The Billionaire's Redemption (The Billionaire's Kiss, Book Five): (A Billionaire Alpha Romance) (19 page)

“That’s
my
choice.”

I narrow my eyes. “What if you had to choose between that, and me?”

Now he’s downright icy. “Are you giving me an ultimatum?”

“No, I’m asking if you’re stupid or not. Because if you’re
that
stupid… we can’t have a future together.”

“I don’t recall even putting that offer on the table.”

OW.

I flinch, then try to cover up my hurt with bitchiness. “I just assumed when you said you loved me that you were a
man
, and not a
boy
who’s afraid of commitment.”

“I just assumed when you said you loved
me,
that you meant you loved the
actual
me – not some safe, sterilized version with my balls cut off. ‘Cause that’s what you’re asking for.”

I glare at him. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“No. I’m me, and you either accept me as I am, or you don’t. Simple as that.”

“Get out of my bed,” I snap.

“Gladly.”

He stands up, walks over to his own bed, and gets under the sheets. I can hear the springs creaking under his weight.

We lie there in silence, refusing to speak to one another.

I cry silently, unwilling to let him even
hear
my tears.

It takes a long, long time to fall asleep.

When I wake the next morning, Grant isn’t in his bed.

I feel bitter and tired, and my eyes hurt from crying. I want to apologize just to make all the awful feelings go away – but I don’t even know what to apologize
for.

For telling the truth? He’s a thief. Period. Yeah, he’s brilliant… charming… incredibly hot… and good-hearted… but he’s still a fucking thief. All those other things don’t cancel out the one. And his denial about it is just so…
ugh.
He thinks he can cover up his worst attributes by using a fancier name, like a wino claiming he’s a sommelier, or a meth cooker claiming he’s a chemist.

Whatever.

I dress and go downstairs to the private dining room, where JP is smoking a cigarette and Dominique is playing solitaire. Both of them ignore me.

Grant is nowhere to be seen.

There’s a platter of croissants and pastries, and a decanter of coffee. I pour myself a cup.

“Anybody seen Grant?” I ask.

“He is talking to Marcel,” JP says.

“…oh.”

“I realized something last night,” JP continues without looking at me, as he lays down his playing cards. “If Epicurus wants to track us, he only needs to listen for the sound of
l’orgasme.
That, followed by fighting.”

I blush bright red, then glance over at Dominique.

She looks like she wants to shove a dagger in both JP’s back
and
mine.

When I hear footsteps coming up the stairs, I’m relieved.

But then Grant walks into the room, and all my relief turns to apprehension.

He’s cold and distant. He sees me, but there’s no smile, no warmth in his eyes. He’s obviously still angry.

I figure I ought to be the bigger person, so I sidle up to him and try to be coquettish about it. “Look… about last night…”

He cuts me off. “I talked to Marcel. He’s going to contact the smuggler for us and make the arrangements for later today.”

So that’s the way it’s gonna be, huh?

“I’m staying,” I say, all coquettishness gone.

“No you’re not. I’ll duck tape you and throw you in the boat myself if I have to, but you’re not staying.”

Oh yeah? Fuck YOU.

“Then I want to talk to Mailin first,” I snap.

“So get him on MySpace or whatever you were using last night.”

“Very funny. I want to talk to him in person and hear what the FBI is offering.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“You let me talk to Mailin, and I’ll either leave with him, or I’ll go with your precious smuggler,” I say. “If I don’t talk to Mailin, I’ll make your life fucking hell until I leave.”

Grant glares at me.

“I vote she talks to Mailin,” JP says.

Grant glares at JP.

Dominique says something in French.

Grant just closes his eyes.

“What’d she say?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he sighs.

I look at JP, and he happily translates.

“She said, ‘If it gets the fucking bitch… euh, I think you say, ‘out of my hair,’
oui?
Then she votes ‘yes’ also.”

Now both Grant
and
Dominique look like they want to kill JP.

I
want to kill Grant and Dominique.

JP just looks like he wants his ten million dollars so he can split. “Can you make up your minds today, perhaps? I am rather fucking bored with the lovers’ argument.”

“If you go and talk to Mailin, then you’ll leave France one way or the other?” Grant asks me coldly.

“Yeah,” I snarl. “Since I can tell I’m so wanted here.”

Grant scowls, then thinks for a moment.

“Alright,” he agrees. “But if we do this, we’re going to do it
my
way.”

“Oh, really.”

“Yes,
really.
”

“And what does that entail, exactly?”

“It means I set the preconditions for the meet.”

“Like…?”

“Like he comes alone – nobody else.”

“Fine.”

“In a public place.”

“Is that wise, with Epicurus out there?”

“You’re the one who wants to fucking meet with him,” Grant snaps.

I glower even more. “Fine.”

“And one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

Grant smiles tightly. “I think it’s time to use the GPS.”

Two hours later we are sitting around the table looking at eight GPS trackers that Marcel got from a local spy shop. The devices are actually the size of a dime, with thin plastic strips separating the main tracking chip and the battery power supply. Pull out the strip, the battery makes contact, and the device is operational. There’s also a couple of small tubes of super glue.

“I thought you said the trackers were going to be the size of pills,” Grant says, arms crossed.

“They have to be this big because the power supply is a little battery on the back.”

“So you were wrong.”

I glare at him from the corner of my eye. “Slightly.”

“What else are you wrong about, do you think?” Grant asks snottily.

“Ever agreeing to get mixed up with you, for one.”

I can’t help but notice the big smile on Dominique’s face.

Bitch.

Grant just ignores my insult towards him and goes back to the GPS trackers. “Why do they need a battery?”

“Because they need an energy source. This isn’t a passive system like Lo-Jack. When we turn these things on, they’ll send out a signal that a satellite can track.”

“How long do the batteries last?” Grant asks.

“Twenty-four hours, supposedly.”

“Supposedly?”

“I’d figure on that being the top end. It might be a little less, maybe a little more.”

“Alright, I want you carrying one of these things,” Grant says.

“Why?”

“So in case the FBI grabs you, I can track you down and get you back.”

I narrow my eyes. “I thought you wanted me out of your hair.”

“That is only Dominique,” JP offers helpfully.

Grant and I both stare at him until he wilts in his chair.

“I want you to be
safe,
” Grant says to me. “I don’t want them snatching you up and hauling you off to prison.”

“Mailin’s not going to do that.”

“Maybe not, but his friends at the FBI won’t hesitate.”

“They won’t be there. Mailin promised.”

It was true. While Marcel got the GPS trackers, I had gone back online with Mailin. He’d agreed to all of Grant’s preconditions: Mailin would meet us alone and in public, at the base of the Eiffel Tower.

Grant scoffs. “Like I trust this guy.”

“
I
trust him.”

“Yeah, and that’s the mistake that’s going to land you in prison.”

“At which point you’re going to come rescue me,” I say in a
Yeah, RIGHT
tone of voice.

“If I have to.”

“That’s stupid – you know that, right? You want to get rid of me, but you’d follow the FBI back into the U.S. and try to break me out of jail?”

“What’s stupid is you not taking the safe option and getting out of France on a boat.”

“Whatever.”

“
S’il vous plaît
, can we continue?” JP asks with a groan.

Grant scowls, but returns to business. “So where are you going to put it?”

“In the heel,” the Frenchman says as he uses a knife to peel apart my shoe. “We separate it, make a space, then glue it back together.”

“Don’t get any of that glue on your fingers, JP, or you’ll have to walk around on your hands for the next two days.”

JP doesn’t quite get the joke, but I do. The image of JP walking around, upside-down, with my shoes glued to his hands is pretty funny.

“Made you smile,” Grant says, the moment a little lighter than it was before.

I’m not about to give in
that
easily, so I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

We watch JP separate the heel, then dig out a hollow big enough for the battery.

“Look at you,” Grant teases me. “Little Miss Jamie Bond. Special agent shoes and everything.”

“Said the guy who designs secret passageways into
everything,
” I retort.

Grant strokes his chin thoughtfully. “If she loses the shoe, though, we lose the tracker.”

JP looks both bored and incensed at the same time. “What do you want me to do?”

Grant thinks for a second. “If you swallow the tracker, will it still work?”

I stare at him. “You want me to
swallow
it?”

“That’s the only way they’re sure not to find it, right?”

“I guess… but it’s kind of big.”

“I am sure it is not the biggest thing you have had in your mouth recently,” JP says.

In a rare show of solidarity, Grant, Dominique, and I
all
glare at JP until he cowers down in his seat.

I make a face. “Even if I
can
swallow it, it’s probably going to… ‘pass through’ within 16 to 20 hours.”

“That’s long enough. Or at least long enough to figure out where they’re taking you.”

“I guess…”

Grant makes his decision. “Okay – JP, hide one in her shoe, but I want you to swallow one, too, Eve. That’ll double our chances. Plus, if they search you and find the one in the shoe, maybe they’ll think they got the only tracker. It’ll be a nice diversion.”

“Which still means I have to swallow one. Great,” I mutter.

“Hey, you’re the big believer in this GPS thing. Time to put up or shut up.”

“I’ll put up if
you
shut up.”

He grins. Things feel decidedly more relaxed between us. “Fine. How fast can you do the shoe, JP?”

“I glue it, I let it sit… ten minutes, it should be done.”

“Great.” Grant turns to me. “How fast can you write the software to track these things?”

“Two hours, tops.”

“Can’t we just use some sort of regular tracking device?”

“We could – but you want it to be unhackable, remember?”

“Just make sure it’s simple enough that I can use it.”

“Oh, you’ll be able to use it,” I promise. “I’ll make it simple enough for an idiot to figure out. Oh, wait… that was kind of redundant.”

Grant’s not amused, but it gets a chuckle out of JP.

Two hours later, Grant and I are in the backseat of a car with tinted windows. One of Marcel’s men is driving. JP and Dominique elected to stay behind, which is perfectly fine by me.

Grant has one of the pistols with him, and keeps it in his hand as he watches the streets of Paris fly by.

“Why did you bring the gun?” I ask.

“For our little meet-and-greet, of course.”

“It’s not necessary. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Well, if it does, we’re prepared.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in planning for ‘end of the world’ scenarios.”

He shrugs. “You getting kidnapped by the FBI isn’t ‘end of the world.’ More like… ‘hemorrhoids of the world.’”

“What?!”

He grins. “In other words, a giant pain in the ass.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’ll be a giant pain in the ass to get you back, that’s all. But you’re wearing one of your GPS thingamajigs,
and
you have another one inside you, so – easy peasy, Japanesey, right?” he says mockingly.

“If you want
me
to wear it, why won’t
you
wear one?”

“Because I’m still not convinced that it can’t be hacked.”

“I told you – ”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says dismissively. “Save your breath.”

Bastard.

I scowl. “Basically what it comes down to is, you don’t trust me.”

“If you want to look at it that way, fine, look at it that way.”

“I know what I’m talking about.”

“Just like you’re absolutely sure that this Mailin guy is going to come alone?”

“Yes. He wouldn’t lie to me.”

“So you put the same amount of faith in this friend of yours as you do in your unhackable GPS thingamabobs?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. Good to know,” Grant says as he goes back to looking out the window.

Jerk.

I bet he’s just counting the minutes until I’m out of the way.

I can see the Eiffel Tower through the windshield – but then the driver takes a right, and we start driving
away
from it.

I frown. “What are we doing?”

“You’ll see,” Grant says.

“We’re supposed to meet him at noon, and it’s almost time!”

“Hold your horses.”

Dick.

The car ends up driving into a parking garage. We go up all the ramps and park in the deserted top level. When we get out, I can see the Eiffel Tour about a half mile away.

Grant has the driver pop the trunk, then pulls a telescope out and begins setting it up on the top of the parking deck. It’s huge, the kind a serious stargazer would use to look at Jupiter or Mars.