Kidnapped by the Billionaire (23 page)

“Ah, fuck.” Alex's voice was full of disgust.

“Yeah,” Eva said. “Fitzgerald took her for his little business.”

“Oh God.” Honor shook her head and reached for the tumbler on the table.

It made sense, that was for sure. Gabriel felt an unwanted sympathy for the man turn over inside him, which was just fucking annoying. Because regardless of the whys, Elijah or Kane or whatever the hell his name was still had Violet.

“We need to know who he's after,” he said flatly. “He said it was more complicated than revenge, that if it was as simple as that, he'd have have killed Fitzgerald years ago. But he didn't.”

The fire leapt in the grate, a shower of sparks erupting from it.

“If his wife was taken by Fitzgerald, then I know what he wants,” Eva said.

But Gabriel had already worked it out for himself. “He doesn't just want the guy dead, he wants to take down the whole fucking empire too.”

A small silence fell, the implications of that slowly sinking in. Because they all knew how twisted that empire was, how complicated. And that was only what they'd seen of it in the States. Evelyn Fitzgerald's little crime industry went beyond this country, had tendrils that snaked into other parts of the world, linking to other crime syndicates in China, the Middle East, and Europe just for a start. Who knew how deep it went? How far?

“He can't do it alone,” Eva said finally. “He'll need help.”

Gabriel glared at the phone. “What the fuck? Getting Violet away does
not
involve helping the prick who took her. We leave that shit to the authorities.”

“Seriously?” Eva sounded annoyed. “Since when did you ever want to involve the authorities, Gabe?”

Unfortunately, Eva had a point. He must be getting soft in his old age. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “No authorities. But I'm not helping that motherfucker. He's lucky I didn't shoot him when I had the chance.”

“If he's bent on taking down Fitzgerald's human trafficking ring then I don't give a shit what you want.” Eva's voice was hard. “I'm going to give him any help he needs.”

Of course she would, and he'd probably do the same if he had Eva's history. Still, there was a life at stake here. “And if taking that down means Violet gets hurt?” he asked harshly.

There was a silence this time.

“We need more information,” Honor said, her voice abrupt. “We don't know anything about Elijah Hunt or his motives, and what we have now is just guesswork. Eva, have you made any progress with Violet's cell phone signal?”

“It's not broadcasting now so it's either off or destroyed, but yeah, I have a last known position for it,” Eva answered. “It's in the West Village, where Gabe met Elijah, so that kind of confirms where she might be. Whether she's still there or not is another thing.”

Impatient, Gabriel rose to his feet. “Give me the address, Eva. I'll get over there now.”

“Wait.” Zac this time, his tone flat with command. “We need a plan, Gabe.”

But Gabriel was done waiting. This shit—
all
of this shit—had been going on for far too long and he was sick of it. He wanted Honor happy, wanted his family safe, and if that meant taking out one bastard who kept getting in the way, then he was all for it.

Reaching over to the phone, Gabriel picked it up. “I go get Violet and maybe I'll let Hunt live. That's the motherfucking plan, asshole.” Then he ended the call and tossed the phone to Alex, who caught it, the look on his face enigmatic.

Honor had risen to her feet, turning to face him. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I think Zac might have a point. Sitting down and working out a plan isn't wrong.”

“No, but the longer we chat about plans and shit, the longer that gives Hunt to go find somewhere else to keep Violet. We need to move now before he moves her.” He reached out, settling his hands on her hips and tugging her close, looking down into her pale, pretty face. “It'll be okay, baby. I'll get her back.”

Honor's dark brows pulled down. “Be careful, Gabe.”

“Always.” He bent and kissed her. Hard.

*   *   *

Violet stared down into Elijah's dark gaze and felt something inside her crack apart. Her mouth opened and she started to say something, though she wasn't really conscious of what it was—probably something trite and ridiculous since her brain was still reeling from what he'd just revealed.

But before she could get the words out, the sound of his phone ringing came from out in the lounge.

Abruptly, he pushed her away and got to his feet, striding out of the bathroom without a word.

Violet just stood there, staring down at the white porcelain of the bath where he'd been sitting only seconds before. Broad shouldered and massive, all that bare tanned skin smooth and hot to the touch.

He'd had a wife. A wife her father had killed.

She had no doubt he was telling her the truth—he had no reason to lie.

Her vision wavered, tears filling her eyes. Which was stupid and wrong, because what right had she to cry for a woman she didn't even know? And why did she feel so responsible? She hadn't been the one to kill her after all.

Nevertheless, she felt the weight of it rest on her chest like a boulder, heavy and inescapable.

Now she knew why he wanted to use her. Why he looked at her with such fury.

He must see his wife's killer every time he looked at her.

We're all monsters, Violet. Even you …

Violet wiped the back of her hand over her face, scrubbing away the ridiculous tears, a cold hard splinter of ice settling deep into her soul. No, that wasn't right. It was her father who'd done it, not her. But maybe what had happened to her was a kind of karma. Perhaps she shouldn't fight him, let him use her however he wanted, make up for what her father had taken from him. Because how else could she make it better?

Why do you want to? After what he's done to you?

So he was a killer, a criminal. But he was also … grieving. She'd sensed the pain of his loss even though she hadn't quite known it for what it was or why. She knew now though. He was a man with a wound that went deeper than the one on his shoulder. A wound that still ached and bled and hurt. He had a hole inside him, just as she did. Except the hole inside Elijah could never be filled, because the woman he needed to fill it with was dead.

At least she had evidence that Theo was still alive, that she still had someone.

She turned, moving out of the bathroom and going down the hallway.

“About fucking time.” Elijah's voice drifted from the lounge area. “What can you give me?”

She paused in the hall doorway, leaning against the frame.

He was standing with his back to her, half naked, his wide, powerful shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, the shorts sitting low on his hips. She itched to touch him again, to run her fingers across those powerful muscles, feel them bunch and flex under her hands. To hear his breath catch and his deep, harsh voice whisper her name.

She wanted him. Wanted to take him in her arms and soothe him, heal him. Wanted to take that bleak, cold look away from his black eyes and give him something warm to hold onto instead.

Can anyone say Stockholm Syndrome?

Oh yeah, and she had all the symptoms loud and clear. But she didn't give a shit. Her father had taken something from him and it was now her job to give it back.

He turned all of a sudden, as if he'd sensed her standing there, his gaze sweeping over her, now absolutely expressionless. Making her feel vulnerable for some reason, aware of her nakedness in a way she hadn't been before. Then, still talking to whoever was on the phone, he turned back again, walking away from her toward the kitchen area and disappearing through the doorway.

Clearly he wanted privacy. Did that mean he was talking about her? To Jericho? Were they arranging a meeting right now?

I'm going to put a bullet in his brain.

Well, at least that made sense now too. Why he took her, why he wanted to kill Jericho. Why he was so set on it.

Revenge.

Violet swallowed. She could understand it. When someone you loved was taken from you, after the shock and the grief, anger was the next emotion to hit and for some people it hit hard. In fact, some people never got past it. Looked like Elijah was one of those people.

She went over to the punching bag where her clothes were lying strewn on the floor and picked them up, starting to dress. Staying naked made her feel too exposed, and she was feeling exposed enough as it was.

When she'd finished she looked toward the kitchen area. Elijah still hadn't come out, but she could hear the low rumble of his voice, the words indistinct.

Deciding her fate maybe?

A little uprush of panic went through her and she had to turn and pace to the windows and back to get rid of it.

No, panicking was not helpful and after all she'd been through already, it seemed ridiculous to start now. What she needed to do was think of her next move. Initially it had been to help him lure out Jericho, but now? She wasn't sure.

Elijah knew more about Jericho than she did obviously, but she was betting the man was possibly even more dangerous than Elijah himself was. Killing him would certainly be an in-your-face kind of move. Surely Elijah would be aware that there would be reprisals for that kind of thing?

Violet stared sightlessly at the sky beyond the high windows.

Oh yeah, he was aware. The bleakness behind his eyes, the emptiness … He wasn't expecting to survive his revenge.

The thought made her heart squeeze tight and hard inside her chest.

She didn't want him to die. Sure, he was cold and he'd been rough with her. He hadn't been kind to her in any way, shape, or form, and really, losing his wife wasn't an excuse. And yet … There had been glimpses behind that emptiness in his eyes, glimpses of a man who wasn't all black ice. Who was passionate and demanding, certainly. But not only that.

He hadn't hurt her. He'd given her antinausea pills for Christ's sake. He'd lifted her out of that bathtub full of bloody water and wrapped her in a blanket. Bound the cuts. Given her painkillers.

Yes, he needed to keep her alive for Jericho, but he hadn't needed to do any of those things for her. Things that were aimed precisely at making her comfortable. At easing her pain.

We are all monsters, Violet.

He might be on the outside, but inside, somewhere under all that hard, cold ice he surrounded himself with, there was also a man.

A man she wanted to know more about. A man she wanted to heal.

Are you crazy? You've only known him two fucking days.

Yeah, well, in that case she was crazy. And she didn't care how long she'd known him. After a couple of years studying psychology she knew her own feelings well enough.

What about what Theo said? Always question.

She had questioned. She'd been constantly questioning herself since Elijah had brought her here and right now, she was fucking sick of it.

Turning away from the window, she paced over to the sofa, glancing toward the kitchen again. Still no sign of him. She turned back, went over to the bookcase and stood in front of it, searching through the spines of the books as if they could tell her the truths about him she so desperately wanted to know.

An older book in among all the paperbacks caught her eye and she reached out, pulling it off the shelf. It was a hardback, with an early sixties–looking cover. A first edition of Robert Heinlein's
Stranger in a Strange Land
. Vintage sci-fi and probably worth a bit of money by now.

Were these his books?

She opened the cover and leafed through the first few pages until she caught sight of the scrolling, cursive writing on the title page, boldly ignoring the fact that writing on a first edition would lower its value.

Kane, I told you I'd get you paper. Happy anniversary, darling husband. I love you. Marie.

Violet frowned. Who the hell was Kane?

“Get the fuck away from there.” Elijah's voice was flat and hard with command.

Violet turned, still holding the book, meeting his gaze and seeing nothing at all in his black eyes. Nothing but darkness. As if his earlier confession hadn't happened.

As if he hadn't just told her that her father had killed his wife.
He killed Marie …

Oh God.
He
was Kane.

She blinked, realization spearing her like a blade as she took in the rest of the apartment. At the strange little lounge setting in front of her that had seemed so out of place when she'd first come here. The bright rag-rolled rug. The sofa. The coffee table. The romance in the shelves behind her …

They were furniture from another time and another place. A time when he'd been married. When he hadn't been Elijah Hunt, but another man.

“Tell me about Marie, Elijah.” she said abruptly, her voice cutting through the heavy silence. “Tell me about Kane.”

The darkness in his eyes was suddenly full of flames, fierce, hot. Burning high. And she braced herself for whatever was going to come next.

But then his head snapped around, that fierce gaze locking onto the front door of the apartment. And for a second she couldn't work out what the hell had drawn his attention.

Then she saw that the steadily blinking lights of the security pad by the front door had gone dark.

He was already moving toward the door when it was kicked in, banging open so hard it bounced off its hinges, admitting three figures all with their arms outstretched, weapons in their hands.

Shock froze Violet where she stood and for a second she could only stand there, watching as the violence unfurled in front of her.

Elijah hadn't stopped moving, in fact, he'd accelerated, running toward one of the figures while someone else shouted. A gun went off, the sound exploding through the apartment followed by the shatter of glass.