Chapter Thirteen
“I’m a really horrible cook,” Elizabeth said.
His eyes slowly opened.
She smiled, feeling her stomach twist in nervousness.
Then he smiled back at her. “Morning, baby.”
His voice was deep and rough and sexy enough to make her panties wet. The tray in her hands trembled a bit and that made the silverware clatter.
He sat up, frowning, as his gaze immediately drifted to the tray she clutched so desperately. “What’s that?”
Okay, so she’d already admitted her cooking wasn’t top notch, but the food wasn’t completely unrecognizable. It should be pretty obvious that she was carrying—“Breakfast,” Elizabeth blurted. “We need it before we, you know, head off to work.”
Like normal people. Because we’re normal now.
His gaze was still on the tray. On the slightly soggy eggs and the pancakes that weren’t circular but were rather some unusual, not quite discernible shape.
“You cooked for me,” he said, still staring at the tray.
He should have actually taken the tray by that point. Since he hadn’t, she thrust it at him. “You’re welcome.” Now she was starting to just feel foolish. She’d never before made breakfast for anyone. But, jeez, when a guy nearly died for you, a girl had to express her appreciation some way.
He took the tray. Put it on his lap. And kept staring up at her like she was insane.
Right then, she had another memory. One that made her lips twitch a bit. “And to think,” she murmured. “When we first met, you said I was the one who didn’t know how to say thank you.”
She started to turn away, but his hand flew out in a lightning-fast move and caught her wrist. Elizabeth looked back at him.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
Heat stained her cheeks. “Like I said, you’re welcome.”
“No one…no one ever made me breakfast before.” He was staring at the tray of soggy eggs like they were some kind of gourmet meal.
“Saxon…” Surely his mom had made him breakfast when he’d been little. But…as she stared at him, she realized the guy was staring at the soggy eggs like they were some kind of precious gift.
He pulled her onto the bed. “You’re going to split it with me, right?” He took a bite of the eggs. Those ridiculous, soggy eggs.
“Yes,” she whispered, “I’ll split it with you.”
He offered her a fork filled with eggs—eggs that were dripping off the utensil. She took it, opening her mouth. And when he smiled at her, he didn’t look like the dangerous man she’d met in Miami.
He looks like the man I love.
She was in so much trouble.
***
Saxon had extra clothes in the trunk of his car, and he changed at Elizabeth’s cottage before they headed out for the winery.
When they arrived, he hurried around to her side of the car and opened the door for her. As he stood there, staring down at her, she remembered what it was like to ride through Miami with him on the back of a motorcycle, holding on as tightly as she could.
She rose from the car and let her body brush against his. “Maybe it doesn’t matter if you’re the fighter or the man in the suit.” Her hand pressed against his chest. “Maybe all that matters…is that it’s you.” Then she rose onto her toes and kissed his lips.
His hands settled around her shoulders as he held her close.
She started to hope then. To think that everything was going to be okay. They’d escaped Miami and the nightmare back there. They were together, and every time that Saxon touched her, she seemed to light up from the inside.
He escorted her to her office. Gave her a wink before walking away.
She stared after him and she wondered—
“It’s that way, huh?”
Sloan’s voice came from the right. Her head jerked toward him, and she found him lounging in the hallway, watching her.
“Figured it,” he added, lips twisting, “when he said that you two had been working together so closely…for years.” Then he advanced toward her, his expression angry. “Is the fact that you’re screwing the boss going to mean that I have to watch my job? Am I going to be hitting the street so that you can take over?”
Once, words like that would have made her cringe. Now she just stared at him and shook her head. “You should really be careful what you say.”
His frown deepened. “Why? You gonna run to the big boss and tell him—”
“You don’t want him to know what you’ve said. Trust me.” She turned away from him. “There are worse things than losing a job.”
He grabbed her shoulder and spun her back around. “I’ve put blood and tears into this job! Your lover didn’t know shit about the wine business until he hired me! Now that we’re operational and ready to make a profit, don’t think that I’m just going to be shut out—”
“Take your hand off me.” Her voice was flat. Lethal. But after being held with a gun to her head, this guy—this pompous ass—wasn’t scaring her. He was pissing her off.
His hand fell away.
“This isn’t your company. It’s his. He can fire you if he wants, and you be assured that if you ever grab me or another employee again,” she bared her teeth in a hard smile, “your ass will be hitting the curb.”
He blinked and actually backed up a step. Damn straight. After facing a hit man, no jerk was going to intimidate her.
“Now I’ve got work to do.” She slammed her door in his face and marched back to her desk. “Dick.”
***
Saxon’s body tensed as he watched Sloan spin on his heel and began to stride angrily away from Elizabeth’s office. The guy had only taken two steps, though, when he staggered to a stop.
He stopped the moment he saw Saxon.
“I’d like a word with you,” Saxon murmured. “In my office.” He was rather impressed by how calm his voice sounded. He turned and headed toward his office, not bothering to glance back and see if the guy was following him.
The fucking jerk.
Saxon strode past the reception area, pausing just long enough to flash a reassuring smile at Vanessa.
But as soon as he entered his office, his smile vanished. He turned on Sloan and the fury within him boiled.
Sloan shut the door. The click seemed incredibly quiet.
“There are a few things that need to be cleared up,” Saxon told him. His fingers clenched into fists.
Sloan glanced down at Saxon’s fisted hands. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, then he looked up at Saxon’s face. “Wh-what’s that?” The guy’s voice broke.
“You’re expendable to me. If I want to bring in another wine expert, all I have to do is snap my fingers.”
Sloan paled. “I didn’t mean—”
“To disrespect her? To piss me off? Because you did both, damn well.”
“I’m sorry.” His words tumbled out. “I assure you, it won’t happen again.”
No, it wouldn’t. Because Saxon wasn’t just giving a warning. “Get your shit and get out.”
“What?”
“You grabbed her. I saw you do it, and you’re lucky I didn’t break your hand right then and there.”
Now red rushed to Sloan’s cheeks. “But I’m the one who’s been helping you! I’ve given you information—”
“And I’ve given you a salary,” Saxon said flatly. “You did work, you got paid for it.” Now he stalked toward the SOB. “But when you went after her…” He shook his head. “You made the worst mistake of your life.”
Sloan’s jaw locked. “Because you’re sleeping with her—”
“You saw her yesterday and you wanted her. When you found out she was taken, you got jealous and you said the wrong damn thing to her.” He thought of the guy’s hand, grabbing Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Said and did the wrong thing. So get your shit,” he told the guy once more, “and get out.”
“You can’t do this to me!”
He could do anything he wanted. “Want to bet?”
That was when Sloan lost it. He surged toward Saxon, swinging his fist. It was the most pathetic punch that Saxon had ever seen. He didn’t dodge it. He just caught the guy’s fist with his left hand and held it easily.
Sloan’s breath choked out in shocked surprise.
“Want to see how hard I can hit?” Saxon asked him, curious. “Because I think I can take you down with one punch.”
Fear chased away all the rage that had filled Sloan’s gaze. “Who are you?”
Now Saxon did smile again, but he knew it would be a terrifying sight. “I was your boss, until you screwed-up. Now I’m an enemy you don’t want to have.” His hold tightened on the guy’s fingers. It would be so easy to break them…
But I’m supposed to be someone else now.
He shoved the guy away. “We’re done.”
Sloan nearly ran for the door. It slammed shut behind him.
Saxon exhaled slowly, then he pressed the intercom button on his phone. “Vanessa?”
“Sir?”
“Get security to escort Sloan Quest from the building. He’s no longer in my employ.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
He ended the connection. This businessman shit wasn’t easy. When he saw an asshole messing with his woman, Saxon wanted to beat the shit out of him, plain and simple.
But I held back. The guy walked away.
If they’d met on the streets of Miami, in any of the bars that Saxon had visited during his undercover days, Sloan wouldn’t have been so lucky.
Saxon exhaled. He’d had a gym installed for the employees. One that included a few punching bags. He needed a workout—bad. He was still in the mood to pound something.
***
She found him in the gym forty-five minutes later. Word had reached Elizabeth about Sloan’s dismissal, and she’d known—right away—that Saxon had found out about the guy’s little chat with her.
Saxon was the only one in the gym. He was wearing jogging pants and a loose t-shirt. One that was covered in sweat. He was pounding a big punching bag, hitting it over and over again with lightning-fast moves. For a minute, she just paused and watched him.
The guy was incredible.
And so sexy.
But…
“You were in the hospital two weeks ago,” Elizabeth pointed out.
He stopped punching. His shoulders heaved as he leaned forward.
“Maybe you should take things a little easier.”
He caught the swaying bag in his hands and stilled it. “You heard.”
“Gossip travels fast.” Gossip and voices…she’d heard Sloan shouting when security escorted him away.
Saxon glanced over at her. A drop of sweat slid down his cheek. His eyes were hesitant, a bit wary. She wasn’t used to seeing him look that way. Since when did Saxon hesitate about anything?
She crept closer to him. The gym was quite impressive. Lots of weight machines. Ellipticals. Treadmills—
“He took a swing at me. Was I supposed to let the guy keep working here?”
Her head tilted as she studied him. “You heard what he said to me this morning.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Fine, fuck yes, I did. And the guy was fired the minute those words shot out of his mouth and he grabbed you.”
That was what she’d thought. Elizabeth wet her lips and asked, “So why didn’t you storm in immediately? I-I didn’t even realize you were there.”
Now he turned to fully face her. “Because you were handling your shit, baby.”
She blinked.
“You were a perfect lady—and he was trash. You were in control, and I just wanted to watch you.” He rolled back his shoulders. “Then I fired his ass.”
She didn’t know what to say. “Saxon…”
“I don’t have this thing down yet, okay? This whole business world, playing things cool. I wanted to drive my fist into his face and break his nose, but I didn’t.”
Ah. Things clicked. “That’s why you’re in here punching the bag.” Because he still wanted to punch something.
He gave a curt nod. “I just…I don’t want anyone hurting you. You…” Saxon trailed off.
But she wanted him to keep talking. “I—what?”
“You matter to me.”
It wasn’t a declaration of undying love. The words were rough and curt and growling—typical Saxon, but they still made her heart beat faster as a warm glow spread through her chest. Elizabeth had to quickly look away from him because she was afraid her gaze might reveal too many of her own emotions.
“Elizabeth?” Now he sounded worried.
She blinked again, a few fast times, and looked back at him. “You matter to me, too.” More and more with each moment that passed.
He took a few steps toward her and started to reach out for her, but then he stopped. “I’m a sweaty mess. I should go get showered. Get back to work.”
“I should, too. Get back to work, I mean.” Though the idea of stepping into a shower with him sure was tempting. Her gaze went back to the punching bag. “I bet you were fantastic to see in the ring,” she whispered.
“Damn straight.”
The guy was so cocky sometimes. Laughter spilled from her.
“God, but I love that sound.” His words were just as rough as before and his eyes had darkened with a feverish intensity.
Her laughter died away. “Saxon?”
“If I had my way, I’d hear your laughter every day. It just…it makes me feel good.” Then, before she could speak, he whirled away and picked up a towel. “I know I sound like an idiot, so just—”
She touched his arm. What a sweaty, strong arm it was. His muscles flexed beneath her touch. “You don’t sound like an idiot.”
He looked down at her. A faint furrow appeared between his brows, as if he were trying to figure her out.
So she decided to help him understand things. “To be really honest, I want to jump you right now.”
His lips parted in surprise.
“But I have two people waiting in my office.” And she also had some serious lust pouring through her. Because Saxon when he was angry and fighting—sexy. Very, very sexy. “So I have to get back to them.” She pushed onto her tip toes. Her lips brushed against his. “But as soon as this work day is over, you’re totally going to be mine,” she told him, voice soft and husky with desire.
Then she pulled away. Turned for the door. She took a few steps—
“Sweetheart, don’t you know…” His rough voice stopped her.
She looked back at him.
“I already am yours.”
***
Victor’s phone rang just as he pulled up in front of the house at 2809 Wiltmore Road. The house that had once belonged to Hugh Rowe. Not that Hugh was supposed to live there any longer. He’d lost the house as he’d lost nearly everything, fighting to get his father released from prison. Now Hugh was supposed to be living and working in Charleston. Except he hadn’t reported to work for a week and a half.
The phone rang again. Someone has bad timing. He reached down and lifted the phone to his ear. “What?” Okay, so that was a pissed-off bark, but he was so close on this mission.
He thought that Zoe Peters might be in that house. It was the only house on the overgrown street. Twisting trees and heavy bushes were everywhere else. This place was his destination—and he couldn’t just sit his ass in the car, talking on the phone. He needed to move.
“I thought you needed to know,” Tracy said softly, “Gary Warren is dead.”
What?
“He came at me during the interrogation. I didn’t have a choice. I-I had to shoot him.”
Hell. His eyes squeezed shut for an instant. “We’ll deal with this when I get back.”
“You need to be back right now! Cops were watching the interrogation, they saw him attack me, but you know FBI Brass will want you here to—”
“Screw the Brass. I have an agenda of my own right now.” His eyes were on the house once more. It looked abandoned. As if no one had been there in months.
But he knew how deceiving appearances could be.
“Where are you?” Tracy whispered.
“I’m helping a friend.” Saxon, I’m paying you back. “As soon as the job is done, I’ll be back. I promise.”
He disconnected the call. Climbed from the car. Checked his weapon. There was no sound on the street. Nothing at all. It was a hot day and there wasn’t even any wind stirring from those trees.
He figured he had two options. Sneak in or go in with guns blazing. Since there was only one road leading to the house, sneaking wasn’t so much an option for him. The guy would have heard my car coming up.
He took out his weapon. It looked like option two was the winner. Time to go in blazing.
He ran for the door. He didn’t have a search warrant because this wasn’t any kind of sanctioned case. He’d checked the missing persons’ database—no Zoe Peters was listed. Since he couldn’t handle this one the right, legal way, he’d do it his way. Victor kicked that door in and raced inside. “FBI!” he yelled.
But the small den was empty. It appeared to have been empty for a long time. The empty room was covered with only cobwebs and dirt. A rat ran across the floor.
Victor raced through the narrow hallway. The bedroom on the right was empty. Half of the wall in there looked as if it had rotted away. He turned to the bedroom on the left. “Zoe Peters!” Her name was close to a roar. “I’m here to help you!” Only he wasn’t seeing her. He checked the kitchen—or what was left of the kitchen. Someone had ripped out the sink and all of the electrical outlets. The house had been trashed. He knew it was a foreclosure, but he’d been hoping…shit, he’d hoped that—
“Here!”
He spun around. His feet kicked against an old rug that had been left at the edge of the hall. And why the hell was that rug there? Everything else had been taken from the place.
He shoved the rug out of his way and saw the trapdoor that it had hidden. The house had a cellar. Well, no wonder the home had looked deserted from the outside. He lifted up the trapdoor and it gave a long, loud creak.
Darkness waited below him. He reached down and touched a wooden ladder that was connected to the wall. He climbed down, making certain to keep his gun ready.
When he touched down on the floor of that cellar or basement or whatever the hell it was, he pulled a pen light from his pocket and shone it around the area. There was a door on his right. He made his way to it and twisted the knob. Locked.
Like that ever stopped him. He kicked that door open, just as he’d done upstairs, and Victor rushed inside at the same time that the lights flashed on, far too bright. He blinked, caught off guard for a moment and blinded by the light, then something slammed into the back of his head. He hit the floor hard, but Victor rolled quickly, coming back up to his feet in a lunge. The broken remnants of a wooden chair were around him.
“Don’t even try it, hero,” a low voice growled at him. “You make a move at me, and I’ll take us all out.”
He could see the SOB talking to him, and Victor knew he was staring at Hugh Rowe. The guy looked just like his DMV picture—well, minus about ten pounds and with some scraggly-ass stubble covering his jaw. Hugh had a small, black device in his hand. And the jerk was grinning from ear to ear.
“Please…” A soft voice came from behind Victor. “He’s got the bomb on me.”
And Victor turned then to meet a pair of frightened green eyes. His gaze swept over the woman, noting her features—not delicate, but more sensual with her full lips and high cheekbones—her long, dark hair, her golden skin and—
The bomb that was strapped to her chest.
What the fuck did I walk into here? This wasn’t like any abduction that he’d ever seen.
“Drop the weapon,” Hugh snapped at him. “Or I’ll make the pretty girl go boom.”
Jaw locking, Victor did. Hugh scrambled forward and grabbed the gun. His right hand stayed locked around that little black device. A detonator.
“Now who the hell are you?” Hugh asked.
Victor faced him, trying to appear non-threatening. He knew he couldn’t make a move against the guy because he didn’t know enough about the bomb they were dealing with. “I’m an FBI Agent, and I’m here to rescue Ms. Peters.”
Hugh laughed. “Ain’t no one rescuing her. That bitch is going to pay.”
“I’ve told you a thousand times!” Zoe cried out, her voice sounding a bit hoarse. “I don’t even know you.”
“But I know you, too well,” Hugh said. He pointed the gun at Victor. “And you’re going to die, too, because I don’t want no FBI asshole messing up my plans!”
“You don’t want to shoot me,” Victor said. “That’s a bad idea. Especially considering that I can help you.” It wasn’t his first time in a hostage situation. He knew he had to keep the guy talking. But it is the first time an abducted woman has been wired to explode!
“You can’t help me! You can’t—”
“Luther Bates killed your father. Did you know that?”
The guy blanched. All of the color poured from his face. “No, no, that’s a lie! I’m waiting to get word from my dad now. He’s gonna tell me what to do next!”
“He’s not going to tell you a damn thing. He’s on a slab somewhere, if they haven’t already dumped his body in a grave near the prison.”
Zoe gasped behind Victor. “You shouldn’t have told him that.”
“But it’s true,” Victor said. If the guy had been following his father’s orders—and it sure sounded as if he had—then Hugh needed to know that the man wasn’t pulling his strings any longer. Titus Rowe was dead. “I was in the prison with Luther. I talked with him. He’s in solitaire because of what he did to Titus.”
The gun was shaking in Hugh’s hand. So was the detonator. Not good. The last thing he wanted was for a nervous finger to pull the trigger on the gun or to accidentally make that bomb explode.
“I’m guessing,” Victor continued quietly, “that Bates knew your father had ordered you to take Zoe. Bates killed your old man because of what he’d done.”
“No! He’s not dead! I’d know—”
“The cops couldn’t find you to tell you the news.” Because they’d probably just contacted Hugh’s boss in Charleston, and that guy had no idea where Hugh was. “Your father’s dead, Hugh. So you don’t have to carry out his dirty work any longer. You don’t have to hurt anyone else.”
The gun lowered. Victor’s shoulders remained stiff and his muscles locked. Lowering the gun is a good start. But he wanted that gun totally out of the guy’s hand. The gun and the detonator. “I need you to put down the gun and the bomb trigger. We’re all going to walk out of here together.”
But those words snapped Hugh’s head right back up. “She’s not going anywhere. She’s supposed to be dying today!”
“Please!” Zoe cried out. “I haven’t hurt you! I haven’t done anything to you! I didn’t even know you until you broke into my house and took me!’
Victor advanced on Hugh, but he made sure to move his body to the side as he closed in on the guy. If Hugh got trigger happy, he didn’t want the bullet to be any place close to that bomb. “Give me the gun,” Victor said. My freaking gun.
But Hugh’s brow had furrowed. “You were in the prison. Talking with Bates.” His head lifted. He aimed the weapon at Victor once more. “You’re on his payroll, aren’t you? Just another dirty agent, willing to do anything for good old Luther.”
“No.” An immediate denial.
“You made a deal with him! I’ve seen it before! Cops, FBI agents—you’re all on the take!”
Shit. He did have a deal with Bates. And that deal was contingent on getting Zoe Peters out of that place alive. “You have it wrong—”
“What’s he gonna give you?” Spittle flew from Hugh’s lips. “If you take me out? What is that bastard gonna do for you?”
Cancel a hit. “Hugh—”
“What is your deal with him?” Hugh was screaming now.
Zoe was dead silent.
Victor lifted his chin. “If I bring Zoe back in, then he’ll cancel a hit that he has…a hit on one of my friends.”
Hugh laughed. Mocking, rough laughter. “He’s lying to you. He won’t cancel anything. Your friend is dead, and you don’t even realize it.” The laughter slowly faded away. “Dead…like you.”
Then he fired at Victor.