6
Nearly a year after fleeing his home in California—with the FBI, Homeland Security, and even the ATF hot on his trail—it all came down to this. With the 401k he’d drained after going on the run nearly a year ago almost depleted, if Linc failed to separate Mia from her husband at that gala, he would never get his daughter back.
Never.
Which was why, that evening, at the Tower of London, in a colossal pavilion massive enough to accommodate the fifteen hundred guests that filled the room wall-to-wall, Linc had no intention of failing.
He adjusted the bow tie around his neck. The same black bow tie donned by most of the male party guests. Instead of serving as the perfect compliment to a luxurious tuxedo, however, Linc’s bow tie accompanied a black pin-striped serving vest that was a touch too tight, black slacks, black non-stick shoes, and a long black apron tied around his waist. He’d managed to get his long hair into an acceptably sleek bun, leaving his thick beard on full display. A long white napkin hung from his bent forearm, which he kept pressed against his stomach, raging with butterflies. He cradled a serving tray in his other hand, the underside dotted with liquid, making it an uneven hold atop his fingers, which he splayed as wide as he could.
A female party guest wearing way too much perfume removed one of the many glasses of champagne from Linc’s tray without warning, causing the tray to bank. Gasping through clenched teeth, Linc jolted, managing to re-adjust just in time to keep the rest of the glasses from crashing to the floor.
His jaw tightened as he steadied the tray, biting back an expletive at the guest’s rude behavior while shooting her a venomous look. She didn’t notice his irritation, however. Too busy schmoozing with her fellow high-society peers to notice the inconvenienced server, her nose so high in the air it nearly touched the glass chandeliers hanging down from the ceiling. In a room full of penguin tuxedos, glittery evening gowns, and extravagant hats—where thousands of dollars were being thrown around like penny candy—the “help” were simply another piece of decoration. No different from the twinkling white lights that dotted the black ceiling, arranged to appear like stars in the sky. No different from the glass chandeliers shining with baby blue lights that gave the room an ethereal glow. To these people—who’d dropped £5,000 for a table and as much as £25,000 for designated sponsorships—Linc was no different than the ice sculptures shooting up from the middle of every table or than the silver chairs and place settings that adorned each one.
But Linc didn’t mind being transparent to these snobs.
On the night he intended to kidnap the mayor’s wife, it was better to be invisible.
His eyes traveled around the room, flitting over hundreds of people packed in like sardines. Linc’s eyes settled on Mia Ali, standing across the room with her arm around her husband’s waist, and everything fell away. The click of champagne glasses rising at various intervals from all around. The elevator music playing overhead. The empty conversations carried on by equally empty people. Everything was reduced to a dull hum in Linc’s pounding ears as his eyes fell down Mia’s body. Along the sparkling gold evening dress that fit her like a glove. The slit that gave the tiniest hint of her smooth brown leg—long enough to touch the ceiling if she did a high kick.
The tip of his tongue darted out to lick his lips as his hooded green gaze hit the deep V of her gown, where her ample breasts begged to spill out, barely contained by a thin piece of gold mesh that had been sewn into the V. He swallowed back the saliva that built up in his throat at the memory of those tits pressed up against the window of her closet earlier that evening. It invaded his brain and spread like a virus. The memory of the dark areolas Malik had sucked between his lips. How Linc had been able to taste them as if it were his tongue drawing circles around the soft, pert buds.
His eyes grew darker still, chest beginning a soft heave at the memory of her bare pussy as Malik took her against that window. Slamming into the pussy Linc had also been able to feel as if it were his dick buried deep, and not the animal tightening his arm around her waist at that moment. Linc’s eyes rose back to Mia’s face, and he saw the exact moment—as Malik whispered in her ear—that the smile on her face vanished.
The same way it had vanished against the window.
A frown pulled at Linc’s eyebrows as he watched her transform for the second time that night. He reminded himself that this was a woman who’d chosen to say “I do” to a man like Malik Ali. This was a woman who chosen to marry him for his money—money he hadn’t even earned himself but had inherited from his filthy-rich family—all while having the gall to call himself a public servant. She’d chosen live in the illustrious mansion where Malik was holding an innocent little girl captive. This was a woman who went to sleep, every night, knowing his daughter was in that house.
How did she sleep?
Linc’s nostrils flared as his heart caught fire, and only when another guest grabbed a champagne glass from his tray, causing it to tilt and nearly fall to the floor once more, did he snap out of his furious trance, adjusting his arm just in time to keep from dropping the tray. That time, however, it wouldn’t have mattered if he dropped it because the tray was now empty. He stared at the circular black platter, stunned. Had he been so lost at the sight of Mia Ali that he hadn’t even realized his tray was nearly empty?
Choking down the lump that had set up camp in his throat, he moved through the crowd, never taking his eyes off Mia as he twisted and turned his body to get through the thick smattering of people, the frown line never erasing itself from between his enraged eyes as she hammed it up and laughed with every wealthy guest that approached her and Malik. The gala was expected to add just over one million to Malik’s re-election campaign—though that kind of money was chump change to him—readying him to challenge his political opponent—a younger, fresher face who was gaining traction fast—nearly neck-in-neck with Malik in the polls.
It was clearly an upswing Malik hadn’t seen coming, which explained why he’d trotted Mia—his biggest trump card—out for a last-minute gala. It was no secret that Mia, with her beautiful face, fresh fashion sense, and absolutely ridiculous modelesque figure, was the real reason Malik had enjoyed so much support during his four-year term as mayor. She was one of the few beautiful women in the world who somehow managed to remain approachable. Relatable. Completely and utterly lovable. She was a unicorn in the London political world. The vast majority of party-goers only had eyes for her when they approached her and Malik, proving she played just as strong a role in Malik’s success as his snobby, tightly-wound staff who buzzed around him like gnats.
Without Mia by his side, Malik could kiss re-election goodbye.
Without Mia, he wouldn’t have won the first time.
Malik knew it, and so did the whole of London.
Including Linc.
After making it through the crowd and to the far end of the room, never taking his eyes off Mia, Linc pushed through the swinging door that led to one of the four service stations situated at each corner of the room. Beyond those doors was another empty ballroom where chairs were stacked so high they nearly touched the ceiling, and abandoned tables were folded up, leaning against every wall. Hundreds of young workers, dressed just like him, raced all over the room. Workers who’d probably been struggling just as hard to keep their trays upright while serving the inconsiderate assholes on the other side of that swinging door. It was controlled madness in the service area, however. Clearly, the venue had trained their banquet staff well because even as frustrated expletives and shouted voices dominated the space and echoed through the wide open ballroom, everyone seemed to know what they were doing and where they needed to be.
Linc approached the large mobile bar in the far corner of the room. He’d already visited every other service station in the pavilion for a re-fill on his drinks. This one would have to be the last.
Validating Linc’s cautiousness, the Latino bartender behind the mobile bar gave him a sideways glance as he filled Linc’s tray with fresh champagne glasses.
“You new?” the bartender asked.
It was the question Linc had dreaded from the moment he’d snuck into the back door of the venue earlier that evening.
He answered in the exact way he’d planned. “No.”
The bartender squinted. “You sure? I’ve never seen you around here before.”
Linc had been counting on the fact that the venue employed almost a thousand banquet employees, hoping that the large number meant they didn’t all know each other. Apparently, it had been a foolish hope.
“Mayor added over a thousand people to the guest list at the last minute, so they contracted a few of us in,” he grumbled, already saying more words than he’d planned on saying all night.
The bartender made another face, lips poked out, still squinting.
But he didn’t say another word.
Linc took the full tray of champagne glasses and went for the exit as quickly as he could, his heart beating a mile a minute. He peered over his shoulder once he’d made it to the door to make sure the bartender wasn’t still looking.
He was still looking. Still frowning too, with his hands placed on his lips and his head cocked to the side.
Linc rolled his eyes, annoyed that some cocktail-slinger had apparently branded himself the Magnum PI of the banquet department. But there was no time to dwell. He now had one pair of suspicious eyes on him, a pair of eyes that had to potential to turn into two pairs. Then six. Then eight.
He had to act now.
So he hid himself behind a tall stack of chairs, out of the bartender’s view, went into his pocket and fished out a bright red water pill. Keeping his eyes on the banquet staff scurrying through the room, he made sure no one was looking before he popped the pill open and emptied it into one of the glasses. He broke two more pills and emptied them into the same glass, ensuring whoever took even one sip of that champagne would be racing to the bathroom within the next five minutes. Then, he was out of the swinging glass doors once more, wading through the thick crowd of the party, making a beeline for Mia.
He made sure to keep the spiked drink closest to his body so it wasn’t accidentally taken by the guests snatching drinks from his tray left and right, which they did, so quickly that, by the time he made it to Mia and Malik, he only had two glasses left.
Mia and Malik didn’t notice Linc approach, too busy laughing with a man Linc recognized as chairman of Barclay’s Bank.
So when another guest tried to take one of the two glasses of champagne from his tray—the glass meant for Mia, Linc swiveled and shook his head.
The male guest, who’d apparently taken his cues from every woman in the room by wearing way too much cologne—huffed at Linc, stunned at the rebuttal from the server who was no better than the ice sculptures decorating every table. The man scurried away, shooting Linc sour looks over his shoulder that ensured he’d be complaining to a manager within the next five minutes.
Great, more eyes on him.
Linc had to move even faster.
So he cleared his throat, causing Malik, Mia, and the chairman of Barclay’s to snap their heads toward them, their conversation coming to an immediate halt.
Mia and Linc’s eyes locked, and his stomach bottomed out.
“Excuse me, Mr. Mayor…” Linc held out the tray to Malik, though his eyes remained trained on Mia. “Champagne?”
Mia’s big brown eyes searched Linc’s.
His lips fell apart, green orbs running her delicate face. He didn’t miss the way her eyes ran him too, lingering on the pinstriped vest and white button down shirt that were both a touch too tight for him, leaving no secret to the bulging muscles that lived underneath.
Mia’s eyes crept back up to Linc’s, and a small smile lifted the corners of her lips.
She’s a terrible person. Even as the words seared Linc’s brain, his eyes remained locked to hers, breaking their stare only when Malik reached into the tray to accept the last two remaining glasses of champagne. Linc grabbed hold of Mia’s drugged glass before Malik could, however.
This startled Malik, a stunned look crossing his face.
Linc placated the mayor with a bashful smile before offering Mia’s champagne glass directly to her, licking his lips softly while meeting her eyes once more.
Mia’s eyebrows jumped, and the tiny smile that had been slowly working its way across her face exploded in size, showing a row of perfect teeth that took the already attractive woman to a stratospheric level of breathtaking beauty.
Linc held her eyes. He couldn’t tell if he was smiling back because every inch of his body had lost tension and gone numb. If anything, he was probably frowning at her. Either that or gaping like some psychopath.
“Thank you,” she breathed, her voice low and smooth, not artificially high-pitched like most women attempted, but calm. Sure. Womanly.
“You’re welcome.” Linc’s eyes fell to her plush red lips as she wrapped them around the glass and took a sip.
One sip was all it would take.
“Have we met?” Mia squinted at him after taking a sip of her drink. “You look so familiar.”
Malik gave an affected grin, motioning to Linc with his champagne glass. “Of course you haven’t met, Mia. He’s the help, for God’s sake.” Malik met Linc’s eyes once more, chuckled, and then dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
Linc didn’t mind the brush-off. Mia had already sipped her drink, and that was all Linc needed. So without another word or even a hint of offense at being swatted away like an insect, Linc turned and left, not unaware that the CEO of Barclay’s was wondering where the hell his drink was. Linc paid him no mind—too busy making his way toward the bathrooms at the far end of the room. The bathrooms that, thanks to one sip, Mia would be retiring to in no more than ten minutes.
Part of Linc wondered if it was really going to be this easy, then his eyes landed on the bartender across the room—the Latino bartender he’d just spoken to at the service station—speaking to a member of venue security, and he had his answer.
“Goddamn it, kid,” Linc spat as the bartender carried on an animated conversation with the security guard. He couldn’t hear what that nosey-ass kid was saying, but judging by his movements—tugging a handful of hair at the nape of his neck to signify a bun and holding his hands out in billows at his cheeks to signify a beard—he was talking about Linc. Describing the face of the strange man he’d never seen on the banquet floor who’d just refilled a tray of drinks at his bar, two of which he’d promptly delivered to the mayor and his wife.
Cussing under his breath once more, Linc bent over as far as he could without looking suspicious and hid himself amidst the crowd as best he could before hurrying through the room and entering the long hallways where the bathrooms were. Thankfully, the restrooms were located in a fairly dark hallway. At the end of that hallway was a lone door that led straight into the alley outside, where he had a car parked in wait.
He tucked himself into a dark nook in the hallway to hide himself from view, just as the security guard who’d gotten the lead from the bartender spoke to a few more security guards. In less than a minute, they’d multiplied like ants, splitting up and fanning out into the thick crowd, speaking into radios clipped onto their sleeves, their determined eyes searching the venue.
Searching for him.
Linc shook his head, hoping he hadn’t fucked this all up. His eyes moved to Mia, landing on her just in time to see her nodding discreetly towards the bathrooms while speaking to Malik.
His heart leaped. “Yes,” he whispered.
As if his voice had reached across the party and wrapped itself around her neck, Mia kissed Malik’s cheek and then began moving through the throng, making a beeline towards the bathroom.
Come on. Linc willed her, praying that no other female guests decided to accompany Mia to the bathrooms at the very moment. The hallway had to remain clear of witnesses if he was going to pull this off. It was slow going as Mia made her way through the crowd, getting stopped to chat by adoring party guests left and right and Linc nearly screamed when she was stopped for the fifth time in less than a minute. The courteous smile remained ever present on Mia’s face even though the diuretic she’d just swallowed was surely reaping havoc on her bladder. Not once did she break a sweat or give any indication that her body was on the verge of explosion, even as the seventh guest stopped her to chat.
“For fuck’s sake,” Linc spat.
The water pills must’ve been working overtime, however, because while Mia stopped for everyone who reached for her, her veneer of patient perfection was slipping. She kept the rest of the interactions short, pointing to the bathrooms each time with an apologetic look on her face.
Who’s a girl gotta fuck to take a piss around here? Was what her face said to Linc.
He would’ve smiled at the naked agony in her eyes if not for the security guards still perusing the party with serious faces and pursed lips, searching desperately for him. Getting closer and closer to the very bathrooms that Mia herself couldn’t seem to make it to.
Linc hadn’t even known he’d been holding his breath until Mia emerged from the teeming crowd.
Alone.
Then, his breathing picked up, so loudly he was sure it was bounding off the tall walls of the vacant hallway.
His trembling fingers sank into his pocket and produced a syringe filled with a clear liquid. As Mia grew closer, he looked down at the syringe—needle pointed to the floor—and placed his thumb on the lever at the top. He couldn’t help a gentle roll of his eyes as he thought of the woman who’d inspired him to fill that syringe with sodium thiopental, a fast-acting anesthetic that had the power to put anyone into a medically induced slumber in less than a minute. A rapid-onset anesthetic that, once upon a time, had been a vital component in the cocktail used to stop the hearts of prisoners on death row. An anesthetic that could both relax and exterminate, depending on the wishes of the person behind the injection.
He thought of the girl who’d inspired that syringe—a girl he’d once believed the craziest, yet most exciting person he’d ever met—and realized he’d surpassed her. Tonight, he’d surpassed that crazy girl named Veda Vandyke, who he’d left behind in California, with his plan to take Mia, unconscious, out of that pavilion. To take her in exchange for the daughter he’d yet to meet. For the first time since Linc had gone on the run, he understood Veda completely. He understood what real desperation felt like. What even the most righteous person was capable of when that desperation was charging through their veins like burning blood.
He understood because as Mia made her way to the door of the ladies room on the opposite side of the dark hallway, he didn’t waste a moment in crossing the space in one stride, sneaking up behind her, and sinking the needle of that syringe into her neck. He didn’t waste a moment in laying his thumb on the lever and emptying the drug into her veins.
As promised on the warning label, the drug was fast acting, and in less than a minute—before she could even gasp or swivel on her heel to look at him—Mia’s knees had gone limp underneath her, her lithe body crumbling.
Linc bent his knees, letting her body collapse into his shoulder like a crumpling origami box, her thighs on his chest and her ribcage against his back. He stood tall, with her slung over his shoulder, her gold sandaled feet leaving the floor. With one last look into the raging party where security was still scouring the expansive swell of guests, completely unaware of what had just transpired between him and the mayor’s wife in the dim bathroom hallway, Linc made his way toward the door at the end of the hall.
Mia’s lifeless arms and legs swung as he moved.
He could only pray that she didn’t pee on him before he made it out to the car.