Kidnapped by the Billionaire (35 page)

Her head turned, her vivid eyes meeting his. She didn't speak, but there was something wordlessly grateful in her gaze that had him moving closer to her, unconsciously thinking to add his strength to hers. Not that she needed it. This woman could probably take on the world if she had to.

Violet looked away and approached the door, grasping the padlock and unlocking it with a sharp, definite movement. Then she pulled it open.

A soft sound escaped her.

Elijah frowned, staring into the locker. It wasn't very big and what was there seemed to be pretty standard stuff: some clothes, an electric guitar in a case, a football, some books, and a whole stack of what looked like vintage vinyl. The guy must have liked his music.

Violet had moved closer, pushing a few things aside, sorting through the clothes then sliding aside the big stack of vinyl. The look on her face was closed, her mouth in a hard line.

Was this difficult for her? Going through her brother's things? It had to be, surely, even after he'd been gone so long. He remembered suddenly the sight of Violet holding the book Marie had given him for their first wedding anniversary, how the pain had caught at him like a blow, shocking and somehow even more painful because he hadn't been expecting it.

He remembered opening the present and seeing Marie's face watching him, alight with anticipation and pleasure. She knew he'd liked old science fiction and the first-edition Heinlein had been perfect. Paper, she'd said. For our first anniversary.

Grief shifted inside him again and he found himself reaching for Violet, needing to touch her, to have her soft, cool fingers on him. He stopped himself at the last minute. He didn't need
anything
from her, and now was certainly not the time.

“Are you okay?” he asked instead, keeping his tone flat and uninflected.

She didn't look at him. “Yeah, I'm fine. It's just … memories.”

He wanted to say he understood, but he didn't. That way lay a slippery slope and he wasn't going to fall down it. “See anything that might be of interest?”

“No. Not really. I thought that maybe—” She stopped all of a sudden. “Wait a second.” Reaching past a stack of books, she pulled out an envelope. Her name was written on it.

Her hand was shaking and she stared at it like it contained her death warrant, and this time he couldn't stop himself. He closed the distance between them, wrapping his fingers around her wrist to stop the shakes.

Her gaze snapped to his, eyes wide.

“It's okay,” he said, lying through his teeth, because obviously this was very far from okay, but wanting to reassure her nevertheless. “Open the envelope, princess.”

She looked back down at the manila envelope in her hand, her name scrawled across it in a bold, flowing script, and swallowed. Then she gently pulled away from him, the shakes now gone. With a quick motion she ripped it open and looked inside, frowning. Tipping it up, she held out her hand and caught the small USB memory stick that slid out into her palm.

Well, that settled it. Whether her brother was alive or not, he was trying to tell his sister something. And whatever it was, the answer was on that memory stick.

“He knew,” Violet whispered, staring down at the small piece of electronics in her hand. “I think he knew.”

Elijah didn't ask what she meant. The same thing had occurred to him too. “You think he found out what your father was?”

Violet nodded. “I just don't know what else this could mean. My name is on the front of it, for God's sake. And that note he left…” She trailed off then looked up at Elijah. “He wrote ‘Be careful.'” Her eyes had gone very wide, her skin the color of the snow outside. “He found out about Dad. Theo knew what he was doing.” It wasn't possible for her to get any whiter, but somehow she did. “And he d-disappeared. They never found his body, Elijah, but it was determined to be suicide. What if Dad—”

“No.” Elijah cut her off before she could finish. “Your father wouldn't have arranged for his son's death. He wouldn't.” And this too wasn't a lie as far as Elijah knew. Fitzgerald had always been an old-fashioned empire builder, and his children would have been part of those ambitions. His son would have been his heir. Though perhaps if that son had wanted nothing to do with his father's empire, Fitzgerald might have turned nasty. The man had been of the opinion that anyone not for him was against him.

“How do you know?” There was a strange look in her eyes, a suspicion that hadn't been there before. “You don't know why Jericho wants me so badly. How do you know Dad wouldn't murder his own son?”

He wished he could be more certain, take that burden at least from her. But he couldn't. What had happened to Theodore Fitzgerald had occurred before Elijah had come on the scene, and his boss had never spoken about it. “I can't be sure,” he admitted, hating that he couldn't give her the confirmation she was obviously desperate for. “He was ruthless when people wouldn't do what he wanted them to do.”

Violet looked away from him, her luscious mouth white around the edges. “Dad was distraught when Theo disappeared.” The words sounded like she was talking half to herself. “He had the entire New York police department searching for him. And I can't believe that was an act. I just … can't.”

What could he say? Nothing. Because he knew what he did about Evelyn Fitzgerald, and the man was an actor of Oscar-worthy proportions. The role of distraught father would have been just another part he'd played. But he couldn't tell Violet that. Not now.

“You have no proof your brother is dead though.” He made his voice hard and sharp to cut through that horrible, shuttered look on her face. To give her at least one fact that wasn't bad. “Did you ever think he might have faked his own death?”

Violet blinked, her throat moving as she swallowed, visibly trying to pull herself together. And it was instinct that had him reaching for her before he even realized what he was doing, sliding his arm around her waist and drawing her in so her soft heat rested against him.

She looked up sharply, staring at him, surprise in her eyes. Then, after a moment, she put one hand on his chest, her fingers splaying out. There was something about the way she did it, something about the heat from her palm seeping into him, like a connection was being forged between them.

It made part of him want to pull away, deny it, because a connection with her was the last thing he wanted. And yet he couldn't bear to move. It would hurt her, and hurting her, as he was beginning to find out, was something he just wasn't prepared to do.

“I guess he could've,” she murmured. “I mean, I never believed the suicide verdict. I just wasn't ever clear on why he would do something like that. He had nothing to escape, or so I thought.”

She had started to relax against him, as if she'd done this thousands of times before, absorbing his strength and his warmth, taking comfort from him like this was the most natural thing on earth for her to do. And he felt satisfaction uncurl inside him, lazy as a cat stirring in the sun.

It was good to provide her with comfort. Good to be there for her. And
damn
good for her to take it from him without question, without protest. As if she never expected him to do anything else.

“Looked like he had plenty to escape.” Elijah's voice was all rough around the edges and threaded through with heat, and he couldn't seemed to adjust it, make it as hard and cold as it had been before. Instead he tightened his arm around her, holding her close. “The real question is if he did fake his own death, what's he doing now?”

She had relaxed totally now, leaning into him. “Maybe the answer is on that memory stick?”

“Possibly. We need to get home, have a look at it.” Pity he would have to move to get there. Because right now, he was perfectly happy standing in the corridor of a storage facility with Violet in his arms.

At that moment, his phone buzzed.

Fucking wonderful timing.

He shifted his hold on Violet, reaching into his back pocket and taking it out. Then, as he looked down at the screen, cold began to spread out inside him. He knew the number. Jericho.

Without a word he let Violet go and turned, taking a few steps away as he hit the accept button. “What?”

“Change of plan, Mr. Hunt.” The voice on the other end of the phone was male, slightly nasal, and spoke in French. “You and Miss Fitzgerald will meet Jericho at the designated place in half an hour.”

A burst of adrenaline flooded through him. “We agreed tomorrow,” he said in the same language, trying to keep himself cold and focused. “That was the plan.”

“And I am changing it.” The voice sounded completely calm.

Elijah glanced toward Violet, who was looking back at him, her expression wary. “You can't change it, you prick. I have what you want.”

“Perhaps he doesn't want it as much as you think he does.”

Jesus. Elijah turned his back on Violet. “Does he want her dead?”

“Half an hour, Mr. Hunt. Don't be late.” There was a click and the line went dead.

Elijah gave a savage curse, anger licking up inside him.

Half an hour was no time to get to Battery Park let alone contact the people he needed to be in place too. Which meant his plan for keeping Violet safe was in severe jeopardy.

Rage seethed inside him, seeded through with sharp bits of icy fear.

No,
fuck
, he could not allow either emotion any control in this situation. He had to be sharp, and cold, and ruthless.

“Elijah?” Violet's voice from behind him, concern edging her tone.

Struggling to get himself in hand, he turned back around and met her gaze. There was concern in the depths of her eyes, and a trepidation that began to turn into fear. Clearly she'd seen the black rage on his face.

“Jericho,” he said flatly. “He's changed the meeting time. We have to go now.”

Her eyes went wide. “Now?”

“He gave me half an hour.”

“But I'm not—”

Elijah walked back to her and took her upper arm in a hard grip, cutting off her words. He had no time for reassurance now. No time for comfort. This was what he'd worked toward all those years and he was not letting it slip through his fingers.

But he wouldn't let her get hurt. He just had to come up with some way to get his revenge and to keep her safe in the next half hour. Easy.

“We have to go, princess.” He paused and even though he had no time for any of that, he added. “Don't worry. I'll make sure you're okay.”

Then he turned and began to walk fast toward the exit, pulling her with him.

*   *   *

Violet didn't think she could take much more. She'd had enough of secrets. Of hidden pasts. Of her family virtually disintegrating in front of her eyes. Of being kidnapped and threatened. And now she had to deal with this. As if having to go through Theo's things and finding that memory stick he'd clearly left for her wasn't bad enough, she was now on her way to a meeting with a crime lord called Jericho. Where she would be the bait that would enable Elijah to finally kill him.

Not that that wasn't what she wanted as well, she'd just thought she'd have a little more time to build up to it. At least time to process what she'd discovered at the storage facility and see what message Theo had left for her.

But apparently not. Apparently fate had other ideas.

Elijah's grip was tight on her arm as they exited the building and he started scanning up and down the street, looking for a cab. At first she'd thought it was because he was afraid she would run, especially after they'd gotten outside and he'd pulled her in close to him. But then he'd released her for a second before sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her in even closer. And that didn't feel like he was afraid she'd get away. That felt like he was holding her because he wanted to touch her, because he wanted to protect her.

He'd already told her that morning he was going to make sure she was safe, but even though he'd just reiterated that, she didn't feel safe. She felt like she was walking into a bear trap.

Amazingly, a taxi pulled up almost as soon as Elijah had stuck out his hand, and he wasted no time, pulling open the door and bundling her into it. Then he slid in beside her, closing the door and giving the address to the cabbie.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked him, trying to force away the growing sense of fear that was carving a nice little home for itself in her gut. “When we get there, I mean.”

Elijah had taken his phone out and was busy typing something into it. He didn't look up, but again that muscular arm slid around her waist and she was hauled against his body, his hand resting flat on her stomach, heavy with possession. “Just stay close and let me do the talking.”

She took a deep, steadying breath. Okay, so she could do this. She'd faced down this man at gunpoint and she'd managed to bear the truth about her father. She'd emerged from both of those trials by fire still standing. Unbroken. And there was no fucking way in hell she'd break now.

One hand curled around the memory stick in her palm while the other reached for the man beside her, coming to rest on one powerful denim-clad thigh. He was so strong. She could feel that strength running through him like electricity through high-tension wires. And he had a lot of it to spare. Enough for her too.

He glanced at her, his eyes intense, full of storms and darkness. “Do you trust me, Violet?”

“Yes.” She didn't even have to think about her response. It was automatic.

If he found this gratifying he gave no sign, though the arm around her tightened fractionally. “Then you have to do what I tell you to when I tell you to, understand?”

“Yes, okay.”

He paused, his attention wholly focused on her. Staring at her as if he was seeing her for the very first time. “I had a plan,” he said quietly. “To keep you safe. But Jericho's changed the fucking rules on me and there's no time to put that plan in place.”