grabbed a pen and paper from a small drawer at the side of it, and quickly scribbled down the code.

Then he held it out.

Violet's gaze flickered to the paper then back up again, and then one corner of her lovely mouth curved in a small, but unmistakable, smile.

And that tight feeling was back in his chest again, like he'd been given a gift he hadn't realized was precious until now.

She took the paper and folded it up without looking at it, tucking it into the pocket of her jeans, and he abruptly turned away, because he had shit to do right now and watching Violet Fitzgerald smile was not part of that.

His cheek ached as did the gunshot wound in his shoulder, but he ignored both injuries like he ignored that tightness in his chest. He'd get painkillers for the first two and as for the last … well, that wasn't anything a bit of refocusing on his goal wouldn't cure.

Turning in the direction of the dining table, he spotted his phone sitting on top of it and went over to get it. He had a couple of overdue calls to make.

“Elijah.”

He paused, glancing back at her. “Yes?”

“Have you got a phone I could borrow?” She had her arms crossed over her chest, her hands tucked beneath her armpits as if she was cold. “I need to call my mom.”

There wasn't any reason not to let her use one now, and he had the burner phone he'd bought earlier, the one he'd been contacting Jericho on. It was sitting next to his own personal phone on the table, so he picked it up and held it out to her. “Use this. And if you're cold, I can put the heat up.”

A look of surprise crossed her face as she came over to take the phone. “Oh … uh … no, it's okay. I'm fine.” Another of those tiny smiles. “But thanks for the offer.”

Christ, why had he said that? It only made that fucking feeling in his chest get worse.

He turned away without speaking again, grabbing his phone and punching in the number of the first of the contacts he had to call, pushing all thoughts of Violet from his head.

Fifteen minutes and four calls later, he'd managed to get a good idea of how the land lay after Fitzgerald's sudden death. Several factions within his little empire were now jockeying for position to take over where he'd left off, and some of them were throwing around accusations that Elijah had killed Fitzgerald and was hoping to take over himself. A number of people thought this was a great idea, and he'd already had one contact offer to back him should he want to make a move. And the rest? Well, they just wanted him dead.

After he'd ended the last call, he leaned back against the kitchen counter, where he'd gone to keep his conversation private, and stared at the floor, turning things over in his head.

Jesus Christ, fucking Gabriel Woolf and his friends had a lot to answer for. It wasn't only that they'd killed Fitzgerald and ruined Elijah's revenge plans, they'd also cut the head off a hydra. A hydra that was now in the process of growing new heads, probably more than one.

That was the problem when you got rid of one fucking dictator; there were always plenty more who rushed to fill the power vacuum.

Elijah let out a breath. If he wasn't careful, he'd was going to end up with an even bigger mess than he first started with, not to mention the fact that he'd have to ingratiate himself with yet another power-hungry prick who wanted in on all that money. Plus there were all those international connections that Fitzgerald's death had left hanging, not only Jericho but the links to the Triads and the Russians.

You still want to take that shit down, you know what you have to do.

Yeah. He'd have to take over. Make sure the whole network was destroyed properly. Because the authorities could only do so much, while he could move outside the bounds of the law if he had to.

Something in him staggered at the thought, burdened by the sheer weight of it. But he'd been doing this for seven years already, a few more wouldn't hurt.

Guess that means taking down Jericho isn't a kamikaze mission after all?

He shifted against the cupboard at his back, the edge of the counter digging in.

He'd thought it was. He'd thought taking Jericho down trumped everything, even his own life. But … if he wanted to take down the guy's empire and Fitzgerald's as well, dying wasn't exactly the way to achieve it.

What about Violet?

He'd been resting back on the counter with the heels of his hands and now he found he'd curled his fingers under the edge of it, gripping on tightly as if to stop himself from doing something violent.

You can't let Jericho have her.

He hadn't given any thought to what would happen to her after he'd brought her to the meeting with Jericho. All he'd imagined was gunning down that bastard and finally bringing all that time in his own personal hell to a close. But now … he wanted to think about what would happen to her. He wanted … shit. He wanted to make sure she was safe.

A strange, foreign realization, since caring what happened to someone hadn't exactly been high on his list of priorities, not for a long time.

Straightening, Elijah walked to the kitchen doorway, looking out into the cavernous apartment space. Violet was standing by the windows, talking on the phone, her back to him. The fading evening light touched the tips of her hair in rose gold and turned the exposed skin on the back of her neck the same color. She looked small against the high windows. A brave woman and strong, yet vulnerable too.

A certainty he couldn't remember feeling before settled down through him, and ignoring it seemed wrong.

No. He couldn't let anything happen to her. He wouldn't. He would find a way to make sure she stayed safe, and fuck whether that mattered or not. Because the fact was that it did.

She mattered. To him.

The thought sat in his head, and by rights he should have shoved it away since feeling anything at all for anyone wasn't allowed. But he didn't. He let it sit there, the dark, hunger inside him rousing in response. Wanting. Wanting her.

Over by the windows, Violet must have ended her phone call because she lowered the phone slowly, her head bending. Her shoulders slumped, as if something heavy had just fallen on them, and he didn't like that, didn't like it at all. She had enough to bear as it was.

Pushing himself away from the door frame, he began to walk over to her.

She must have heard him approach because she turned suddenly. Her face had that white look again, the same one she'd had earlier in Zac's study, and her mouth was a hard, straight line. “Oh hey,” she said flatly. “You finished your calls?”

He ignored the question, moving over to her, closing the space between them. “What's wrong?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Oh nothing. Just…” She stopped and tossed the phone negligently down onto the couch cushions. “It doesn't matter.”

He didn't stop to think why he wanted to push her to tell him, or even why he wanted to know. Maybe it had something to do with what he'd just realized himself. Whatever it was, he responded without thinking, reaching out to her and taking her chin in his hand, turning her back to face him.

“Tell me,” he demanded, knowing he sounded rough and demanding and not giving a shit. Because her eyes had that bleakness in them again, the one she was trying to hide, and he didn't like it. Not one fucking bit.

Her gaze flicked away from his, but she remained still, and for a terrible minute he thought she might cry again. And he couldn't have that, not when her earlier tears had almost torn him open.

“It's my mom,” she said eventually, her eyes at last meeting his. “Remember what you told me a couple of days ago? That no one was coming for me? Well, looks like you were right.”

He frowned. “No, I wasn't. Your friends came for you.”

“My friends. But not my family.”

“What are you talking about?” For reasons he couldn't have explained, he released her chin and opened his hand, letting his palm slide down the column of her neck to rest on her throat, gripping it lightly. Gently. A possessive hold.

Her eyelashes fluttered, lowering, and he felt her lean into his palm as she drew comfort from the touch.

Oh Jesus … this woman. What the fuck was she doing to him?

“Mom didn't want to speak to me. Her secretary tried to fob me off, but I made her put me through. And … she hadn't realized I was missing. Dad's been dead for two days and she didn't even know I was gone. She hadn't even bothered to ring me to tell me he was dead.” Violet's voice was flat, but he heard the raw undercurrent beneath. “I know we never got on well, but this … She didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to see me. I told her I'd come home, but she wasn't interested.” Another pause and then her lashes lifted, her blue-green eyes staring straight up into his, and he could see her pain. Unhidden. The look of a woman who'd lost everything. “First Theo. Then Dad. And now my mom. Is it me, Eli? Is it something I did? What's wrong with me?”

It felt like a hook caught in his chest, tugging hard, tearing painfully at him, and this time he couldn't tell himself he didn't know why it hurt. He knew. It was because of her. Because he wanted to make it better for her, wanted to take that pain away.

He tightened his grip on her throat, keeping it gentle yet firm, so she felt the pressure instead of that pain. “There's nothing wrong with you,” he said roughly. “You just had shitty luck with your family.”

Her jaw was tight, her mouth whitening. “Yeah, really shitty luck. And now I don't even have that. I've lost them all. Every single one of them.”

“No. Not all of them. You had a lead about your brother.”

“Yeah, a lead. Great. It's probably nothing.”

“What is it?”

“It's stupid. And doesn't mean—”

“Tell me, Violet.” He applied a little bit more pressure, letting her know this wasn't a request, her pulse beating fast beneath his palm.

Her eyes widened, a flare of heat leaping high.

Ah, fuck, yes. That's what he could do for her. That's how he could make it better. Give her pleasure, make her feel good. And maybe this time he wouldn't take anything for himself. He'd just do it for her, because she needed it.

But first, he wanted answers about her brother.

She took a small, sharp breath. “I lived in Paris for a while, came back earlier this year. But while I was there, I did a little bit of asking around about Theo. He used to love the city, always wanted to go. We used to talk about going there one day together … Anyway, I left my number in various places, plus a picture of him, and a little while afterward someone rang me to tell me to go talk to this café owner in Montmartre. So I did and I showed her the picture and she told me that yes, she'd seen him. About six months ago he used to come in every day. Then one day he vanished and she never saw him again. She couldn't tell me anything more so I let it go.” She swallowed, and Elijah felt the movement of her throat against his palm, making him spread his fingers out over her skin, soaking up the warmth of her.