Return to Me (Storm Lords) (12 page)

But he doubted Bryce would put up much of an objection. After all, he’d asked Torr to finish him off nearly a year ago.

Bella sat bolt upright on the bed.

Fuck.

Where the hell was she?

She was moving, but not like in any way she had ever moved before. The room was small, too small; the walls curved, the ceiling curved, blinds covered the small round windows. Claustrophobia, clawed at her insides, threatened to overcome her, and she forced it down. She wouldn’t give in to the nightmare.

Okay, so she was lying on a wide bed. Not so bad. And she was pretty sure the bed was on an airplane, but she had no memory of getting there. She’d never been in an airplane in her life, and had been quite happy with that state of affairs. The idea of locking herself in a small tin box, which she couldn’t get out of, filled her with horror.

She was clutching the sheets painfully tight, and she willed her fingers to uncurl one by one, took some deep breaths, and tried to work out how she had gotten here.

The door opposite opened. Torr lounged in the open doorway. Her eyes narrowed on the bottle of champagne and two glasses in his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

At the softly spoken words, her gaze swung to his face.

He was sorry? What for exactly?

She decided not to ask, mainly because she really needed that champagne right now. She would work it out for herself. Or she would, if her brain wasn’t quite so fuzzy. Why was her brain fuzzy?

There had been some sort of meeting. Lots of big men, and Phoebe had been there. She was finally going to find out what was going on, something bad by the expressions on everybody’s faces. Then what had happened?

She’d been drinking coffee…she couldn’t remember anymore. Had she passed out?

That wouldn’t account for Torr apologizing now. He’d only apologize if he’d done something bad.

Like drugging her coffee.

The lousy rotten bastard had drugged her coffee. She glared at him. “Apology
not
accepted.”

His lips quirked, though the smile was quickly wiped from his face. Very wise. He stepped into the room and lifted the bottle. “Peace offering.”

When she didn’t speak, he stepped closer. “I thought you might want to celebrate your first flight.”

“How do you know I’ve never flown before?”

“Bella,” he said gently, “I know everything about you.”

That didn’t sound good at all. She stared around the room, as she tried to decide what to do. While she’d love to walk out on him—she wasn’t going to get very far. She shivered in the warm air, and forced down the fear that the walls were closing in on her. The room was too small and she couldn’t see out.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I don’t frighten easy.”

He raised an eyebrow, as though he didn’t believe her.

“Okay, so some things frighten me. Like small spaces and rooms without windows.” She allowed her gaze to roam the room. “Look, can’t you draw the blinds or something?”

Torr put the bottle and glasses down on the table and moved around the room, pulling up the blinds on the small windows. It was still light outside, and sunlight flooded into the room easing the tension in her limbs.

It came to her that she was actually flying. She was suspended somewhere high above the world. Pushing down the sheet which covered her, she jumped out of bed. A wave of dizziness washed over her. She swayed, almost falling, and suddenly found herself enfolded in Torr’s arms.

For a few seconds, she didn’t move. His arms felt so good, strong and safe. She wanted nothing more than to lay her head against his broad chest and let him hold her close. Then she remembered the reason why she needed holding, why she was still so shaky.

The goddamned bastard drugged me!

She wriggled her hands between their bodies and shoved. His arms tightened briefly, and then he loosened his grip but didn’t release her.

She looked up into his face. For once, his expression wasn’t blank, and she tried to analyze the thoughts flickering across his features. Worry definitely, mixed with guilt. Good—she was glad he felt guilty—so he should.

“Are you okay?” he murmured.

“I’m as well as can be expected for someone who’s just been drugged.”

“I told you—”

“You didn’t want to frighten me. But that’s not your choice. Besides, I saw those things that attacked Justin. I know there’s some weird stuff going on. You can tell me the truth. I won’t breakdown and have hysterics or anything.”

He studied her face, and gave a quick nod. “I’ll tell you what I can. But maybe you’d like to clean up, have a shower first. I picked up some clean clothes for you. They’re in the bathroom.”

“There’s a bathroom? On a plane?”

He waved a hand in the direction of a door opposite the one he had come in from. He still held her and she pulled free and headed over, but paused at the door. “So how did you know I was awake now? How did you turn up like a little genie bearing gifts?” She waved a hand at the champagne on the table.

“I was watching over you.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “While I was asleep? Hmm, like I said before—seriously creepy.”

“I needed to be certain you were safe.”

Bella wasn’t sure what to say to that. Her usual response would have been to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that she was quite capable of looking after herself. But the truth was she was no longer convinced that was the case. And while she might not like it, Torr’s presence filled her with a sense of security, as though as long as he was near, nothing could harm her.

The feeling was illogical. She’d only been in danger since she’d met him. If he hadn’t bailed her out, if she hadn’t gone with him, would Justin still be alive? The question would haunt her for the rest of her life.

And he’d drugged me.

She slammed the door behind her.

She dawdled in the bathroom as long as she could. After showering, she wiped the steam from the mirror and stared at herself. She looked good, her eyes clear, and no lingering trace of the drug.

Was she brave enough to do this? To break down her walls and face her fears.

She was in this too deep now to run away.

When she came out of the bathroom, she was feeling a little calmer. Torr was in the chair by the bed, long legs stretched in front of him, hands steepled, sleepy eyes fixed on the door she’d appeared through.

Her gaze ran over his long length. As usual, he was dressed in black—pants and a shirt. At the sight of him, warmth surged in her belly, like a memory of the things they had done together. His big, hard body… She swallowed and forced herself to ignore the sensations. Answers were what she wanted. Crossing the room, she perched on the bottom of the bed.

“Just how long have I been under?”

He patted the mattress beside him. “Why don’t you get comfortable, and I’ll tell you.”

She peered at him suspiciously but scooted up the bed and sat, her back propped against the pillows, her jean clad legs stretched out in front of her. Torr handed her a glass of champagne. She stared at the elegant flute for a second, took a delicate sip, rolling the icy cold liquid around her mouth before swallowing. Delicious.

She put the glass down beside her. “So, how long?”

He shrugged. “Around twelve hours.”

Shock hit her in the guts. “You knocked me out for twelve hours? I don’t believe this.”

He appeared slightly discomforted at that. “I hadn’t intended it to be so long. You reacted to the drug. The dose was too much….”

Her gaze settled on one of the small windows, where sunlight still streamed into the cabin. She frowned. “If I’ve been out for twelve hours, how come it’s still daylight?”

“We’re flying south, heading into the sun. Local time is six in the evening.”

He picked up her glass, handed it to her, and she took it without thinking. This time she swallowed half the contents.

“Where are we going?”

“Mexico City.”

Her brows furrowed. “How can I be going to Mexico? I don’t have a passport.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll sort something out.”

“You’re good at sorting things out, aren’t you?” She emptied the glass and held it out for more. Torr raised an eyebrow, but poured her another.

As she sipped the champagne, she considered what to ask next. She knew all about getting information out of people. One of the things that made a good con artist was the ability to get people to relax and open up. Part of her success was that she was so unintimidating. Her targets never saw her as a threat. But it was more than that. She could make people feel at ease, get them to talk. The secret was to start with some innocuous subject that wouldn’t ring any alarm bells. She settled back on the pillows. “So where are we now? Do we fly directly to Mexico, or do we stop off somewhere on the way?”

His eyes narrowed slightly at her attempt at casual conversation. “We refueled in New York.”

“While I was a sleep?” She pouted. “I always wanted to go to New York.”

“I’ll take you when this is sorted. Maybe we could stop on the way back.”

“So, I take it we’re not on a commercial flight?”

“No. The plane belongs to the company.”

“Oh.” She was not only on her first airplane. She was on her first
private
airplane. Drinking champagne. Justin would have been impressed. At the thought, a wave of sadness washed over her.

“What’s wrong?”

He was too perceptive. Bella shook her head, and decided the truth was the best option here. “I was thinking how impressed Justin would have been by all this.” She raised her hand and gestured around the cabin. Unfortunately, it was the hand holding the champagne. Fortunately, the glass was nearly empty and only a few stray drops fell on the coverlet. She rubbed at them absently. “He always said we’d one day do the perfect con, and we’d get so much money he could buy himself a jet of his own. He was always ambitious.”

“And what about you? Did you want a plane?”

“No, I never wanted anything like that.” She stared out of the window at the blue sky. “I just wanted a place of my own. Well, for me and Skip—” She broke off and glared at him. “Where is Skip? What have you done with my dog?”

“Don’t worry. I have someone looking after him?”

“Cade?” she asked. “He liked Cade.”

“No, Cade’s flying the plane.

“He is?”

Torr nodded. “So what sort of place?”

“I saw this advertisement once for an almond farm high up in the mountains in Spain. It looked so beautiful and peaceful.” She was telling him far too much.
She
wasn’t supposed to be the one opening up,
he
was. But it was strange up here, high above the earth. Almost like taking time out of life.

Torr raised the bottle, and she held out her empty glass. He wrapped his fingers around her hand to hold her steady while he poured, and the warmth seeped through her skin. His eyes met hers; they were beautiful, compelling.

Shaking her head to break the spell, she pulled her hand free. Time to get the conversation back on track. She took a quick gulp. “So where are we now?”

“Over the Gulf of Mexico. We should be landing in a couple of hours.”

“In Mexico City. And what are we going to do there?”

He hesitated.

“Come on, Torr. You have to give me something here.”

“A friend of mine is in trouble. We’re going to get him out of it. And that’s all.”

That definitely was not all. As explanations went, it was woefully inadequate. If he thought he was getting away with that feeble attempt he was mistaken. “What kind of trouble?”

“Nothing important.”

“Yeah, right. So unimportant that you immediately jump on a plane and head halfway across the world.”

Torr stood up. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he paced the confines of the room, like a tiger in too small a cage. Bella held her breath, confident she had pushed him enough. He came back and flung himself into the chair, ran his hands through his long silky hair. “I think he might have murdered some people.”

Shock hit her. She hadn’t been expecting that. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, wasn’t even sure what it normally took to make Torr go running half way round the world.

He glanced at her and she blanked out the shock. “Go on.”

“Bryce isn’t himself right now. He lost someone close to him a couple of years ago, and he never really got over it. He’s hurting.”

“And you think he might be killing people. In Mexico City.” She frowned. “So what’s he doing in Mexico?”

“I sent him there. Well not there specifically, but I sent him away. He asked me—” He shook his head. “He asked for something I wasn’t ready to give. I told him to go away for a year, if he still felt the same afterwards, then I would do as he asked.”

“What did he ask for?”

“That doesn’t matter, and it’s Bryce’s secret to tell, not mine.”

Bella sensed he would tell her no more on the subject and she changed direction slightly. “Why do you think he committed these murders?”