Three and a Half Weeks (42 page)

After, we went for ice cream cones and sat in the park to eat them while Mason was on high alert. Watching him angst over my safety, I finally gave in and told Mariah I had to get back. Being the good sport that she is, she offered to come back and watch movies with me, and the two of us ended up making a Mexican dinner for Mason and one of his assistants.

Just as I am dozing off for the night, my phone buzzes. Attempting to move nothing save for my arm, an exercise in supreme laziness, I grasp the phone, dragging it to my ear. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. I’m leaving New York tomorrow at 6 a.m. and should be back in Portland around nine or ten.”

“Will you go straight to the office?”

“Probably. But I wanted you to know I’ll be with you in the evening, without a doubt, baby. Everything else okay? Nobody else threatening you at gunpoint, I hope?”

“Not today.”

“Ella, I’m sorry, so sorry. I had no idea she was back on the West Coast. I had seen her yesterday in New York.”

“Everything turned out fine, Ian… but we’ll need to have a long talk when you get home.”

His sigh seems to come from a place of utter exhaustion, a confluence of physical, emotional, and psychological depletion. “Yes. On a happier note, have you begun shopping for a wedding gown?”

“Not yet. Well, I’ve surfed through some sites but not a serious hunt as of yet. Why?”

“Because I thought it would be nice to have a late spring or early summer wedding and it’s almost March now.”

“I suppose I should let the mothers know, huh?”

“I suppose so. We’ll do it together. We’ll phone yours tomorrow evening and we’ll visit mine over the weekend to share the news. How does that sound?”

“Perfect. I can’t wait to see you—I’ve missed you, Ian.”

“And I you.” His voice drops into a lower register. “I expect to be greeted accordingly.”

I giggle because I know he has dirty things on his mind. “Yes, sir.”

“Ooh, Ella, you know what that does to me. You’ll pay up tomorrow.”

“I’m counting on it. Goodnight, my love.”

“Good night.”

Afterward, I lay in bed, chasing sleep that continues to elude me. Finally, I give up trying and slip out of bed to get a glass of water, maybe make myself a cup of tea. That’s it: a cup of tea and a mystery will help lull me to slumberland. On the way back to the bedroom with my tea and a book under my arm, a mystery about a medieval tome that holds unsolved codes, my eyes alight on a framed photo of Ian. I snapped it on the deck of his houseboat. He’s standing at the railing, his hair windblown, his endlessly long legs wrapped in dark blue jeans. What I love most about this photo? He’s shirtless, and he has a chest to die for. Every muscle in his chest and abdomen is sharply delineated, a human map, a symphony of sinew, muscle, tissue, and bone. Not many people ever get the opportunity to see Ian without a shirt and that’s a damn shame for the world.
A damn shame.

I bring the photo back to bed with me and look at him long and hard: he’s young, gorgeous, stupidly rich, brilliant, sexy…
and he’s my fiancé
. How lucky am I? And tomorrow we’ll be together again. My body begins to rev as I imagine him without the jeans, his bitable tight, slightly plump butt cheeks, perfectly proportioned legs, trim waist, wide shoulders, masculine feet… and there’s the part of him I happen to be extra fond of, the part that salutes me at attention when he smiles deviously, lowers his head, and swaggers over to me. A rush of heat sweeps through my body as I envision him that way: this is going to be a long, possibly wet night since I’m now counting the minutes until I see my lover again.

Smiling, my eyes flutter closed, and I’m down for the count almost instantly. My darling lulls me to sleep from thousands of miles away. I never even
had a sip of my tea or read a single word of the book. Tomorrow. Tomorrow holds such promise.

“What the fuck happened, Joseph? Your so-called professionals were made before they even got to the city of their damn targets. This screw-up could have been costly for my friend—and I’m not talking about money, either.”

The voice on the other end of the line is cold enough to freeze water into ice. “You might have mentioned that the targets were professional assassins themselves. That would have proved a helpful nugget of information, Butler.”

“You might have asked about their background. You’re the expert, after all. Moreover, I had no idea as to their professional pursuits. Isn’t ferreting out that information all part of the job description of hired killer?”

“Whatever. The result you got may have been better anyway. They’re both out of the U.S. and aren’t likely to be returning anytime soon and it didn’t cost your friend a penny yet. Plus, the hit is still live.”

“If they’re so connected why did they have to run?”

“The ones I assigned to the task were not their friends. In fact, they would have gladly done it free of charge except there’s an unspoken ethic among killers for hire: only hit those you’ve been paid to hit. Period.”

“There’s still the matter of the woman…”

“You said your friend canceled it, right?”

“For now. He wants an additional twenty-four hours. If you don’t hear back from him, it goes live again. Has that information been disseminated to the correct parties? We don’t want another mistake.”

“The monies were returned to the account, weren’t they? Trust me: without an advance, nothing gets done. You’re fine.”

“Okay. I want you to know I’m not ungrateful for your assist. It’s just that the woman went after my friend’s fiancée and he had a few tense moments.”

“Is everyone alright now?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

An uncomfortable pause ensues as both men abruptly stop speaking and then they both begin to say something simultaneously:

“Well, I’ll—”

“How’s Oli—”

Daniel expels a long breath. “You first.”

“How’s Olivia?”

“She’s fine, doing well in school and our wedding celebration is upcoming. Olivia is happy.”

“And?”

“I was just going to say goodbye. Thanks again. Take care.”

The line goes dead and Daniel looks up at Ian. “I hate the bastard.”

Ian snorts. “Really? I never would have suspected from the affectionate way you two speak to one another.”

“Yes, well… our relationship is fraught… I’m relieved he’s across the planet right now.”

“Daniel, considering how much you don’t care for the man, I appreciate it all the more that you contacted him for me. I don’t know what the hell I would have done here without your help. I hope you know you can always count on me to have your back should you need it.”

Daniel smiles, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “I’ve been treated kindly by the universe of late so I consider it a pay-it-forward type of thing. However, you’re very welcome. I truly hope you and your Ella will be able to attend our wedding at the end of the month and we can have some fun together for a change.”

“Count on it.”

“So now what? You told Natasha you’d hunt down and painfully kill every member of her family if she didn’t keep her distance. Will she?”

Ian’s laugh is bitter. “I highly doubt it but if I can avoid putting a permanent end to her, I’d prefer doing so. However, at least now she knows I’m serious.”

Running both hands through his too-long hair, Daniel is lost in thought. When he snaps back to attention, he glances sharply at Ian. “You might want to reconsider, Ian. While it’s true the brothers are outside our borders for now, Natasha is not going to play nice. I can guarantee it.”

“I’m going to meet with her tomorrow when I return to Portland. I’ll make the final call then.”

“Be very cautious at that meeting. Make it a public place and scope it out before you let her see you. She just might come at you in a way you’re not expecting.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“It’s never a good idea to have the target of a hit you ordered know about it in advance. Now that she knows you’re a serious player in this game, she might try to flip the table on you. I can’t say for sure and I don’t think she’ll go for your throat, but what I can guarantee is that you haven’t seen the last of her. Frankly, Ian, I think you should just leave the order in place. I promise, you’ll get over it.”

Ian just stares back at the man, his eyes inscrutable. If the eyes are the window into the soul, his window is currently firmly closed.

Daniel knows Ian doesn’t want Natasha’s death on his conscience but he feels obliged to give his friend the unvarnished truth, no matter how unpalatable. “If you prefer, you can go home, forget all about it, and I’ll see to it on this end.” Daniel’s voice is petal-soft but his meaning is lethal.

“I’m going for a run—I’ll do some thinking while I’m at it.”

Daniel nods. “Okay, I have some calls to make and,” he checks his watch, “a Web conference in forty-five minutes. I should prepare.”

“I’ll let you get to it, then.” Ian turns to head upstairs to his room to change clothes.

“Oh, Ian? I thought we’d go out for dinner tonight since Olivia will be downtown and I’m going to pick her up. Would you care to join us?”

“Thanks for the invite but I think I’ll grab something while I’m out and retire early tonight. My pilot filed an early flight plan and I do need my beauty sleep.”

“Don’t we all?” Daniel grins. “Let me know what you decide, post-run.”

“Will do.”

As Ian sits in his jet the next morning, waiting
for clearance for takeoff, he tries to get some work done, answering emails, and sending texts. Since it is still too early for business in Portland, his responses won’t be received right away but it will be out of the way on his end. After he finishes, with still two planes ahead of his in the queue, he reclines back and mulls over this whole sorry affair. Is it really over? He wonders.

Natasha seemed so horrified that he’d even consider so drastic a measure. He shakes his head. She has to be insane by any standard. She threatened his business, hell, she sabotaged it for years, planned revenge on his family for over a decade, threatened Ella with kidnapping and rape… and was surprised he wanted her dead?

Now a dilemma is in front of him: should he tell Ella the truth and risk her rejection? Or should he lie to her and have that hanging between them forever? In one stroke, Natasha managed to fuck him but good without even trying.

Last night, after it happened, he’d decided to come clean with Ella, tell her everything as it occurred. This morning he wasn’t so sure. What if she decided she couldn’t marry a man who could make a decision like that? In trying to protect her from harm, he may have pushed her away permanently. He rubs his face with both hands, wishing he knew which path was the right one.

What would Ella do in his position? She would never have ordered the hit in the first place. But what if his life hung in the balance and that was the only surefire way to save him? Would she do it then? Assuming she would and she found herself in the same position in which he currently sat, then what? His heart knew the answer even before his mind recognized it: she would tell him the truth. Ella might be many things, but deceitful is not one of them. His mind made up, he tries to relax enough to take a nap.

The Gulfstream lands at 9:37 at the private airfield just outside the city. At the sound of the metallic groan of the landing gear’s descent, he checks his watch, adjusts the time to Pacific, and shoves his electronics and paperwork into his briefcase. Picking up the iPad, he smiles, thinking about Ella’s novel. He’d really missed her when he was reading it,
really
missed her.

His mind begins to drift away from all the ugliness with the Russians and back to important things… like his dungeon. Would Ella consider going in there again? If she did, how far would she agree to go? He doesn’t think he’ll ever try using a whip on her again, but there are plenty of other milder implements. As for the heavier ones, the whips and canes, he knows how to use them
so as not to break skin or cause any scars. Still, if she doesn’t want to play with them, then he doesn’t either. He would never force anything on her again, never. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he had it in him to ever pick up a whip again, after losing her the way he did. Saying goodbye to the whips really wasn’t much of a loss. The dungeon, however, well, that was a different story.

We’ll have to play it by ear, he thinks, grinning wickedly to himself as he imagines Ella tautly stretched out on the St. Andrew’s cross. If we get past today, that subject will be next up. He looks down at his pants and shakes his head. Hopeless.

His next thought sours his good mood: he has to meet with Natasha this afternoon, after spending a few hours catching up at the office. What he’d really like to do is to go straight home to Ella, but her safety must be ensured first and foremost. As for work, he’d been away too much lately and his absence caused problems. He needed to meet with his staff, sign a few documents and stock transfers, have Claudia catch him up on details and then he’d meet with the viper. Afterward, he’d race back to his pretty woman.

His e
yes glowing in anticipation at the mere thought of ravishing that pretty woman, he drums his fingers impatiently on the armrest, waiting for the pilot to bring the plane to a stop.

Sipping her
Venti
latte, Natasha Yenin sits in the overstuffed chair and considers her current situation, her demeanor clear-eyed and calm. She has to admit she was stunned by the option Ian took. Never in a million years would she have thought him capable of such a coldblooded solution. Even her uncles were surprised by his bold move… and angry as a hornet’s nest poked with a stick. They dearly wanted to pay him a visit before they jumped ship but didn’t have the luxury of time so they opted to stay alive to fight another day. Before they learned of the order, they were planning to beat hell out of Ian in payback for what he did to their precious Lucien.

Her uncles were not the forgiving type but they were loyal as the day is long. Wondering if she’ll ever see them again, she makes a mental note to check on Lucien; her uncles made her promise to watch over him. For some unknowable reason, they consider Lucien as helpless as Natasha is capable. Why, she’ll never know, but one thing both uncles know for sure is that under all her long, blond hair, tight dresses, and red lipstick beats the heart of a coldblooded killer. Not so with Lucien.

Killer or not, she told Ian the truth: she’d never have harmed a hair on his pretty head. She’d wanted to make him suffer for his family’s sins, oh, yes, but never have him pay in blood. Of course, she had no qualms about hurting his little twit of a girlfriend… but never her Ian. If it were possible for her to love anyone, she loved him. Still, now that she knew he was capable of ordering her death, she might just be able to return the favor… but she wasn’t certain of it. They were meeting today, probably each with the same agenda. Natasha didn’t believe he’d cancelled the hit order so she might very well be breathing on borrowed time.

Ian had said some hideous things to her on the phone. She wished his little
Ella could hear what her gentleman was capable of. Too late she realized she should have switched it back to speaker without his knowledge. The bastard promised to search out and annihilate every person who shared her DNA, no matter how long or far the mission took him. He’d vowed the name and bloodline of Yenin would be permanently obliterated from the face of the earth for eternity. The thing that made her lose her composure was what he said last: he swore he never cared for her in the least, that she was just a convenient lay, and he’d have no qualms about ripping her cold, black heart out of her chest with his own two hands. That was the first really cruel thing he’d ever said to her. Even calling her a cunt was something she considered more of a compliment—it showed he considered her a worthy adversary. But swearing he never loved her? Even though she knew it was a total lie, it still hurt. Well, the first cut is always the deepest, right? From here on in, she’d wear a tougher skin… and it was her turn to cut into him.

Eying the people around her, the tall, blond woman is seated at a corner table in the café, never letting her guard drop an inch. She is following Ian’s orders to a tee. He’d been very specific about the table location: away from windows, as far from other diners as possible, and far removed from the kitchen or restrooms. His meticulous instructions included one about her rising from the table as soon as she spotted him and standing approximately two feet away from it until he reached her. That, she supposes, is to ensure against her holding a weapon under the table.

Two minutes after the hour, there at the entrance to the café is the man himself. She allows herself a moment to drink in his fine looks. It didn’t matter how long she knew him: every time she sees Ian again, it’s as potent a moment as the very first time she set eyes on him. She knew that day, all those years ago, when he loped into the classroom with the goods to back up the attitude, that he had to be her target and it made her heart lurch in regret. Sometimes life can be rottenly unfair.

Now that he had the upper hand for a few minutes, she allowed herself to ponder her commitment to her family’s revenge. Was it truly that important? The end result would be the same, her grandfather too far gone to ever return to them. Nothing she could do could ever remedy that outcome. The family’s finances were much better these days, thanks to her mother’s brothers and her own efforts, plus the windfall from her swindle of Blackmon Enterprises five, nearly six years ago. They all enjoyed a high standard of living. Shouldn’t she just forget the vendetta and walk away? She’d never be able to salvage her relationship with Ian, obviously, but it would permit them both to get on with their lives without fear of retaliation. She decided then and there that if Ian were amenable, she’d be willing to lay this whole thing to rest right now.