44
The town car slid to a stop.
Kellen sat up, groggy, her chest aching, her breath a struggle, her little finger so hot and swollen it felt as if it was a fat sausage roasting on a fire. She half laughed. Her chest, her fingers were the least of her problems. She would get on a helicopter, fly to the hospital and be made well. That was easy. That was clear. It was the welter of emotions connected to Max and their past that was difficult.
The chauffeur opened the back door, grasped Kellen by the waist and forcefully helped her out.
Wait. The car had stopped at the airstrip, but the runway lights were on. A small corporate jet waited, stairs down, engine idling. That made no sense. They didn’t need an airplane to get her to the hospital.
“Where’s the helicopter?” she asked.
The chauffeur put her arm around Kellen’s shoulders, pulled her tight and said, “We’re taking the plane.”
“Max said there would be a helicopter.”
“Max does not command me.”
Kellen looked up at the woman who held her so tightly. In the reflected light of the runway, that face looked like a horror mask from around the campfire. But Kellen recognized the hazel eyes, the unkempt blond hair, the wide mouth, the high, aristocratic forehead. Erin Lykke.
Then Kellen looked again at the plane. A twelve-passenger Gulfstream with a corporate insignia painted on its tail.
Erin intended to kidnap her.
Kellen rammed her elbow into Erin’s ribs.
Erin grunted, let her go, then grabbed and, with one hand behind Kellen’s head, placed a cloth over Kellen’s nose. As the world spun in circles, Erin cooed, “Did you think you could run forever…Cecilia?”
* * *
Max was damned well going to get the resort under control so he could get to the hospital and sit with…Ceecee. Cecilia. Kellen. Whatever name she wanted him to call her, he would. She was the woman of his dreams. She was the love of his life.
He organized the resort’s staff, what few were left, as they came out of hiding, and visited Carson Lennex’s suite for the pure joy of viewing the damaged and now-conscious Mara Philippi, who sported two black eyes, a broken nose and a cool demeanor.
No, not cool. Cold. She didn’t speak. She didn’t move. Frost rimmed her vigilant eyes.
Nils Brooks was sitting up against a wall, holding an ice bag on the back of his neck and a pistol in his other hand. He kept the gun pointed at Mara and he gave terse instructions to the visitors. “Stay back. She’s not to be trusted.” If the way he held that gun was any indication, he didn’t trust anyone in the room. And if he was to be believed, the US government would be removing Mara from their custody very soon.
Max didn’t care if the FBI took her away or Sheriff Kwinault handled the arrest. His only concern was that it happened sooner rather than later. Without a doubt, this was a dangerous woman.
Nils didn’t relax until Temo and Adrian appeared. Those two he apparently trusted, and as they took up their positions around Mara, she finally seemed to accept she could not escape.
As soon as the arrest was made, he would have to send Nils to the hospital.
He called Annie and Leo and gave them the update, and while he was on the phone with them, Carson Lennex rang in.
Max hurriedly finished briefing Annie and Leo and answered, “Carson, what’s your report?”
“It’s good, I guess. Birdie’s not good. Sheri Jean stabilized her condition. Somehow, we got her down the spiral staircase and waited for the car, but—” Carson sounded frankly peeved “—nothing.”
Max frowned. “The car didn’t show up?”
“No, so we loaded Birdie into my car and right now we’re headed toward the airstrip. We’d damned well better get Birdie on the same helicopter that’s taking Kellen to the hospital.”
“I don’t know how the driver got it wrong,” Max said. “I’m sorry, Carson. Keep me up-to-date.”
At the time Max put Kellen into the car, he had thought nothing of the driver’s attitude. He had had more important things on his mind. But now, the memory of her tone grated at him. Annie and Leo would never put up with an insolent driver.
Before his unease blossomed, Carson called in again. “Max, why are people loading Kellen onto an airplane?”
“What are you talking about?”
“They’re carrying her up the steps into a corporate jet.”
Max found himself on his feet. “Who is? What kind of corporate jet?”
“This woman. This guy in a pilot’s uniform. Big jet. She’s unconscious.”
“Stop them!”
“They carried her inside. They shut the door. The logo on the plane says Lykke Industries. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Yes.” Max’s heart stopped. This wasn’t possible. Not after he’d just found her again. Not when they’d come so close. “It means Kellen is about to die.”