Naughty and Nice by Sarah J. Brooks (82)

Are you okay???

I watched as he took out his phone and looked at it. He turned to look up at the balcony and, for a moment, my eyes were locked on his. Then, I turned my gaze to the man he was talking to, who had looked up along with Brad.

My stomach fell and I felt my hand move involuntarily to cover my mouth. The hair, eyes, the stocky build… Brad was standing on the street in a confrontation with Mavin Toller. The man responsible for my abduction. And… he had seen me. He knew I was in Morocco with Brad, and he knew which balcony was mine.

I dropped down from view, my breath ragged and my heart pounding in my chest. I gripped my phone and wished I was in America, wished I could just call 911 and make this all go away. Wished more than anything that Patrick was there to protect me. But, Brad. Brad had sworn he was there to protect me, and he had promised to tell me what was going on with his past.

Did his past include Mavin Toller? And, if it did, how closely, exactly, were the two connected?

My phone buzzed in my hand. I looked down and saw Brad’s name. I took a deep breath and slid my phone to unlock to read his message.

Cassie

Brad’s text seemed to take up the entire screen on my phone. It was one word:

Run.

I ran. I was in my robe, so I quickly threw on jeans and the first shirt I could find, which happened to be a dark green henley that belonged to Brad. I grabbed my purse, shoved my feet into shoes, and opened the door. I started to run toward the elevator, but I realized that, whatever danger I was in, I’d have a better shot of avoiding it if I stayed out of the confines of the elevator. I ran down the hall, listening for the ding of the elevator or the click of a door, until I got to the stairwell. I opened the door and pulled it closed behind me. I tried to listen for any sounds in the stairwell, but my breath was ragged and my heartbeat sounded like fireworks in my ears. I forced myself to close my eyes, slow my breath down, and listen.

I slowly made my way down the stairs, alert as an eagle, trying to listen for even the smallest sound. The stairwell doors were open into the stairwell, but in order to get out of the stairwell, a key was needed to unlock the door at any level. Brad had explained this security measure to me some time ago; it was designed to trap anyone trying to make a quick getaway from a room. I tried to not think about the irony, and, instead, gripped the key card in my hand so hard I felt it cutting into my palm and fingers with each step I took.

The walk to the street level, the emergency exit door, was probably a two minute walk by normal standards; today it felt like it took ten years. When I finally burst through the door, completely oblivious to the sound of the emergency alarm that began to ring throughout the hotel, I ran to my right only because it was the opposite direction I’d seen Brad talking to Mavin Toller. I ran until I felt like my heart was going to explode in my chest, until my lungs were pulsing so hard with each breath they seemed to stretch my rib cage. I stopped and looked all around me for any movement, anything that seemed out of the ordinary. My instincts were fired up to full capacity, and I could practically hear the sensations as they buzzed through me.

I had run to a fairly deserted part of town, and I realized I was closer to the port than I’d ever been before. In a lot of ways, this was probably the safest place—from Mavin Toller. In other ways, though, I was not safe. The port was a notoriously high crime area, and one that Brad had always told me to say away from, even during the daytime.

But, desperate times called for desperate measures, and there would never be time that qualified more as “desperate.” I began to try to find ways to blend in. I slowed to a walk, stopping to look around and continue to be fully aware of my surroundings and stay one step ahead of any danger that might come my way. I realized I still had my key card and my phone in my hand. I tucked them into my purse, glancing at my phone to see if Brad had texted. He hadn’t.

Brad. A brief shock of fear went through me as I thought of him standing on the street with the man who had abducted me. They were standing out in the open… surely if Mavin Toller attacked Brad, someone would do something to stop it. Of course, I remembered, I’d been abducted in the middle of the day in a busy restaurant, and no one had seen a thing. Mavin Toller knew how to attack subtly and quickly.

I shook my head and continued to walk. I walked along a retaining wall that protected part of the port from the waves below. Stacked several high in neat rows were row boats, but not silver metal or brown wood like most were in the United States; these boats were colored brightly: blue, pink, lavender. Under any other circumstances, they would have made the perfect photograph for Destinations, with a captivating article written by me on the prospects of Casablanca as a tourist destination.

I began, automatically, to write the copy in my head, but I stopped when I realized what I was doing. A lump formed in my throat as I began to think, in what seemed to be becoming a daily occurrence, about everything that had changed in my life the day I’d met Brad. Would I give him up to go back again? I didn’t know.

I took my phone out as I stood near the boats, my back to the ocean, watching for any flickers of movement. Nothing from Brad. I texted him.

Where are you??

I waited a moment for an answer, then I began to text Simon. I didn’t know what to say, so I clicked out of my texting app and called him. He answered right away.

“Cassie? What a surprise. What’s wrong?”

“Is Brad with you?” I blurted out.

“What happened?” Simon’s voice, serious anyway, took on an even more somber tone. “Where are you? Are you safe?”

“I’m safe,” I said. “He’s not with you—” I tried to finish my sentence, but too many thoughts, all of them bad, flooded my mind. The weight of them nearly buckled my knees.

“Where are you, Cassie? I’ll come and get you.”

I got my wits back and everything I knew fell out of my mouth in one breath. “Brad is in danger,” I said. “He was on the street, I was looking out the window, and I saw him, he was talking to a man, and I didn’t know who it was right away, so I wasn’t worried, you know? But then the man looked up at me, and I saw that it was Mavin Toller, who is the man who abducted me, and is probably the man who killed Patrick, and now he has Brad, somewhere? Or Brad got away? I don’t know, because Brad texted me and told me to run, so I did. I ran down the stairs and out onto the street and I found my way here by the boats.” And I stopped. I paused; I’d run out of words.

Simon was silent on the other end of the phone. I could tell he was taking it all in, and, because I was getting to know him fairly well, I could almost see him. He was probably standing in his suite, looking out his window and down at the street, wondering if that was the street where Brad and Mavin had stood, wondering if he could have seen them and stopped their interaction. He likely had his fingers of one hand pressing into his temples and, once he stopped looking at the street, his eyes would be closed.

“I’m coming to get you right now,” he said. “It’ll take me five minutes to get to the port are. Where are you? What’s around you?”

I told him about the boats, and I described a building nearby that I assumed was for fishermen.

We hung up, and I sat near the boats, keeping a watchful eye on everything around me. I could taste the salt in the air, and the breeze coming off of the water was a cool reprieve from the air temperature around me. I ran my fingers along the asphalt beneath me; it was covered with sand from the beach, dragged up onto the platform by the boats and feet of the fishermen.

I tuned into the sound of a motor breaking through the white noise around me, and I became alert immediately. I realized I would be vulnerable for at least a few moments. I assumed the motor belonged to Simon’s car—but I could be wrong. I felt anxiety surge through me with thoughts of Mavin Toller driving toward me with Brad tied up in the back seat, or, I shuddered involuntarily, in the trunk. I tried to resist my urge to hide, but it won out in the end, and I ducked behind a stack of the row boats. I didn’t know how visible I was; I felt completely open and naked, though I knew that couldn’t possibly be.

From my hiding place, I listened as the sound of the motor grew louder. My heart pounded and I felt like I was going to throw up. Louder and louder, until, at last, it stopped, just a few yards away from the boats. I held my breath and waited.

The driver’s side door opened, and a flood of relief washed over me as Simon stepped out. He had a gun drawn and he immediately pressed himself against the car as he pointed the gun out, his arms locked.

“Cassie!” he yelled. “Cassie? Are you here?”

I called out, “I’m here!” and I slowly stood up, my hands in the air so he wouldn’t be startled by the movement. He saw me and a brief look of relief noticeably crossed his face. He didn’t holster his gun, though, he just gave one quick jerk of his head toward the car.

“Get in, fast,” he said. I ran toward the car, ducking as I did so. If Simon had shown up with his gun drawn, there had to be a reason. I tucked myself into the front seat of the car as quickly as I could. A moment later, Simon slid into the driver’s seat and set his gun in a case on the console.

“Let’s go,” he said, shifting the car into gear and squealing away from the port.

As we sped through the city streets, I opened my mouth several times to speak but no words came out. I wanted to ask so many questions, but it was as though words had failed me.

“Where are we going?” I asked, finally, my voice dull with fear and anxiety.

Simon glanced over at me, but then drew his gaze immediately back to the road as a car honked.

“I’m taking you to a designated safe place; it’s a place Brad and I had already negotiated prior to any of this happening. He instructed me to bring you there in the event you ever got separated here in Morocco.

A designated safe place. The words rang out in my head. Brad had known this was a possibility. My brain fought itself. Of course he’d known this was a possibility. You were fucking abducted, I told myself. He loves you. Obviously one of the first things he did was to do something to ensure it never happened again.

The designated safe place was a small hotel that looked more like a Motel 6 than anything else. It was on the outskirts of town on the inland side of Casablanca. We had driven from one dangerous part of the city to another.

“Is it safe here?” I asked quietly. “I mean, really?”

Simon’s lips were stretched into a thin line. “It’s safe,” he said, putting the car into park. “The hotel is a Legacy; the fact that you didn’t recognize it as one means the designers did their jobs well. It’s called the Legacy Jewel. When you step inside, you’ll feel more at home.”

He opened the door and ushered me into the lobby where, immediately, I had a sense of déjà vu as I looked at the same carpet, wallpaper, and furnishings as the hotel I’d fled hours earlier.

Less than twenty minutes later, I was sitting on a plush, queen bed in my suite on the top floor—one level above the ground—and Simon was standing in the doorway.

“I’m right next door. I’m going to track down Brad, don’t worry. He will probably be trying to call you, so don’t turn your phone off.” He paused, then looked like he wished he could take those words back. “Not that you would,” he added. He closed the door.

I laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. My hand was on my phone when it began to buzz.

Brad

I had been willing Cassie to stay in the room. I knew she sat on the balcony more often than she didn’t, enjoying the air and the sounds of the city, much of which, she’d said, reminded her of home.

I’d just finished a business meeting with an investor for Legacy, and I was on my way back to the suite when I saw Manuel Brown standing just off the center of the sidewalk, watching me. People moved around him as if he was a steel pole; no one ran into him or even expected him to move out of their way. He nodded, and I stopped.

“Sir?” I said, a questioning tone in my voice that I tried to cover the best I could. “Did we…”

“We had no scheduled meeting, Mr. White. Let’s step over here.” Manuel led me to the side of the sidewalk against a building. I could see Legacy over his right shoulder, and my first thought was of Cassie. I hoped she was still sleeping; I willed her to stay that way.

“Of course, Sir,” I said. “You know that I’m always ready and willing to meet with you.”

“Spare me,” Manuel said. “I’ve received word that your female companion, Cassie, has been doing more than causing you distraction. Do you have any idea how close she’s coming to uncovering the truth of who you are and what you do?”

I shifted uncomfortably. Of course, much of the reason she was coming so close was because I had confided in her. But, how did Manuel know that? We had just been together; how could he possibly know?

“Do you remember, Mr. White, when I told you that I wasn’t worried about Mavin Toller?”

I nodded. I definitely remembered that.

“Remember how I said I wasn’t worried? How I said that I was a giant with a magnifying glass and he was an ant? Where do you think I get that confidence?”

I took a breath. “From your intellect and your courage, Sir,” I said. And your complete lack of empathy, I thought. Antoine kept me from saying it, his face flashing in my mind. I felt my strength growing as I thought of my son.

“Ah,” Manuel replied, “that’s a very politically correct answer, and I thank you for that. The truth is, I’m confident about that because I have a very specific piece of knowledge about Mavin Toller: that he is me.”

I stared at Manuel for a moment as his words sank into my mind. He waited, not breaking eye contact with me.

“Sir,” I said, “I don’t understand. Mavin Toller is a former CIA agent in the United States. He’s got a lengthy history… there’s no way…” I shook my head.

Manuel sighed as if he was trying to explain something to a four year old child.

“You still don’t understand the scope of my power, do you?” He looked at me with genuine pity, and it filled me with fury.

“Why,” I growled through gritted teeth. “Why abduct Cassie? Why do that? Do you realize you nearly killed her?” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I shook my head, wanting to pull them back. Of course he realized it. Not only did he realize it, he reveled in it.

“Now, now, Mr. White, don’t be overly dramatic. Cassie’s life was never in danger. If anything, had all gone according to plan, she would be keeping your Antoine company right now.”

“Don’t you say my son’s name,” I said, my voice low and trembling with fury. I stepped toward him, but he did nothing; he didn’t flinch, step back, or even inhale.

“That would be a serious error on your part, Mr. White,” he said. “Control yourself.”

I felt my phone buzz in my pocket and I took it out to look at it automatically, before I’d given any consideration to where I was.

Are you okay???

The text from Cassie had been sent moments ago. I looked up at the balcony and saw her leaning over the edge from our suite, looking at me with an expression of concern so sharp I could see it from where I stood. I looked away quickly, realizing that I was giving away her location; I pretended that I was stretching and looked the other way as well.

Manuel didn’t buy it; he followed my gaze with his own. A smile spread across his face.

“Cassie,” he said. “How nice.”

I stared at him while I responded to Cassie’s text. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, and I had the feeling that if he saw me texting Cassie, he might take my phone and destroy it. Silently, with as little finger motion as I could use and still type, I texted quickly,

Run

“Your Cassie has been through quite a lot in the last few months,” Manuel said. “And she’s smart. She seems to have figured out some things that, well, let’s just say, perhaps she shouldn’t know. You know, for her safety.”

“I told you before,” I said, my anger surging, “don’t threaten her. She has nothing to do with any of this, and, you’re right, she has been through a lot! And it’s all because of this. I’ve done everything you asked. You have my son, you killed my wife, when it is enough?” I realized I was yelling. The street around us was nearly empty. I was trying to stall to give Cassie enough time to get out of our room. For all I knew, Manuel had men on their way to our suite now. My security was strong, but I didn’t know how it would hold up against Manuel’s resourcefulness.

“It’s enough, Mr. White, when I say it’s enough.”

A black car pulled up and, as if on cue, a man got out and held the back door open. Manuel nodded at the driver, and then looked back at me. “Good day,” he said, and a twisted attempt at a smile spread across his lips. He turned and got into the car. I watched, my heart pounding, and then I ran across the street, ignoring the honking of horns, and into the hotel.

I raced up to the suite and stopped outside the door. The door was closed and nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but looks could definitely be deceiving. I drew my pistol, which I’d started carrying on me as soon as we got into Morocco. The metal was cool against my hand. I quickly and quietly keyed into the room. I pushed the door open and watched for movement.

“Cassie?” I called out quietly. The suite seemed deserted; it had the feel of emptiness. I walked through each room, on guard and afraid of what I might find. She must have gotten out, I thought with a small amount of relief. There would have been signs of a struggle if Manuel’s men had gotten her first; she would have put up a fight. Her purse and phone were gone. I let myself relax a little further. I checked my phone, no messages.

I walked back down to the lobby to check in with the front desk worker. I, of course, would never ask questions directly, but it was always amazing to me how much people tell with their bodies. I would know immediately if anything was even slightly amiss.

As I rode the elevator down, my eyes drifted up to the cameras. There was one obviously mounted in the corner above the light box, but there were also three more, in the three other corners, to prevent anyone from being able to hide in what they thought was out of the range of the camera. I made a note to check the cameras when I got into the office.

The elevator doors opened and my cell phone pinged. I pulled it out quickly, expecting a message from Cassie. Simon’s name came up and I opened the text:

Cassie with me. Safe place.

The relief I felt nearly folded me in two. I leaned against the wall and stared at the message. That meant that he’d somehow managed to communicate with Cassie and had followed the plan he and I had set up following Cassie’s abduction to ensure it wouldn’t happen again.

I raced out of the lobby, ignoring the desk worker, and ran to my car; I needed to get to the Legacy Jewel.

Cassie

I awoke to the quiet rumble of the engines of Brad’s private jet. For a few moments, I kept my eyes closed, pretending to sleep while I got my bearings and thought about my next steps.

Brad had arrived at the hotel and we’d left within the hour, racing to his waiting plane. Seeing him had created an interesting reaction within me: he had rescued me and I felt a rush of desire for him like I’d never felt before… and I was also incredibly pissed. I was exhausted and furious.

“Why can’t we just have a normal relationship?” I asked quietly, keeping my eyes closed.

“What, honey?” Brad was suddenly right next to me, his concerned voice in my year.

I opened my eyes and looked at him. “I said, why can’t we just have a normal relationship?” I could hear the edge in my voice, and I saw it in his eyes.

He sighed and shook his head. “That’s something you can never have with me,” he said softly. “Even without all of that,” he said, referring to Morocco and the warehouses, “there’s still all of this.” He gestured around to the airplane, to the plush leather furniture and the attendant waiting to bring us champagne, caviar, or anything else from the specific menu Brad had for his private airplane. “I’m sorry,” he said.

I reached for him, and he put his arms around me. He pulled me toward him, and folded me into him tightly, squeezing me until my breath got tight, but I felt the most secure I’d felt in months. It felt good, and I felt my body respond. I pulled back slightly from him and looked into his eyes. I kissed him, pressing my mouth to his so fiercely our teeth almost hit. I wanted to be closer to him, closer than we’d ever been; I wanted him fully inside of me.

I slithered down off the couch and settled myself between his legs, putting my hands on his thighs. I looked up at him, and he looked down at me, his head cocked questioningly.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “You don’t need to do this…”

“I want you to fill every orifice in my body,” I said. “I want you to keep me safe.”

His eyes widened, and he undid his jeans, slipping them off over his hips. I helped him remove them. His cock was full just based on our conversation and my position alone, the promise of what lay ahead, and I took him into my mouth. I rolled my tongue up and down his shaft, and I felt him relax under my touch, almost as if he was in a trance. I pressed my hands to his thighs and stood on my knees, accessing him in a new angle, an angle in which I could completely fill my mouth with his cock, nearly to my throat, and a little beyond. It was exciting and felt a little dangerous, a little slutty, and I bobbed my head up and down faster and faster as his moans grew in volume.

I reached for his balls with my hand and cupped the hard, stretched sack in my palm; it was hot, alive, and I trailed my fingertips lightly over the thin skin. He shuddered and groaned loudly, grabbing my head and bucking his hips.

“I’m gonna cum,” he gasped. “So fucking hard, holy fuck!” And he exploded, literally shot himself into my mouth. Hot cum filled my mouth and I swallowed it down hungrily, eagerly, licking every last drop off of his cock, then licking my lips as he laid back, his entire body limp.

I sat for a moment at his feet, then I began to slowly take off my clothes. I started with my jeans, slithering them off over my hips. I hadn’t bothered with underwear that morning, since I’d left in such a rush. Brad watched me as I slowly showed him that detail. I began to pull his shirt up off over my head, and he leaned forward and stopped me, putting his hand on my forearm.

“That’s my shirt,” he said, his eyes hot with arousal.

“It is,” I said. “It was the first one I grabbed this morning when you told me to get the fuck out of the suite.”

“Keep it on,” he growled in a low voice. “I like you in my clothes.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said coyly, and I dropped my hand, then I leaned back, sitting on the floor with my legs out in front of me, propped up by my hands. I looked at him, burning his eyes with my own.

He moved to the floor and laid me back gently by putting his body onto mine. He kissed me again, then slowly began to move down my body until he reached my waiting, already wet pussy. The carpet under me was plush and soft, but Brad reached up and grabbed a blanket from the couch anyway and slid it beneath us both. He bent my knees and put his face between my legs. His tongue was warm and slick, gliding along my labia like a stone skipping across a pond, teasing my clit in a way that made my breath quicken immediately. I shifted my hips, tucking my tailbone to give him greater access to my clit, and he put his hands around my ass, pressing his palms into my cheeks, as he buried his face deeper in me. His nose rubbed my clit as he began to flick his tongue in and out of my vagina; I felt my muscles contracting in rhythm with his tongue, climactic energy building within me. He pulled my hips close and wrapped his lips around my clit, my juices warm and flowing, and he began to suck, a concentrated vacuum that, within just a few seconds, pushed me over the edge into the most intense orgasm I could imagine. My body seemed almost confused with the sensations; I felt my climax in my fingertips, in my hair, in my eyes. Every nerve was active and jumping, and I cried out my release. He let go, and I laid back, sweating, breathless, and I began to laugh. He sidled up next to me and put his arms around me, pulling me against him. He’d remembered that I’d said I wanted him close. I giggled into his chest.

“What’s so funny?” he asked mildly, the sound of his voice muted by his swollen lips.

“I don’t know,” I said, and very quickly, my giggles threatened to turn into tears. I stopped and took a deep breath. “I needed that, I think.”

“I did, too,” he said, and he pulled me close. “Do you want to take a nap?” he asked.

“I said every orifice,” I reminded him, and I pulled away from him and rolled onto my back. He looked at me as if he’d just won the lottery, and he climbed on top of me. I spread my legs and looked at his cock, which was already ready once again. His cock was hard, red with arousal, pre-cum glistening at the tip.

He bent my knees and entered me, sliding in so easily I hardly felt anything but the most welcome warmth and pressure, and he began to thrust. I felt the rumble of the engines beneath me, the vibration once again setting my nerves on a pleasurable edge. He thrust fast and slow, each time he built up to where he was about to cum, he stopped and slowed down. We teased each other in tandum.

He grabbed my ass again, something he knew I loved, only this time, he began to slowly spread my cheeks with his hand.

“You’re so wet… everywhere,” he said. And he was right; I felt lubricated absolutely everywhere. He looked into my eyes. “Are you ready?” he asked.

I nodded, the anticipation of what was to come almost too much for me to speak. He slowly slid his index finger into my ass, gripping my cheeks and continuing to thrust slowly. My eyes widened and my body responded with a blanket of warmth moving from head to toe.

“Oh my fucking…” I breathed, then lost track of my thought as he began to move his finger, slowly, to match the movement of his cock.

My orgasm made me black out for a moment.

When I came back to consciousness, the waves of sensation continued, and I moaned with each thrust until I climaxed again. This time, he came with me, and the intensity of the sensation was increased by our mutual sounds, each moan and groan a call to the other.

After, we dressed and lay back on the floor together. I laid curled up in the crook of Brad’s arm, my arm over his chest, my head resting on his chest just near enough to his heartbeat I could feel it in my throat. The rumble of the engine was almost lulling me back to sleep when Brad spoke.

“You won’t ever have a normal life with me, Cassie. I thought you knew that.”

I paused, taking his words in. “I know that,” I said. “I expected some differences from my normal day to day stuff. I did not expect to be abducted, threatened, beaten.”

I felt him sigh. I dared myself to ask the question burning in my mind, decided that now was the time.

“Where is your son?” I asked. The words vibrated through the plane cabin. For a long moment, Brad did nothing. I held my breath waiting for his response.

“Manuel Brown has him,” he said. “You know Manuel Brown as Mavin Toller.” Shocked, I lifted my head from his chest and craned my neck to look at him. He met my eyes. “Yes, it’s true.” He squeezed me, and I laid my head back down. He continued.

“Manuel Brown was, I thought, a simple client. This was ten years ago. Maybe more. He came to me and said he had a building project that he wanted me to handle. I said my company would be happy to work with him, and he clarified that he wanted me, alone. A separate contract. He said he would pay me millions. My company was well established, but it was nothing like it is today, and I agreed, knowing that the money he would pay me would give me a true foothold in my dreams.

“Then,” he said, “things began to get ugly. Manuel was a tough man to please, and it seemed like there was always something wrong, something slightly off, with his demands. He was impossible to reach, and he was… threatening.”

I could feel Brad’s heart beating faster as he delved deeper into his memories.

“It’s okay,” I said. “You don’t need to talk about it.”

“I want to,” he said. “You’re in this now, Manuel knows who you are, and that’s my fault. It’s my job to keep you safe, and I haven’t been doing that. “Did you ever wonder how Legacy got its name?”

I had. “Of course,” I said.

“Years ago, not as many as how it feels, Manuel Brown abducted my girlfriend and my son.”

I stiffened at the mention of his son… and of the girlfriend he had never brought up.

“I did everything Manuel said I needed to do in order to get them back. I built warehouses all over the world. I made connections with criminal leaders in half a dozen countries. I organized trades and deals. And, for all of that, he… he killed Lorinda.”

I gasped. His voice was dull, the words falling like weights out of his mouth.

“Your son,” I whispered.

“My son is alive, with Manuel. I don’t know where. All I have to go on is Manuel’s word that he’s alive, and that… that’s not worth much, but I have to take it. Legacy is named for Antoine. All of my wealth, all of the money I’d so desperately wanted, my empire, all of it came at the cost of my son, my own flesh and blood.

“I built Legacy, built them all around the world, to serve as a reminder that my son is alive. Every penny I earn is one penny more to offer Manuel. You might think I like being a billionaire, Cassie, but I don’t care about money at all; all the money I have in the world is to buy my son back, at a cost Manuel says I’ll never be able to afford.”

Brad was trembling and I felt him reach his hand up to his face, wiping away tears that had fallen. I held him close, tight, my mind reeling with this information.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. It was all I could say; there were no other words.

Brad

“Please,” I begged. “Please just give him back.” It was two days after the phone conversation where I’d heard Lorinda’s cry for the last time. I stood with Manuel at the entrance to a house in Mexico, the house where he had brought Lorinda and Antoine when he had taken them from Lorinda’s apartment in Mexico City. I hadn’t needed to track Manuel down; he had sent for me. The driver he’d sent waited on the street, leaning against the car with the door open, ready for me to get back in when Manuel decided he was done with me.

Manuel laughed, and the sound of it chilled me. “Give him back? What have you done to get him back? You’ve disappointed me at every turn. Every project has lacked in some way. What kind of an operation do you think I’m running here, Mr. White? Give him back? You need to earn him back.”

I looked over Manuel’s shoulder into the living room of the house. The smell was rank, and I could see the entire place was filthy. The house itself looked condemned, boards on the windows and spray paint tagging the entire front of the two story structure. Somewhere deep inside the house, music pounded, the bass loud and thrumming; I could feel it in my teeth. Suddenly, there was movement in the living room, and a man appeared with Antoine in front of him, a gun pointed at his shoulder. Antoine looked white with terror, and I blanched. My heart jumped into my throat, and my body reacted instantly, wanting to rush in and grab him, pull him to me, and run, using by body as a shield to protect him.

“Antoine!” I screamed, trying to push past Manuel. I shoved Manuel’s chest, but he was stocky and strong; my shove didn’t move him so much as a centimeter. I felt my body bounce off of his, and I immediately pushed back, harder, but with the same result.

“Daddy!” I heard Antoine scream, and Manuel yelled over his shoulder as he kept me at bay.

“Get that kid out of here, you fucking idiot!” he shouted. The man holding Antoine disappeared. I screamed his name again.

“I’ll get you back, Antoine! Don’t you worry! Can you hear me? I’ll get you back!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Manuel said, pushing me back with one hand. I lost my balance and tripped backward, landing on my ass on the porch. “Get up, you fucking pussy.” He kicked me, and I rolled out of the way, got to my knees, then stood up. The pain in my body barely registered compared to the sound of Antoine yelling “Daddy!” echoing in my mind over and over again.

“What do you want,” I pleaded. “Please, anything!”

“I own you,” he said. “I own you and your life.”

“Take me instead,” I begged. “Antoine is completely innocent. Take me, kill me, torture me, do whatever you want to me, just let him go.”

He laughed again, tipping his head back and opening his mouth wide as he shook his head at my foolishness.

“You’re far more valuable to me as a motivated agent, Mr. White. Kill you? No. Release Antoine? Never. You are my slave, do you understand? You will build, sell, organize, and distribute based on what I want and when. If you slip up, even once, Antoine is dead, and you will be too. Now, get the fuck off my property.”

I stared into my glass of scotch and remembered the details, each moment, each word, of that conversation with Manuel, the first of many after he’d taken Antoine. I’d replayed it in my mind so many times, it seemed less like something that could have actually happened and more like a movie, some Oscar-nominated film that people would talk about, based on a true story, over their morning coffee or evening cocktails.

But it had happened, even though my brain constantly tried to convince me that it hadn’t. “Please,” I said to the quiet of the cabin. “Please, end this. Give me back my son.”

Cassie slept on the floor of the plane, and I looked over at her from the bar. I closed my eyes, put my head in my hands. I had told her too much. Manuel somehow knew I was telling her things, and my eyes suddenly flickered around the airplane cabin. There were cameras, of course, and microphones. Safety features, all manufactured specifically for airplanes to keep from interfering with the plane’s signals, designed by my own team. Had he accessed them?

No, I shook my head. Not possible. If anything, the plane was the safest place for us to be. Cassie mumbled something in her sleep and rolled over, wrapping the blanket around her, her arms drawn in to her chest in an almost hug.

“Protect Cassie,” I thought out loud. “Get Antoine back. Do it now.” I commanded myself as Manuel had commanded me so many times. It was no longer an option; this had gone on long enough.

I began to type into my iPad, snippets of thoughts, phrases, all of which I would share with Simon, who was meeting us when we landed. The formulation of a plan began to develop in my mind, and, the deeper I got into my plan, the faster my pain dulled. I had never been a victim, and I would not let Manuel Brown make me one. A victim would not get his son back, and that’s what Manuel was counting on. He was counting on me being emotional, paralyzing myself out of fear.

I wrote down one more phrase, and I closed my iPad.

“I am not a victim,” I said out loud. “I am Brad White, billionaire owner of Legacy properties. I do not lose.”

Cassie

I waited nervously in the bar, my back to the wall to take out one direction for me to look, and I surveyed the entire room. The bar was dark, smoky, and crowded. It was a little after five o’clock, and the bar was a mix of people getting off of work and singles meeting their dates for the night. Music played, the bartender joked with the people at the bar, and the tables were full of people laughing and talking. I observed all of it as if it was a dream; I felt like I wasn’t even there. I had my phone in one hand and my purse in the other, my drink sitting on the bar gathering beads of moisture, in case I needed to make a quick exit.

I was waiting on an informant. He was a friend of Patrick’s, a friend from the NCA, and he had been the “friend” Patrick had mentioned. At least, he was supposed to be.

How will I know I can trust you? I’d texted when he had reached out to me to meet him.

I will bring you something of Patrick’s, something he gave me to give to you.

How will I know it’s his?

You’ll know, had been his response.

So, out of desperation, I’d agreed to the meeting. After Brad had confided in me the story of Antoine and Lorinda on the plane, I’d decided that I needed to change the focus of my research. Rather than looking at Manuel Brown and trying to figure out who he was, what I could do to protect myself, I knew I needed to do whatever I could to help Brad find Antoine.

My first step had been to go through everything I had of Patrick’s. All the files, all the folders. Then, go through my own research once again, only this time paying attention to things I had glossed over before.

Then, out of nowhere, Patrick’s friend had texted me. Patrick’s words from his final email echoed in my brain: You have friends; they will make themselves known to you as needed. You are protected.

The door to the bar opened and I snapped back to attention. The man who walked through was tall, tall enough to need to duck to get through the door. I put him at at least six foot five, and I kept my eye on him as he surveyed the room. He moved to the side of the door and took out his phone, began to text.

My phone buzzed and I looked at it.

Where are you? his message said.

The bar, I texted back. His eyes scanned the bar as he looked for someone texting; it was a good technique. His eyes landed on me, and I nodded. The slightest nod of his head back showed me he had seen me, but he walked in the opposite direction, making a loop near the bathrooms and sauntering around several of the tables. He was wise; he was making it look as though he was looking for a table, but all the ones he wanted were taken. He finally shifted his gaze to the bar and began to scan the open seats. Slowly, steadily, he made his way toward me. He sat down next to me, finally, but didn’t look at me.

“Hello, friend,” he called to the bartender. “Can I get a pint and a menu?”

“Sure thing,” the bartender said, and, within a few moments, the bartender brought him a pint, slightly overflowing, and a bar menu.

“Scratch the menu,” my stranger said. “The pint’ll do.” I watched him as he spoke. He had dark, curly hair, and a jaw cut severely from his chin to his ears. He was thin; ten more pounds of either fat or muscle would have done him good, but he was quite attractive all the same.

The bartender nodded. “Open a tab?”

My stranger took out his wallet and slapped down a five in response. “Keep the change.”

The bartended nodded, “Thanks,” and moved back down to a group of college age locals.

“Your drink is getting watered down,” he said, still not looking at me.

“I like it that way,” I said.

“I sincerely doubt that’s true,” he said.

“You said you would bring me something. Something to show me you are who you say you are.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He tossed it onto the bar between us, and sipped his pint while I grabbed it.

I turned to face my drink, and I opened the small, white piece of paper. It had been folded in half, then in half again, and the ink written on it brought tears to my eyes.

It was the receipt for my breakfast with Patrick…on the day of my abduction. When I had gone to the bathroom, before I had been gone for too long, he must have paid for breakfast. Kept the receipt… as a business expense? Then, realizing it would serve as a way to identify someone, to build trust.

“I trust that means something to you?” the stranger asked.

“What’s your name?” I asked in response.

“Julian.”

“Yeah, Julian, this means something.”

We talked to each other without facing one another or looking at anything other than our drinks for more than an hour. His body got closer to mine as we talked, shoulder to shoulder, and I could feel warmth coming off of him.

Once more, during our conversation, the bartender had returned. “Get you another, Friend?”

“No,” Julian said. “I’m set, thank you.”

“Miss?” the bartender looked at me.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I’d said.

We finished our drinks and Julian finally looked at me for the first time. Our eyes locked, and I felt a jolt of … something. Not electricity, not desire, exactly, but his eyes—his eyes were so green, so intense, I think I gasped to myself.

“I want to meet you again here tomorrow, same time. I’ll have information for you. You know some of what Patrick investigated, but, as he told you, it was just the tip of the iceberg. I’m going to do some recon. When we talk tomorrow, I’ll have some answers. I’ll have a way to help you move forward.”

“Why are you helping me?” I asked.

“Patrick was a good man, and he liked you more than I think you probably know. He kept his distance out of respect, but…” he stopped, almost as if he didn’t want to speak too much of Patrick’s truth. “But, he would want me to help you.”

I stood up, nodded, and threw a five down by my empty glass. It was understood that I would leave first. He would wait, walk slowly and indirectly to the door. No sign that we were together. No sign we had even said more than hello.

I walked down the street back to Legacy London. The chill in the air gave me goosebumps and I breathed in, realizing that my breath held the tinge of excitement, the possibility of getting answers, getting Antoine back to Brad, and having a future with the man that I loved.

The Billionaire’s LEGACY

His Fate

Sarah J. Brooks

Cassie

I woke up in the plush bed in Brad’s London suite, stretched, and smiled. I’d never in a million years ever thought that I would come to think of a hotel as “home.” Even though I knew, as a journalist, I’d likely be traveling the world and would be spending most of my time in hotels, far more than in any sort of home I had to call my own, I’d still always imagined that they would be simply a “home away from home.”

Another thing I never imagined was having someone I loved sharing the bed beside me. I reached for Brad’s side of the bed and felt his warm frame there, his warm, regular breath showing me I was not alone in the room. I reached my hand across his waist toward his chest. He grabbed it and squeezed my fingers lightly, then held my hand to his chest. I slept again.

When I woke a second time, the sun was brighter in the sky and there was movement from the street below. I felt to Brad’s side of the bed, but it was empty, and I could hear him in the kitchen, probably brewing coffee. The doorbell rang and he answered it, then closed it again, and the smell of bacon and eggs filled my nostrils. I’d give Brad one thing: he knew how to get me out of bed in the morning!

I dressed in jeans and a sheer, light colored shirt with a pink cami under it. He’d given me the shirt, and it felt perfect on me when I wore it, accentuating all of my features and revealing just enough—without too much. I brushed my hair and put it up into a messy bun, applied some make up, and made my way into the living room.

“Good morning, Gorgeous,” Brad said, greeting me with a cup of coffee and a mimosa. I took the mimosa first, and he set the coffee on the table and picked up his mimosa.

“Cheers!” I said.

“Cheers,” he said. “To a future of safety. A future that will bring my son back and we can be together, a family of three.” He clinked glasses with me and smiled. “I have a plan.”

I sipped the mimosa, feeling the sweet taste of the bubbles slide down my throat, pleasantly scratchy.

“I have some ideas, honey,” I said. “I think that, if we work together, we can get Antoine back. But, I think it’s going to take the two of us, together.

He looked at me for a moment, pausing in his action of distributing the plates to our paces at the table. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he closed it. I cocked my head.

“What?” I asked. “Say what you’re thinking.” I started to get a weird feeling in my stomach.

“Cassie, the answer is no.” He set the plates down with a sense of finality, and he turned to walk back into the kitchen.

“The answer to what is no?” I called after him, confused. “The answer to getting your son back? The answer to working together? What’s going on with you?” I was trying to keep my voice calm, but the change in his demeanor, the subtle shift that I knew him well enough to have seen, spoke volumes. He didn’t trust me. He didn’t want me to have anything to do with this.

And, I was right. He came out of the kitchen with a grim look on his face and the pot of coffee and a pitcher of creamer.

“Sit, Cassie, please,” he said.

I sat, staring at him as he began to eat his breakfast.

“Eat,” he said, nodding at me with his fork. “Your body has been through so much; you need to eat to preserve your strength. You should actually be in bed, not thinking about ways to save the world.”

I nodded, and began to take small bites of my eggs. I watched him watching me, and, when he saw I was eating, it seemed like he began to calm down.

“Cassie, I can’t let you participate in Antoine’s rescue mission. I have people, hundreds of people, gathering munitions and working themselves into positions as we speak. The plan I created while we flew back from Morocco is being put into action. You have no part of that plan.”

I winced, hurt by his suggestion of “no place.” “Brad,” I said, “you need me. Without me, you would never have come in contact with Patrick. Would never have learned what he knew.”

“And Patrick is dead now,” Brad finally snapped, his fork falling from his finger and clattering onto the floor. “Do you think Patrick would be dead today if he’d avoided his involvement with this situation? And he’s not the only one,” he continued without waiting for me to answer. “It’s only a matter of time before he comes after you. He knows you exist. He’s seen you, he’s been in your home. He’s touched your things.”

All of Brad’s words were working; my body felt twisted, horrified, repulsed, yet I still stayed strong, insistent that I help.

“But, Brad, I’m not saying I need to walk up to Manuel Brown’s house myself, knock, and ask for Antoine. I’m just saying I can be of use. I’ve lost people in this, too! And I don’t want to lose you.”

“It’s too dangerous. You’re a journalist, not a militant. Have you ever even held a gun?”

“Simon would teach me,” I said. “And I’m not a complete idiot. Remember, I was the one who was kidnapped, and I managed to hold my own just fine!” I was indignant. Part of what Brad had fallen in love with was my confidence, my tenacity, my ability to stand on my own two feet. I reminded him of us.

He looked at me and said nothing. “Are you going to eat any more?” he asked, coldly, staring at my half-eaten breakfast. I considered my options.

“No,” I said, pushing it away. I knew I was playing games with someone who had invented the game of holding out, of gambling, of the poker face, of winning. But, I knew I was right. “If you could do all of this alone, you would have done it already. If you could, you’d already have Antoine home with you, rather than being tortured and god-knows-what at the hands of Manual Brown. But, because you want to go in and save the day singlehandedly, because your ego can’t handle any help, he’s sitting in danger.”

It probably would have been better if I had not told him that.

“You bitch,” he said, when I’d finished spilling my thoughts. He grabbed me by my wrists and pulled me up from the table, shoving me against the wall behind my chair. His face was screwed up in anger and I’d never seen someone struggling so much to battle anger and hurt and love. I didn’t fight back; I stared into his eyes, let him see me as deeply as he could. Let him see the woman he had rescued that first night in Belize, let him see how much he loved me.

He kept my hands bound, and he kissed me, hard. His lips attacked mine and I knew that it was driven by an emotion far deeper than any lustful passion. He pressed his body to mine until he was supporting me against the wall. He took my hands down, one by one, and held them behind my back with his left hand. With his right, he pulled away from me, slightly, just far enough to undo the buttons on my sheer shirt. He slowly undid them with his incredibly dexterous fingers, one at a time, until my lace cami was exposed to him. He kissed my breasts through the fabric, while still keeping my hands bound to my back. With his right hand, he reached under my cami and, tugging my hands back to arch my spine, lifted my breasts into his hands.

He stared at me, a smile both sad and hungry on his face.

“You will allow me to do this to you,” he said. “In this way. So violent.”

I nodded. “I trust you, Brad,” I said. My voice was shaking, and I shamed it into straightening out.

“Then you must trust me now. I know that you think you know how to fix everything, but this has been going on a lot longer than you know. One false move;” he pulled on my arms and, this time, it did hurt; pain radiated through my shoulder heads and I gasped, tears springing into my eyes. “One false move, and your life as you know it is over.”

“But,” I began.

“What would Patrick tell you to do?” he asked quietly, looking at the floor. He had relaxed his grip on my arm, but my shoulders still pulsed.

I rolled my eyes. “You know what he would say,” I said. “He’s in the same boys’ club you’re in.”

“He would say you should let us, him and me, get Antoine back while protecting you.”

“Yes,” I said. “But Patrick is gone!” And, my voice raising, “I can’t lose you! I could barely lose him. Losing him made me want to die. If I knew that I could never do this again,” and I reached forward for him, kissing his mouth. “Or this,” and I yanked one of my hands free and wrapped it around his waist, squeezing his ass cheek in my hand. “Or this,” and my other hand, which he had released, slithered through our bodies to his chest, where I trailed my fingers from his broad chest down his belly all the way to his cock, which was awakening, engorging and hardening in my hands.

“Yes, my love,” Brad whispered. “But how for me? If I could never do this,” and he pulled the straps of my cami off my shoulders, revealing my breasts to him. He grabbed them in both hands and greedily pulled them toward him, the skin stretching in arousing pain, pinching my nipples and sucking them. “Or this,” he said, pulling back and looking me up and down before dropping to his knees. I stood while he undid my belt and pulled down my jeans and fluorescent peach panties. He kissed my labia, sent his tongue exploring between my thighs, spread them with his hands to kiss me deeper. “I always get what I want, Cassie; you know that. I want Antoine… and I want you.”

He stood up and grabbed my hands, trying to bring me into the bedroom. I stopped, pushing away the hypnotic feel of his touch.

“No, Brad, I want to help.” I pulled my hands out of his and turned away. I began to dress, pulling my jeans back on. “I will help you. You need to trust me that I’ll be okay, that I have just as much to lose here as you do, if things go wrong. We need to work together!” I pulled my arms through my sheer shirt. “And, if you can’t work with me, then I’ll work by myself, and I’ll do it alone.” I slid on a pair of shoes by the door, grabbed my purse and phone, and I walked out, closing the door behind me.

Brad

Cassie closed the door and I leaned my head against it. She was just like Lorinda, stubborn as hell, bossy, and with no full awareness of the danger she was in. I pounded on the door angrily, vowing that nothing would happen to Cassie. I couldn’t let the woman I loved die a second time.

I texted Simon to track Cassie and made sure she found a place to go. Though she had no lack of resources, my hope was that she would stay within the Legacy building. Since we’d gotten back from Morocco, I had made it Simon’s full time job to keep an eye on Cassie, and Cassie knew it. There was no telling what Manuel might do, and, since she only knew him as Mavin, she might not recognize him if he showed up in his Manuel persona.

Then, I made another call.

“Sir?” Antoine answered on the first ring. He sounded surprised to hear from me; I hadn’t been in contact with him since the first time I’d brought Cassie here and had him stand in for me to pretend to give Cassie a massage until I could surprise her.

“Antoine, old friend,” I sighed, relieved, into the phone. “Can you come to the suite?”

“Immediately, Sir.” He hesitated. “Have you been able to leave the suite? Perhaps we might be better going down to the Monkey Ostrich? It’s quiet, we can grab a pint.”

I thought for a moment. Out of anyone in my life, Antoine was the only advisor whose advice I was likely to take without question. He had known me so long, since childhood; he knew what I needed very often before I knew.

“That sounds good. Better, actually,” I said. “I’ll meet you there. I’ll get our table.” Monkey Ostrich was a bar owned by a friend of the Legacy family. It was always a place where people could quietly discuss business without worrying that it was going to land all over the world.

“Very good, Sir,” Antoine said, and he disconnected.

I looked around the apartment, and then sent a text to my head housekeeper to make sure that all of the room service items were gone and the room tidied up within the next hour.

Then, I left the building and walked across the street and down the block to the Monkey Ostrich. I walked in and shook my hands through my hair; it was misting in London, as always, which always set my hair curling in strange, unattractive ways. I took off my overcoat and hung it on the rack, then I scanned the bar.

Antoine was right where he was supposed to be. Over six foot four, Antoine towered over almost everyone in the bar. Solidly built, dark skinned with dark hair, he had scared me when I was a child. I remembered thinking that Antoine was an adult, but, as we’d grown older together, I’d realized that Antoine was less than ten years older than I was; he had been a teenager when I was a child.

“Sir,” Antoine stood, ducking to avoid hitting the ceiling.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Sit.” I smiled and slid into the booth next to Antoine.

“How are you feeling? That’s the first, most important thing,” I said, reaching out a hand to place it on Antoine’s. Antoine had slipped on the curb several weeks ago and had broken his collar bone and his ankle.

“Oh, psh,” Antoine said. “It was nothing. Now, let’s talk about you. Things have been very interesting for you lately.”

We took a break in the conversation to order and receive our pints, then we resumed. Antoine looked to me to begin.

“Cassie is unlike any woman I’ve ever met, Antoine. I met her in Belize, of all places, and, at first, I thought she was just this typical New Yorker beach bum who wouldn’t bother to bother to look up from her blackberry long enough to actually enjoy the place around her, right? But, it turns out, not only is she the opposite of that woman, she’s also interested in me! So we hook up, right? And I think, “Okay, that’s it.” But then things keep happening. And then she starts…”

“Getting involved in things that shouldn’t involve her,” Antoine said. “Dangerous things.”

“Exactly!” I said. “It’s like the shit is attracted to her. She’s been abducted, she’s been tied to the death of an NCA agent… I mean, this isn’t small stuff. And now, I’m just worried about her. Manuel Brown kills people. He’s not playing around. And I don’t think she understands that. I think she just thinks this is like some CSI episode or something that’s just going to all get tidied up and fixed at the end of the hour, and everyone will be okay.”

Antoine arched his eyebrows at me, suggesting I was possibly being a little unfair. “She knows that it didn’t end happily ever after for Lorinda,” he said. “And, she lost someone herself right, this Patrick Shim?”

“Patrick was just an agent who had been using her to get to me,” I said, shaking my head as if waving away a fly. I couldn’t think of Patrick as anything other than that.

“Are you sure?” Antoine asked.

I looked at him closely, narrowing my eyes. Antoine thought there was more, too. After a long pause, I said, “You think there was more.”

“I don’t think anything,” Antoine said. “But you have said that she is not the blackberry-carrying, beach bum, don’t give a shit kind of woman. That, to me, suggests two things: first, that Patrick Shim might have noticed that characteristic in her, and, two, that just like Cassie didn’t stamp you off as a materialistic, power hungry billionaire, perhaps she gave him a little more personal credit instead.”

I sighed and drained half my pint. “Cassie wouldn’t cheat on me.”

Antoine raised his hands. “I would never say that she would. Everything I’ve seen when the two of you have been together, including watching her leave Legacy today, suggests that she loves you and is loyal to you. But, a person can still be loyal with a wandering eye.”

“Yeah,” I said. I knew all too well the truth of that statement.

“The question is,” Antoine said, smiling kindly at me, “have you gotten yourself into a situation that you can’t get out of?”

“I know where you’re going with this, and I don’t want to put Cassie in the middle. She wants a normal life. I want her to have a normal life. Hell, I want to have a normal life with her. With her and Antoine. But, in order for that to happen, some pretty serious shit is going to need to go down, and it’s going to need to go down fast.”

“And it’s dangerous,” Antoine nodded.

“It’s dangerous enough that not only am I in danger, you, Cassie, Simon, everyone I come within a five mile radius right now is in danger.”

“What are your options?” Antoine asked.

“I don’t—” I began to say that I didn’t have any options, but Antoine’s look stopped me. One the reasons I trusted and depended on Antoine so much was that Antoine believed there were always options. There was always a path out, a path in, a solution to the problem. Spotting it was step one. Dealing with it was step two. “I guess one option I have is to let her help me. Or, at the very least, to not shut her out.”

“She’s a savvy one; Simon has told you as such.”

“Yes.”

“So…”

“Yes, fine, okay,” I said, putting my hands up in a defensive gesture. “I’ll include her. I’ll see what she’s got. I’m just worried… I couldn’t take it if anything happened to her. I mean, what if I couldn’t save her?”

Antoine looked at me with all the wisdom I’d come to know from my mentor. “What if, Brad, she can save you?”

Cassie

I left Legacy in a huff, grateful to be away from Brad and his ego, happy to be in the fresh air, yet absolutely uncertain of where I was going to go and what I was going to do.

I couldn’t believe that Brad was still so adamant about not letting me help, especially when I’d proven to him over and over again that, not only was I willing to sacrifice my wellbeing, I was able to get answers.

I punched Julian’s number into my cell phone. He answered immediately.

“I want to meet you,” I said.

“Crauler’s Pub on Water,” he said. “Do you know where that is?”

“I’ll find it,” I said. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

“You’ll be there in thirty,” he said, and disconnected. I plugged the bar into my GPS and, he was right; it would take me thirty minutes to get there, walking and by tube.

When I arrived, I found him at a table for two in the corner. I glanced at him, trying to figure out if we were being secretive, but he waved openly, so I went over to his table.

“Hey,” I said. “What’s going on?”

“This is a quiet place,” Julian said. “No worries about any spies here. Want a pint?”

I nodded, and settled in while Julian got up to get our drinks. He was a really good looking guy; I had to give him that. I wondered if all of the men of the NCA were also GQ models, if that was a part of the job. He turned back from the bar and I turned toward the table, not wanting him to see me checking him out.

“Cheers,” he said, tipping his pint toward mine and smiling. I found my smile broadening on my face as his eyes looked into mine. A small part of my brain sounded a danger alarm, but it was too distant, too faint. I clinked glasses with Julian and took a long swig from my beer.

“Fuck, yeah, that tastes good,” I said.

Julian looked amused. “Doesn’t Brad keep you well lubricated? I mean… with beer?” His mischievous smile said he knew exactly what he’d said, and I blushed in spite of myself.

“I have all the… beer I need, thank you,” I said. “Now, let’s talk about what’s going to happen.” I wanted to get us down to business before anything even remotely resembling flirting took place.

“I was glad you called,” he said, “regardless of the circumstances, which, judging by your disheveled appearance, include a fight from the morning…” He looked me up and down and I blushed.

“Anyway,” I said. “Continue.”

“Tight-lipped,” he observed.

“Journalist,” I reminded him.

He nodded. “Okay, I have an idea. I’ve been doing some research, and I have at least a general idea of where Manuel Brown might be keeping Antoine. I’ll need to talk to Brad about what he remembers about the last time he was with Antoine in any house that wasn’t his own, any sounds he remembers, that sort of thing.”

“I think all of that is documented in the file,” I said.

“It’s still always good to talk to witnesses,” Julian said. “Sometimes people forget things. Sometimes they disregard them, thinking they’re not important. Anyway, once we zero in on the exact location, two things are going to happen simultaneously. One, Brad is going to distract from the front. He’s going to call Manuel out to the front porch and talk to him. Then, you and I, and other NCA agents, will go in from the back.”

“Me?” I exclaimed. “Why do I have to go in?”

“Because Antoine will trust you,” he said. “He knows that you’re not one of us. He’ll know that he can go with you and be safe.”

“Manuel is going to be watching for me,” I pointed out. “He’s gunning for me.”

“Manuel is going to be thinking that you’re sitting in the passenger seat of Brad’s car, where a UC is going to be sitting in your place. UC is short for—”

“Undercover Officer, yeah, we have those in America, too,” I said, frowning. “So, what, we just go in and get him? After all of that? It’s that easy?”

“Oh, Cassie, It’s not going to be easy.” He put his hand on mine and squeezed it lightly. I stared at it, feeling the warmth of his palm spread across the top of my hand. For a moment, time seemed to suspend itself. Not going to be easy. I looked at him, and he slowly pulled his hand away.

“No,” I said, pulling my hand into my lap. “No, I won’t do it.” I shook my head.

He regarded me silently. I let silence sit between us, daring him to speak first, while I finished my pint. He didn’t speak. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“You want to throw Brad in like a piece of bait,” I said, trying to keep my voice low. “You want to set him up to walk right up to fucking Manuel’s front door and, what, say ‘Hi, could I please have my son back?’ I mean, are you fucking joking? And we go in from the back all stealth and shit? What exactly is Brad supposed to say to keep Manuel distracted for long enough for us to get in there and get Antoine?

“And,” I continued, just warming up with the ridiculousness of Julian’s plan, “you’re just assuming that Antoine, a boy who has been traumatized for years is going to what, just go with me? Because I tell him I’m a friend of his daddy’s? Are you for fucking real?”

I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms, not even looking at Julian. Frankly, by that point in the day I’d already had my fill of stupid men. Then, of course, I remembered that I had been the one to call Julian, not the other way around.

“Listen, Cassie, I’ve done this sort of thing before. I know it’s out of your wheelhouse, but, you have to trust that I do this sort of thing all the time. Criminals are not smart. We give them a lot more credit than they deserve. They’re easy to confuse, double cross. We get them thinking one thing, and then we turn it around on them; that’s all.”

He looked at me and smiled, reached his hand out for mine again. I looked at his palm, open on the table, and shook my head.

“I think I should go,” I said. “What do I owe you for the pint?”

“Nothing, Cassie,” Julian said, frustration, for the first time, present in his voice. “You don’t owe me anything. But, please reconsider. This plan is only truly possible if you participate. Manuel has to believe you’re there. He has to believe you’re with us. He has eyes and ears everywhere. If you’re at Legacy, he’ll know. If you’re at Brad’s house, he’ll know. The only way to keep Brad, yourself, and Antoine safe is to follow the plan.”

I stood up, my head full of thoughts, scenarios, what-ifs. I shook my head and turned to walk out the door.

“Wait,” Julian said. “Let me walk you to the tube.”

I turned and walked, giving him the option to catch up with me, which he did. I didn’t speak. We walked side by side, sometimes bumping into each other if our steps got too close. In spite of how angry I was with the entire situation, when he nudged me hard, on purpose, I giggled.

“Stop it, klutz!” I said. “I’ll run you into the road.”

He turned, suddenly, and was in front of me.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Cassie,” he said. He stood in front of me with his hands in his pockets, his cheeks alive with energy and excitement, a shy grin on his face.

I couldn’t help but smile in return. When I did, I must have leaned my chin forward, done something to suggest that I was receptive to his flirtation. Who knows, maybe, at some level, I was receptive. We locked eyes, and he moved in closer to me. Took his hands out of his pockets. My mouth was open, and he wrapped his arms around me, brought me in for a kiss….

I turned my face away and buried it into his coat collar. He kissed the side of my head. I closed my eyes.

“I can’t do that,” I whispered. I had my arms around him, my heart pounding in my chest.

“I know,” he said, continuing to hold me. “I know you can’t. I can’t either. I don’t know what just happened there.”

“Two pints, chugged fast,” I said, smiling and pulling away. I looked at him and winked, no hard feelings. “It’s what happens, right?”

He looked at me curiously, then nodded. “Right,” he said. “Okay, then.” He turned and walked me the rest of the way to the tube station, then made sure I got on. “I’ll be in touch with you, Cassie. I promise. And, remember, Brad cannot know that you’re going to be a part of the operation. If he thinks you’re in danger, he’ll abort the whole thing.”

I nodded. “Tight-lipped.”

“Journalist,” he said, nodding.

Brad

Things moved fast after I met with Antoine. He got me in contact with an NCA agent, Julian, who had done a lot of work on the case with Patrick Shim, before Patrick’s demise. With Simon confirming that, by her GPS, Cassie appeared to be doing some shopping in central London, I texted Julian and set up a meeting with him at Legacy.

He was there within an hour. My secretary let him in, and I ushered him to have a seat. First impression was that the NCA must buy all of their agents from the same catalogue; Julian bore a striking resemblance to Patrick. “Agent Boran,” I said, gesturing for him to sit. “Thank you for coming in.”

“My pleasure,” He said. He took a thick file from his briefcase and set it on my desk.

“My understanding,” I said, “is that you had been in contact with Patrick about my son and his case, his abduction so many years ago, and the death of my fiancée, Lorinda.”

“Yes,” Julian said. “And Patrick had a plan, that, unfortunately, he wasn’t able to execute properly. Before he died, he shared with me everything that he knew. He gave me his passwords, he gave me all of his information about Cassie, and,” he cleared his throat, “he gave me all of the information he knew about you.”

“So,” I said, “after all of this is completed, you’re probably going to arrest me and I’ll never see the light of day again,” I said. My voice was grim, but the reality was true.

“That remains to be seen,” Julian said. “You are, forgive me, a somewhat small fish in a large pond. You’re definitely not innocent, but the NCA has discussed using you as an informant, possibly granting immunity, if the information we get from you contributes to the capture of Manuel Brown and the man he answers to.”

I arched my eyebrows. “The man Manuel Brown answers to?” I said incredulously.

“Yes,” Patrick gave me a rueful smile. “Manuel Brown is not the top of the line. He has a boss. Just like you have to answer to him, he answers to someone even more powerful. Even more diabolical.”

“Wow,” I said, sitting back. “Okay, what’s the plan? Let’s assume that, in order to avoid charges, I agree to cooperate?”

Julian smiled, taking a small recorder out of his pocket. “Is it all right if I record this portion?”

My stomach jolted with anxiety over my words being recorded, possibly twisted. He saw me hesitate; he waited.

“Yes,” I said. “Go ahead.” I would do anything for Antoine and Cassie.

“We believe we know where your son is, Mr. White. We have it limited to a city block, based on illegal activity that’s been coming from the house, as well as satellite pings that come from that block to all over the world. It’s rare for one city block to have contacts in France, South Africa, Belize, The Congo, Russia, Australia, and others. From a residential city block, that is.”

I nodded. I knew what was coming.”

“So, what’s going to happen here, is, I’m going to show you a series of photographs, and, what I’d like you to do, is identify any of the houses that look familiar. Or, if they all look familiar, then which look more familiar than others.”

I swallowed hard as he began to lay the pictures out in front of me on my mahogany desk. I recognized them all. I recognized them from years ago, to the day when I had seen Antoine looking at me from the living room, calling my name… I shuddered and turned away.

“It’s that one,” I said. “The blue one. It was white when it happened, but it’s definitely that one.”

“Are you sure, Mr. White? I need to remind you, we’re trusting you to a point here, and we’re trusting you a lot out of respect for Cassie and that Patrick didn’t believe you had masterminded all of this. But, if you try to trick us, any deals we discussed will be null.”

“I understand,” I said quickly. “Is that house still there? Is it occupied? Can we go now?” I stood, preparing to get my gear on.

“Slowly, Mr. White,” Julian said. “We have some set up to do around the house. We want to make sure that everyone involved can get in and get out safely. Do you know where Cassie is right now?”

I stopped. “Cassie is not to be a part of this,” I said. “I have some eyes on her; I believe she’s in central London doing some shopping today. She is not to be anywhere near this. She’s involved, and I’m out.” I stood behind my desk, my coat in my hand, showing Julian that, if that was the case, the plan ended here.

“I promise,” Julian said. “Cassie will not be involved. The last thing we want is a civilian involved, especially one who is so convinced that she has inside information. Both Patrick and I agreed on that. She’s strong, smart, and savvy, but, like I’m sure you know, she was unable to prevent herself from being abducted by an infidel. We can’t take the change of having extra people around who could put themselves, us, or your son, Antoine, in danger. So, rest assured, she will be safe.”

I relaxed, and I knew my relief was written all over my face. “Okay, then,” I said. “Tell me what I need to do.”

“Get your piece, your vest, and get something of your son’s that he will be able to use to identify you as his father. I’ve been amassing my men in a perimeter around the block since early this morning. Now that you’ve ID’ed the house, we’ll be able to close in quickly. With any luck at all, Mr. White, we’ll have your son in your arms by the end of the day.”

Cassie

I sat in the back of the car with Julian, feeling my heart pounding so loud in my chest I was convinced everyone in a three mile radius could hear it. I ducked down whenever I heard another car pass, not knowing if it was someone who lived in the neighborhood, or if it was someone related to Manuel Brown and the raid that was about to take place.

I had no idea, and I didn’t want to know, how everything was going to happen. Julian had told me that we would pull up into the back drive of the house, driving through an alley that separated one set of houses from another. The alley was blocked off, supposedly for construction, yet it was blocked for us.

There was another car parked out front with an undercover officer who was approximately my height and build, cruising up and down the street. Bait number one.

I hadn’t been in contact with Brad, but Julian had told me that he’d agreed with the plan, had agreed with me participating. I couldn’t believe how Julian had managed to convince Brad that I should be allowed to help, but I wasn’t going to question it too much. The whole point was, I was in the action. Brad was close by, and, with any luck at all, we would have Antoine back in Brad’s arms by the end of the day.

Julian was speaking into his phone. “Everyone is getting into position. The perimeter is nearly three miles long, so we’ll need to watch for civilians. Look for the signals. Don’t shoot until you’re absolutely sure of looking at. Do you hear me on that?”

There was a lot of static coming through Julian’s speaker, then several “Yes, Sir,” responses.

“Let me know when Mr. White and his car have approached.”

At the sound of Brad’s name, my nerves shot through my body. I must have made a noise, because Julian looked into the back seat. “Are you okay?” he asked. I nodded.

“Who’s driving the car with the UC?” I asked.

“One of our best,” Julian said. “Nothing is going to happen to her, either.”

There was the sound of a horn honking, a distinct pattern, and Julian cleared his throat, straightened up in his seat, and gripped the steering wheel. “Okay, here we go. Duck down, and when I tell you to get out of the car, get out of the car and stay low, okay? I’ll be right behind you.”

The horn honked again, and this time, rather than slowly rolling along the alley, Julian revved and gunned the engine. He squealed the tires and pulled into a driveway of a yellow house. I could see the blue house, our target, a few houses down.

“Now!” he called, and he opened his door, gun out. I opened the back door and rolled out, using the truck as protection as I came around to his side of the car. He made eye contact with me and he waved his gun at two cars parked in the alley, black with one light blue door, symbols of neutral cars to us. I nodded.

We crawled toward the back yard of the blue house. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I was going to throw up, but I kept going. Suddenly, shots were fired. Everyone started yelling, and the door to one of the black and blue cars opened. Julian grabbed me by the back of my shirt and picked me up off the ground before I’d even realized what had happened. He stuffed us both into the back seat and ducked us down.

“What the fuck happened!” he yelled into his cell phone, using it like a walkie-talkie.

“Some random uniform drove by,” a man answered breathlessly. “Nearly shot the whole plan to shit, fucking ass.”

“What’s happening?” Julian screamed. I’d never seen him so angry; his face was cherry red, nearly to bursting, veins in his head and neck pulsing. This meant something more to him than it did to the other cops; it meant, for whatever reason, as much to him as it meant to Brad and me.

“It’s cool, Boss,” the other voice said. “There was no response from the blue house. Makes me wonder if maybe we got them on a day when there’s no one home. We might have gotten lucky and they just left Antoine in the basement while they went to conduct business.”

“Yeah, and maybe the Queen Mum is sitting in the dining room waiting to serve us tea and crumpets,” Julian sneered. “Stay with the plan. And, for fuck’s sake, I want this area cleared!” he roared. “Cleared! Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” the voice, chastised, clicked off of the phone.

“Fucking imbiciles,” Julian muttered. The man sitting in the driver’s seat said nothing; it was as though he was not even there. That had to have been by instruction.

Julian nodded, and the man opened the door automatically. Julian stepped out first, then I followed as best I could; my legs felt like jelly.

“This is the hard part,” he said. “We get from here to the back door, we send the signal, and we’re home free.”

I nodded. He looked at me and squeezed my hand. “Are you ready?”

I nodded again. He squeezed my hand, hard, then released it. I heard him slowly count, one, two, three, and then he reared back and kicked the back door open with his foot. It shattered, the wood splintering at the door jamb, and made a noise so loud I couldn’t believe a sleeping God wouldn’t have snapped awake. But, when the dust settled, there was no noise in the house. No noise at all.

I looked at Julian, not sure if that was good or bad. He shrugged and directed me to keep walking. Stick with the plan, no matter what.

We explored the main level of the house, looking for any signs of movement, any signs of a basement. There was commotion going on in the front of the house, on the front lawn. I tried to look through the windows to see if it was Brad, to see if he had managed to suss Manuel out of the house, see if that was what the gunfire was all about. There was action, and, suddenly, more gunfire. I dropped to the floor immediately, but Julian grabbed me and dragged me across the floor. I felt the splinters of the wooden floor jam into my jeans and sweatshirt, and I knew I’d be bloody later. But, those wounds were all fixable.

I scrambled with him toward a door that was open just a crack, a door with a glow of light coming from the opening.

This is it, Julian mouthed to me. I nodded and crawled toward the door, trying to keep one ear open on the commotion going on outside, waiting for the millisecond when everything would change, when the action would come off the street and move into the house.

We didn’t dare turn the basement light on, though the glow of what was coming was hardly enough to see by. Julian had a pencil flashlight that he used to add to the glow. He swung it from one side of the basement to the other. There was obvious evidence that this space had been lived in, and that it had been lived in by a child. Children’s sized clothes, books, and video games were strewn around the center of the room. In the corner, a dirty mattress without sheets lay in the corner. A few inches above the mattress, on the wall, chains had been drilled into the stone of the basement.

Chains that were empty now. There was no one here.

“There’s no one here,” I whispered, not even fully grasping the full danger we were in, not sure my brain had the capacity to grasp it.

“Wait,” Julian said, nodding toward two other closed doors near the mattress. “Stay there.” He walked slowly toward the door. A crash from above made us both wince, and Julian moved faster. He quickly flung open each door. Guns fell out of one, clattering on top of each other at a volume that would have woken the dead, echoing in the small basement. The other door had a padlock.

“Antoine!” Julian cried. “Antoine! Are you in there?” He motioned for me to come to the door and speak.

“Antoine, honey?” I whispered, my voice terrified. “I’m a friend of your daddy’s. Are you in there? We can get you out; we just need to know you’re in there, honey.”

“I’m going to shoot off the lock,” he said.

“They’ll hear us!” I said, pointing up.

“They already know we’re here,” he said. “It’s our only shot. Antoine, stand away from the door, do you hear me? I’m going to shoot it off! Stand back! One, two, three…”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice from behind us startled us both. We whirled around and there stood Mavin Toller. Thought now, I knew him as Manuel Brown. “You blow a hole in that door, and you blow us all to kingdom come.”

“Where’s the boy?” Julian asked.

“Oh he’s long gone,” Manuel said. “I can’t believe you thought you’d just be able to sneak in the back door and grab him. That is what you thought, didn’t you?” He smiled, or, what he meant to be a smile; a spreading of his lips to expose brown, broken teeth.

“Where’s Antoine?” I yelled. “And where’s Brad? What did you do with them?”

Julian held me back as I lunged toward Manuel. Manuel took a step back.

“Control her, Julian,” he said.

“Shut up,” Julian said, “or he’ll kill us both.” He whispered in my ear, tense, just as scared as I was.

“Yes, that’s right, calm her,” Manuel laughed. “Gorge!” he called upstairs. “Come down here and show our new friends some hospitality.” A large man came bumbling down the stairs, carrying rope, tape, and an AK-47.

“You’re too late,” Manuel said. “Once I caught word of your little plan, I moved Antoine to a safer location. He’s happier, there, actually. This will be a very nice place for the two of you to live out your final days.”

“Where’s Brad?” I asked.

“Mr. White is incapacitated for the time being, but, don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be on his way to find you soon. Hopefully, he’ll be able to find his way here in time.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Goodbye, Ms. Young. Goodbye, Agent Boran.” Manuel walked up the stairs and shut the door.

“What did he mean?” I asked Julian.

Julian frowned as Gorge began to tie us together with the ropes.

“He means, there’s a bomb.”

***

I stared at Julian; he stared grimly back at me. Manuel Brown’s words echoed in my mind. This will be a very nice place for the two of you to live out your final days. Hopefully, he’ll be able to find his way here in time. And Julian’s response to my confusion:

“He means, there’s a bomb.”

“You’re very smart,” Gorge said, sneering at Julian. “You must have been straight A student.” His accent was thick, but it wasn’t one I could place. I looked meaningfully at Julian, trying to figure out what our next step was. He wasn’t resisting Gorge tying us up, so I wasn’t resisting either, though, by my count, we should be resisting mightily. Gorge was huge, but surely, between the two of us, Julian and I could take him down.

I tugged on one of the ropes and locked eyes with Julian, trying to signal my thoughts.

“Hey!” Gorge said. “Stop that, you fucking bitch.”

Julian shook his head at me with the slightest movement. I began to mouth my objection, but he slid his eyes toward the door that had the padlock on it. It was the door we’d been ready to shoot open, thinking Antoine was behind it, until Manuel Brown had discovered us. Or, more correctly, Manuel Brown had let us know that he had discovered us.

I stopped. I let my body go slack to indicate I wasn’t going to put up any further resistance.

“That’s better,” Gorge said, picking up his pace with wrapping Julian and me together. By the time he was finished, Julian and I were bound together, face to face, with our hands tied behind our backs. I couldn’t see Julian’s hands, but mine were crossed at the wrists and, each time I tried to pull my wrists apart, like a Chinese finger trap, the ropes got tighter and dug into my arms.

“Stop pulling on the ropes,” Julian whispered as Gorge stepped back, looking at us with his AK-47 in hand. He nodded in satisfaction as he admired his work. Then, he began to walk up the stairs.

“Where are you going?” I yelled. “You can’t leave us here!”

“Bomb soon,” Gorge said. “I’m outta here.” He made the sign of the cross and nodded at us, as if he was giving a final blessing. Then, he walked up the stairs, his heavy frame making each step creak as he trudged up each one. When he reached the top of the stairs, I heard the door open and close. There was the sound of men’s voices, a barrage of them, and then another door slammed and the house was silent.

I looked up and into Julian’s face, less than two inches from my own. If I was taller, or if Julian was shorter, we would have been in a near lip lock.

“So, this is awkward,” I said. It was no time to be funny, I knew, but I couldn’t help at least trying. Why Gorge had bound us facing each other and not back to back, I had no idea. But, Julian knew exactly why he had done it that way.

“He bound us front to front so that he could manipulate the ropes in a certain way. If you pull your wrists tighter, the ropes on my wrists loosen slightly, enough to make me feel like I could maybe get loose—if I didn’t know better. The trick is, though, when I try to pull my hands free, the ropes will tighten harder on you. Hard enough to cut off the circulation to your hands, if I force it. If we trade and you try to get loose, the same thing will happen to me.”

I winced as he demonstrated. I could see his shoulders moving, and, as they did, my wrists began to burn and my hands pulsed with the blood pressure locking into them.

“I get it,” I said. “So, how do we get free? If they’re right and there’s a fucking bomb down here, we need to get the fuck out.”

“Agreed,” he said, but he didn’t move.

“Well?” I demanded.

He pulled his neck back and glared down at me, his chin jutting back. “Well what?” he said. “Why do I have to have all the ideas here?”

“Do I really need to answer that?” I asked. “Aren’t you a fucking cop?”

He sighed. “Yes. And you’re a nosy journalist who had absolutely no business getting involved in this situation in the first place, and was, I believe, warned by at least three people to stay away and insisted on involving herself anyway.”

“And lucky for you,” I snapped, “or they probably would have shot you on the spot.”

Julian shook his head. I had him, and he knew it. The trouble was none of that mattered. I glanced at the padlocked door and a bolt of fear ran through me. He felt it, and his eyes softened.

“We can’t argue with each other,” he said. “We don’t have time, and it’s liable to get us killed. Did you happen to notice if Gorge had anything other than the rope in his hands at any time while he was tying us up?”

“I didn’t notice,” I said, knowing my voice was testier than I meant for it to be. “I was too busy, you know, being tied up.” I added, when I saw the look on his face, “Why?”

“It’s likely that the detonator for the bomb is in one of three places. It’s either on the padlock, like Manuel Brown suggested, or it could be on a remote control.”

“And the third option?” I asked, hearing dread in my voice. I knew where he was going.

“It’s also possible that he attached the detonator to one of us while he was tying us up. So that, if we did end up getting free, we would blow ourselves up in the process.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. I could feel sweat dripping between my breasts. I looked at Julian’s temples and saw beads of sweat there as well. At once, I had the ludicrous thought that the bomb might be able to be set off by beads of sweat, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from bursting out laughing. “No, that’s not possible. We would have noticed.”

“The trouble is,” Julian said, “there’s no way to know for sure until we’re freed. We can free ourselves fairly easily, but… we may not be alive long enough to see ourselves actually untied.”

“What do you mean we can do it easily?” I asked.

Julian nodded toward me, but his gaze was fixed on something over my shoulder. I craned my neck to see what he was looking at.

The basement had been a work room of some sort, and there was a carpenter’s table in the corner with a fluorescent light over it, providing the majority of light in the room that wasn’t coming from a squat window near the ceiling of the other side of the room. On the table sat a number of tools, any one of which, I realized, could be used to fray or cut the rope enough that we would be able to, though painfully, separate ourselves from one another.

“Well, that was stupid of them,” I said, “leaving all of those tools there.”

“Or it’s bait,” he said, his mouth set in an ugly frown. “They’re there so that we have this exact conversation, and think we’re just going to cut ourselves loose and be on our way.”

“Why not just kill us?” I said. “If that’s Manuel Brown’s intention, why go through the mind game of letting us think we’re going to get away? Why take the chance that we actually could get away? I mean,” I continued, my stomach filling with dread as I heard the words in my mind before I said them out loud, “you’re basically saying we’re dead right now. That there’s a bomb detonator on one of us, and the only reason we’re alive right now is because we’ve been talking and not escaping.”

“He didn’t kill us because he likes the mind game,” Julian said in a flat voice. “Why do you think he kept Brad’s son for so long? He doesn’t like to kill people because he doesn’t want blood on his hands, but, more than that, he likes to fuck with people. He lives to fuck with people.”

I felt a drop of sweat fall from Julian’s cheek onto my collarbone. I tried to shrug it off as it tickled my shoulder, watching Julian’s eyes watching it move.

“We have to try,” I said. “We… just have to try.”

“I agree,” Julian said. His arms were already wrapped around me, but he tightened them and I felt the ropes loosen on my wrists. “Space your feet so that one is between mine and the other is on the outside. Let’s move slowly; no sense blowing up before we need to.”

I looked at him sharply.

“What,” he said, “you’re the only one allowed to make a joke?”

“That wasn’t funny,” I said. I looked at his chin because looking into his eyes was far too intimate, far too charged, especially in our current situation. We began to move, and I imagined that if anyone saw us from the outside, we would look like a couple very into one another slow dancing in our basement.

We found a rhythm and moved toward the table. I scanned the table looking for something like a saw, but, of course, it wasn’t going to be that easy.

“There’s an ax,” Julian observed, nodding over my shoulder.

“You want to chop us apart?” I asked. “Without detonating a bomb that may be attached to us?”

“Well, do you have a better idea?” he shot back.

I looked at the tools on the table. “There’s a flat head screwdriver,” I said. “We could use it to fray the rope bits apart.”

“And, if we had a week, that would be a great idea. My guess is we’re on something of a time limit here, though I don’t know how long.”

I nodded, my stomach sinking. He was right, of course. “If you use the ax, how are you going to use it?” I asked.

He thought for a moment, and I watched his eyes as the thoughts moved across them.

“We’re going to hope it’s incredibly sharp,” he said. “And, hopefully, we won’t need to actually chop anything; we’ll be able to slide the blade through. If the detonator isn’t being held by our stomachs or our wrists, we should break apart quickly.”

“And if it’s dull? Or the detonator is on us?” I asked.

He shrugged, giving me the look that said I knew exactly the answer to that question. And, I did. If the detonator was on us, we wouldn’t know if the blade on the ax was dull or not. Not for more than a second.

“Okay,” he said, grabbing the ax. “Are you ready?”

I held my breath, closed my eyes, and nodded.

Brad

My brain re-engaged with a surge of panic before I could even open my eyes. When I did open them, all I saw was blurry shapes that, while they looked familiar, had no place in my memories. I shook my head and spikes of pain moved through my neck and head; I closed my eyes again as nausea rolled through me.

I tried to bring my hand to my head; I felt like holding my temples in my hands might somehow help. But, I couldn’t move my hands. I strained and tugged, but they were stuck at my sides. I took some deep breaths, then tried again, using more strength. I growled out loud, a growl that turned into a frustrated yell as I couldn’t get loose from whatever was holding me down. I collapsed back.

I opened my eyes again and, this time, waited for things to clear in spite of the pounding, sickening pain in my skull. I focused on one object at a time until it became a little more clear. Then I moved onto another, then another. I saw a rug on what appeared to be a hardwood floor. I saw a sectional couch. Gradually, I began to realize I was home. Not at my house, but at my suite at London Legacy. When I had an idea of where I was, the images began to sharpen faster. I looked down at myself. I was tied down to one of my dining room chairs, my forearms bound to the chair arms, and my legs bound to the front two legs of the chair. My ribs were bound to the back, explaining why even the deep breaths I thought I was taking weren’t helping me much.

I turned my head toward the door and, once again, pain splintered through my head. I had a concussion, almost certainly. The question was, who had done this? And, more importantly, was that person still in my suite? This thought sent my heart into a pounding dance and I held my breath, listening for any sound, trying to feel for any sensation, anything that didn’t belong in my room. The place sounded empty, deserted.

Cassie. Her name shot into my mind, and I remembered everything. The failed raid, the UC that had stood in Cassie’s place. How everything had fallen apart when we realized Manuel Brown had seen us coming a mile away and had taken Antoine… at the thought of my son’s name, my stomach rolled with nausea again. We were right back where we’d started, except I was tied up in my home and Cassie was… Where was Cassie?

I looked toward my bedroom and knew that I had to get to that room, specifically, though it was the furthest space from where I was. I looked around for my cell phone, but somewhere in my gut I knew my phone was long gone. Smashed to bits, probably, by a lackey of Manuel Brown’s.

The chair I’d been tied to was no joke; it was one of the heavier moveable chairs in the suite. I remembered ordering them. Yes, I wanted solid oak, the heavier the better, and yes, I wanted captain’s chairs. Of course the fabric should be heavy, durable, and luxurious. The chair weighed well over a hundred pounds.

Still, I knew I needed to move in the chair to the bedroom where the panic button was hidden, under a lamp, on the side of the bed I typically slept on. I cursed myself for thinking that I’d be able to use my hands in the event of needing to push the button. All sorts of thoughts for modifications, greater safety, voice activation, pushed through my mind and I had to push them back out. Survival first, then technology.

I began to inch my way across the floor. It was slow going, and each centimeter I moved sent shooting pains from my feet to the top of my head. I began to assess my injuries as I moved. A concussion was a given, and possibly an even more significant head injury. The pain in my shoulder suggested a cracked collarbone. The pain each breath caused me meant almost certainly at least one broken rib.

I was sweating, and twice I stopped because I was sure I was going to vomit, but I kept going. Centimeter by centimeter, angry with myself for not being able to move faster, yet feeling like if I did, I might actually die from the efforts. I imagined Cassie or Simon finding me, tipped over on the floor, dead. I shook my head and redoubled my efforts; I couldn’t let that happen.

Hours went by in the time it took me to cross the living room. I could tell by the way the sunlight shifted in the sky. I smiled ruefully as I realized the sun was actually moving faster than I was. As late afternoon arrived, I made it to the bedroom door. I’d thought about tipping myself over and sliding my way over, but I didn’t think I’d be able to get the traction I needed. Still, now, the bedroom presented a new challenge: carpet. I blinked my eyes closed in pure anger and frustration. Small tears mixed with the sweat pouring down my face.

You have to do this, Bradley White. You do not have a choice. You have a son. You’ve done nothing but survive for him since the day he was born, and you will not give up now. Do you hear me? You will not give up. Get your ass moving. It’s carpet, not poisonous snakes. Be the man you are—the leader, the CEO, the billionaire—be everything you are that no one else can be, and get to that button.

Do it now.

I gave myself the usual pep talk I gave myself before walking into mergers, meetings with Manuel Brown, or any other stressful situation in my life, only, this time, I heard it in Cassie’s voice. I saw her passionate, burning eyes, her hair flaring around her shoulders as she waved her hands, punctuating each sentence.

I took a deep breath and moved. If I’d been going a centimeter across the hardwood floor, against the carpet, I moved a millimeter. Sometimes I wasn’t even sure I was moving, but I kept my eyes trained on the lamp. I was sure that I was building enough energy I’d almost be able to push the lamp over with my mind when I got there. My anger turned aggressive and I pushed myself forward hard on the chair. I felt it tip… and I went over on to my left side, landing on my left shoulder with a sharp, painful thud. I heard a snap as my collarbone broke fully, and I saw stars of pain. I laid there until the sun finished moving across the sky and began to set.

Move!

Cassie’s voice, again, sounded in my brain. I opened my eyes and began to, somehow, slither my way across the floor. I shut the pain out, it was so intense, and focused my eyes on Antoine, imagined him sitting on the floor right by the lamp. Telling me that if I could get to him, he would reach up and hit the button and all would be well. We would be together again.

I closed my eyes and I began to move.

When I finally felt the cool leg of the night stand, it was pitch black outside. I leaned my forehead against it and breathed a sigh of relief while the cool wood soothed my head for a moment. I looked up. The lamp looked like it was a thousand miles up in the air. I tried to pull my hands loose and screamed at the pain in my shoulder. I tried to pull one of my legs loose, but they were still bound so tightly to the chair legs I couldn’t even turn my ankle. I couldn’t imagine what my feet must look like after being tied that tightly.

I stared at the lamp on the table, letting my brain process what to do. The cord, which I had painted to blend in against the wall, came clearly into my vision, and I smiled. A life line.

I shifted over a few more inches, the only thing saving me from passing out from pain was the imagination of the lamp hitting the ground, hopefully close enough to my fingers to be able to press the button. I got close and reached out with the only grabbing tool I had at my disposal: my mouth. I wrapped my tongue and teeth around the cord, and I jerked my neck sharply to the right, knowing the pain that would come would be enough to probably make me pass out.

The lamp fell to the floor in front of me, barely missing smashing my skull for at least the second time that day. I smiled and stared at the red button, solidly attached to the bottom of the lamp base. I reached out to press it with my tongue… and I couldn’t reach it.

“Fucking fuck!” I screamed in pain and anger. I shifted my body, now ignoring the feeling of my actual bones shifting in my body as I moved against them, and, from sheer rage, I shot my tongue forward and jammed it against the button.

When I heard the siren sounding in the suite, the siren that indicated the panic button had been activated, I wept. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried for anything other than Antoine, but these tears were involuntary. They fell out of my eyes and I laid there, quietly sobbing, until I heard the yells outside my door and, a moment later, the splintering smash of my door as Simon and Antoine, the two most important protectors I had, burst through it.

“Sir!” Antoine yelled. “Sir, where are you?”

I opened my mouth to answer, to try to yell, but no sound came out.

“In here!” I heard Simon yell, and then, “Call an ambulance, holy shit.” There was a shuffle in the room and then I saw Simon leaning over me, his palms open as if he wanted to touch me, adjust me somehow, but he didn’t know quite how to go about it.

I tried to smile. “The panic button works,” I said.

“Sir, you’re going to be okay. I’m not going to touch you, though; the police are on the way and we’ll get you to a hospital.”

“No,” I said, struggling against the ropes and failing. “Cassie. I need to get to Cassie. No hospital.”

“Is he asking about Cassie?” I heard Antoine’s voice from the doorway to the room. They had turned the lights on and I saw his shadow cast over Simon and me.

Simon nodded, and then he looked back at me.

“Where is she? Is she okay?” I demanded.

“We’re looking or her,” Simon said gently. “And Julian. We think they might still be in the house where the raid took place.”

I looked into Simon’s eyes and knew he was speaking the truth. Then, I heard another rush of voices and everything went black.

Cassie

When I felt the rope loosen on my wrists, I involuntarily drew myself inward to protect myself from the blast to kingdom come I was sure was about to happen. There was silence. I couldn’t even hear my own heart beat or my own breath.

“Did I go deaf?” I whispered. “Was there a blast that killed us?”

“No,” Julian whispered back, his head meeting mine as I dropped my forehead to his shoulder. “No, we’re alive, and we’re free, and we need to get the living fuck out of here before the bomb detonates. We’ve been here for hours; it’s dark out. I don’t know how much time is left, but it can’t be much.”

That pulled me out of my trance, and I could suddenly hear all sounds. Not just my heartbeat or my breath, but I could hear a car engine revving down the street. I could hear mice running through the walls. I could hear the ticking of an alarm clock I suddenly was positive was not an alarm clock.

Julian pulled away from me and we disentangled ourselves from the ropes. They fell to the ground and he grabbed my hand. We tripped-ran up the stairs, but we were stopped short when Julian’s shoulder hit the door at the top of the basement stairs and didn’t push through.

“What the fuck,” he muttered. He tried to push against it again; it didn’t budge. “Step back,” he said to me, and I took three steps down the stairs, giving him room to move. He took two steps back and then began a running start that ended with him smashing into the door as if it was a wall and not a door.

“It doesn’t even sound like it’s going to move!” I said.

“I think they barricaded us in,” he said. “It’s… a technique.”

“For fuck’s sake!” I said. “Can’t we catch a break?”

Suddenly, there was a huge crash from the other side, the sound of splintering wood.

“Get back!” a voice said.

“That sounds like Simon,” I said, and, before I could listen any more closely, the door disintegrated in front of us and Simon and Antoine stood in the doorway peering at Julian and me.

“Thank God,” Simon said, breathing a sigh of relief as soon as he saw us. He reached past Julian toward me, and I was moving toward his embrace when Julian interrupted.

“Let’s not thank God until we’re out of here,” he said, nodding back down the stairs to what he and I had just escaped. “You got in; is there an easy way out?”

Antoine looked confused as he nodded. “Absolutely,” he said. He led us through the living room and out the front door as easy as it could ever be done under the best of circumstances. The fact that it was nighttime, that an entire day, basically, had passed while I’d been trapped with Julian in the basement highlighted that I hadn’t talked to Brad.

“Where is he?” I asked, knowing that who I was talking about wouldn’t be a mystery to anyone standing on the lawn.

I saw Simon and Antoine exchange a look. Julian looked at them with as much curiosity as I had.

“Tell me what happened!” I screeched, the full force of everything that had happened hitting me like a brick wrapped in a sock. “Where is Brad?”

“The hospital,” Simon said dully. “He’s in intensive care. And, he needs to see you.”

I’d like to say that I ran to the car, but, the truth was, I think I literally flew there. A moment after Simon said that Brad was in ICU, I was sitting in the back seat of the car demanding that they drive, fast, to the hospital.

When we got to University College Hospital, the same hospital where I’d visited Patrick, I couldn’t help but notice, I immediately took the elevator to ICU and walked to the same nurses’ station I’d visited the first time I’d visited Patrick.

“Bradley White,” I gasped, out of breath and leaning on the counter. “Where is Bradley White?”

The nurse, maybe the same as before, or maybe not, greeted me with the same attitude I’d come to expect from that hospital.

“Are you family?” she asked, not looking up from her chart.

“Yes!” I said. “I’m his wife! Obviously!” I glared at the woman, but I knew that, if push came to shove, I had nothing on me, not even a ring, to show that I was telling the truth.

She regarded me with one eyebrow raised and sighed. I prepared myself to stand my ground. There was no way I wasn’t going to get in to see him, one nurse or a million nurses. But, as it turned out, I didn’t need to go on the attack.

“He’s in room one. Five minutes. Don’t push me on it.”

I didn’t answer; I ran straight into his room and paused as the silence of the intensive care unit, with its machines and its suction of air permeated my ears.

“Brad,” I whispered, taking in his shattered appearance. He was in a cast from his neck down to as far as I could see, with his left arm held away from his body in a plaster cast and a sling. One of his legs was in traction, and his face was black and blue.

In spite of that, he opened his eyes when he heard my voice.

“Thank God,” he said. “I didn’t think…” He stopped, wincing at the pain moving through his body.

“Shhh,” I said, going to him. “Don’t talk about anything. Don’t speak. Just nod yes or no.” I put my hand on his chest, felt the cool plaster. “Are you in pain?”

He began to answer, but I pressed my finger to his lips and shook my head. He smiled a bit, the corners of his mouth turning up at least, and he shook his head. No, he was not in pain.

“Are you drugged out of your mind?” I asked, smiling a bit.

He nodded yes. Absolutely.

I leaned in and kissed him, pressing my lips to his. I traced his lips with my tongue, pausing for a moment as I heard him groan. Assessed whether that groan was one of pain or pleasure. Then, I continued. I moved my tongue along his jawline, feeling the scruff of his five o’clock shadow, and moved my lips to either side of his adam’s apple as I kissed down his neck.

I stopped shy of where the cast began, and I returned my mouth back to his lips. His lips pressed against mine with an earnest quality, one that suggested that, if he was fully mobile, he’d have me on the floor spread out and pinned down… just how I liked it.

“You rescued me,” I said. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.” I traced his chest, my fingers against the plaster of his cast, as I spoke.

“You rescued yourself,” he said, his voice a raspy whisper. “I was… incapacitated.”

“No,” I insisted. “It was all you.” Was it really? No. I know that, and so did he. But, I also knew that, sometimes, a man needed to know that he had rescued a woman. Especially a man who had been through the wringer like Brad had been. His day…

“Antoine,” he said, as if reading my mind.

“We will get your son back,” I said. I pressed my head to his chest and, as much as the hospital bed would allow, snuggled in to him.

“No, the adult Antoine. We need to talk to him. He knows… he knows how to get my son back. He knows…” Brad’s voice was a struggle. “He knows where the other house is.”

Brad

Being laid up in the hospital was driving me absolutely crazy. I’d never been out of commission like this. Every time I thought I could move, though, maybe even stand up, my body would creak in a way that reminded me, generally with a shooting pain, that I wasn’t in any position to get around.

Simon and Antoine kept me abreast of everything that was happening over the phone while I was in intensive care. After three days, I was moved out of ICU and into a regular room, and then there was a steady stream of activity as Simon, Antoine, Julian and Cassie continued to plan how we were going to get Antoine back.

I looked around our makeshift conference table, with me at the head, of course, in my hospital bed, and I felt confident for the first time. Yes, the police should be in charge of this. But, I also knew that, my whole life, if I’d wanted something done it was up to me to do it. It was how I ran my life.

“So where are we at with Manuel?” I asked Simon. “I’m obviously on his radar now.” I shook my head, knowing that I was in the most tenuous spot I’d ever been with the man who had been holding my child captive for years. Who had killed my fiancée. I was fortunate that Manuel Brown was not an unpredictable man; I knew that he was angry, and I had an idea of what he would do with that anger. I knew that we needed to get Antoine as soon as possible. There was no more time allowance; it was now or never.

“He’s retreated to South Africa,” Simon said grimly. “Presumably for asylum. We have it on good authority that Antoine is still in London, though, and we’re basing our plan on that authority.”

“Who is it?” I snapped. I wasn’t in the mood for unreliable sources.

“It’s me, Sir,” Julian said, speaking up quietly. “I know the building where he’s being kept. I had my men do some recon, and it’s confirmed that he’s there.”

“Building?” I asked. “I was told he was in another house…” My voice trailed off as Antoine shook his head subtly. He’d been wrong.

“He’s in a commercial building downtown,” Julian said confidently. “A warehouse that was, by all accounts, something that you might have used for storage of your… product.” He looked at me as though he’d just reminded himself that I was in this up to my eyeballs and, if we got my son out alive, I’d still be looking at some serious charges myself.

“So you’ve been there?” I said, shifting gently, wincing at the pain that continued to move through my body. “You’ve been there, and it’s possible to get him out?”

“It’s possible,” Simon said, stepping back into the conversation.

“So what are we waiting for?” I said. I gazed out at the gathering of people and felt every inch the CEO I was; I felt, maybe for the first time, like I was in absolute power. Even from a hospital bed, everyone here was operating for my best interests because my best interests provided for their best interests.

“We’re waiting for the go ahead from you,” Antoine said. “Are we clear to move in tonight?”

“Yes!” I snapped, waving my hand at all of them. A wave of irritation and frustration moved through me. The doctor had said that the medications I was on would make my moods somewhat unpredictable. “I’m about to get out of this bed and go with you.”

“That would be significantly against medical advice,” Cassie said. “Please, honey.” I looked at her and softened as her eyes caught mine, pleading. “Just let us do this. I’ll get Antoine. I’ll make sure he’s in my arms and safe, and I’ll bring him straight to you. Trust me.”

I looked at Cassie and a wave of warmth moved through me. She had grown in the time I’d known her from what I thought would be a one night stand into the woman I wanted on my arm, in public, in private, in business and in pleasure. Still… I couldn’t quite let her know that. Not yet.

“I’ll trust you when I see my son in one piece,” I said, my voice cracking. “Just get him to me. We don’t have much time.”

Cassie, Simon, Antoine, and Julian filed out of the room and took with them all the hope I had in the world to get my son back.

Cassie

We stood outside the warehouse, watching and waiting. Julian had called in reinforcements from the NCA, and the entire warehouse was covered from top to bottom. The NCA was watching from across the street as well, rifles trained on the windows and doors. I looked around, my heart pounding in my throat. I stifled a nervous laugh; the sound caught in my throat like I was choking.

“Are you okay?” Julian asked. He looked at me with a critically caring eye. I felt, when he looked at me like that, that he could see right through me. There was no denying that Julian and I were somewhat drawn to each other. In another life, a life in which Brad did not exist, Julian and I might have a chance. Of course, I reasoned, in a life in which Brad did not exist, Julian and I would never have met.

“I’m fine,” I said quietly, trying to steady my voice. “I just feel like I’m on the set of a movie. I have to keep reminding myself that this is the real deal. That those guns are loaded and that the good guy doesn’t always win.”

“The good guy always wins,” Julian said. “It’s in the movies that they don’t. Why else would you watch if you didn’t have some doubt?” He smiled and squeezed my hand. “This is under control. It’s dangerous, yes, but it’s not going to be dangerous for you or for Antoine; it’s only going to be dangerous for whoever is standing guard over that little boy.”

I knew he was lying, and I spread my lips in a semblance of a smile, letting him know that I at least appreciated his efforts. He was about to say something when a voice began to squawk into an intercom he had on his shoulder.

“Go,” he said into it. He looked at me and nodded. “Are you ready? Do you remember everything we talked about?”

I nodded. “Wait for your signal, go straight for the door you’re standing by. When you open it, get inside, grab Antoine, and get him the fuck out of there.” That wasn’t exactly what Julian had told me, but I hoped it was close enough.

It was. He nodded. “If you hear gunfire, drop where you are. Put your hands over your head and make yourself as flat on the floor as you can. I’ll find you and let you know when you can move again.”

I nodded and gulped, the tension rising in my ears as a ringing, screeching sound. I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to clear the sounds.

Julian reached out and took me by my upper arms, faced me to him, looked into my eyes from about an inch away. “If you can’t do this, that’s okay, just tell me. No one expects you to—”

“I’m fine,” I said loudly, pushing him away. I didn’t want to hear about how I wasn’t a cop and no one was expecting me to help rescue Antoine. I felt like I had been living my life, every moment, to save this little boy, to reunite him with his father, the love of my life. “Let’s just fucking go.”

Julian nodded, said something low into the intercom, and he turned to walk toward the side door that had been cleared for our entrance. He led, and I followed. I’d looked at the blueprints of the building and knew that we were going to be taking steps down to the basement, which had been converted into an apartment for at least one of Manuel’s men. He drew his gun and motioned for me to go ahead. I took a deep breath and stepped forward.

Immediately, I was covered on all sides by Julian’s men. I saw them, felt them, knew they were there to protect me. I walked down the steps, my ears tuned in to any sound that I didn’t recognize, any sound that seemed out of place. I rounded the corner and finished walking down the stairs. Julian motioned for me to stop. Another NCA agent stood in front of the door, lifted three fingers to count 1, 2, 3, then he flung it open. The room looked like a normal entrance to an apartment. I waited for the signal from Julian.

He opened his mouth and began to motion for me to go inside. I took a step. Then, I heard gunfire, saw fire coming out of the apartment like fireworks. Shouts, “Get down!” mixing with gunfire overtook my senses and I dropped to the ground.

I put my hands over my head and curled up into a ball, trying to protect myself in the only way I knew how. I winced as the gunfire continued, feeling tears squeeze out of my eyes as I covered my ears with my hands.

A few moments later, the gunfire began to sound more distant.

“Cassie! Go! Go right now! Go!” Julian’s voice was like a spring and I burst forward into the apartment even before my eyes were fully open.

“Antoine!” I whispered loudly. “Antoine! I’m a friend of your dad’s. You’re safe. Antoine! Where are you, honey? I’m a friend of your dad’s. You’re safe.” Julian had told me to keep repeating the same phrases over and over, and that’s what I did. I searched each of the rooms quickly, half expecting Antoine to be standing in the middle of the room waiting to be rescued. I wasn’t thinking.

“Do you have him?” Julian yelled. “We don’t have much more time!”

“He’s not here!” I yelled back.

“Check the closets, Cassie; he’s not going to be having a picnic on the floor!”

I began to fling doors open, every closed door I could see. I entered one of the bedrooms and pulled open the closet door. I gasped.

“You’re here. Antoine. I’m a friend of your dad’s. You’re safe.”

A small boy, far smaller than I knew his age to be, emaciated, bruised, looked at me with huge, white eyes.

“Mr. Brown?” he asked quietly. “Did Mr. Brown send you?”

“No, Antoine,” I said. I dropped down to my knees so I could look into his eyes. “I’m a friend of your daddy. My name is Cassie. Your daddy sent me to bring you to him.”

“Where’s my dad?” he asked.

“Come on, Cassie!” Julian roared. Both Antoine and I looked toward the door, at shadows moving by.

“Come on, Antoine,” I said, scrambling up and grabbing him by the hand. “I’ll answer all of your questions when we get out of here.”

I pulled Antoine so hard I thought I was going to take his arm out of its socket, but he hung with me, catching up whenever his body threatened to hold him back from keeping pace with me. We burst out through the apartment doorway and stood in the brightly lit stairwell. I looked around. Bullet holes riddled the walls, but there was no blood, and there were no bodies. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

Julian rushed to us and took us both into his arms. “Good,” he said. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

***

I walked into the living room carrying a tray with two bowls of soup, a plate holding two slices of buttered toast, and two tall glasses of milk on it.

“Who’s hungry?” I asked.

“Me!” Antoine said, running to me and almost making me drop the tray as he crashed into my legs.

“Easy there, sport,” Brad said from the couch. He smiled at me. I winked at him, the grin on my face so wide it was almost painful. I set the tray down on the coffee table in front of where Brad was sitting on the couch. Antoine sat next to his dad and they began to eat.

Brad’s condition was improving; he had been home from the hospital for a few weeks, and he was down to just one cast on his arm. Antoine had gained almost fifteen pounds since his rescue, and he was looking more and more like a healthy, normal boy… though the counselor had said that Antoine would need extensive therapeutic treatments.

“Care to join us?” Brad said, holding up a piece of toast. He winked.

“I’m okay, thank you,” I said. “I’ll have my dinner later.” I looked meaningfully at Brad, and he smiled back, understanding exactly what I meant.

We spent the evening quietly together in Brad’s suite. Antoine, for some reason, preferred the suite to Brad’s London home. I thought it was because the suite was smaller. Brad thought that Antoine didn’t like being in houses. Either way, we went wherever Antoine wanted us to go.

After Brad tucked him into bed, he came into the bedroom where I lay in bed, waiting. I’d slipped into a black, silk teddy that I’d gotten earlier that day.

“Surprise,” I said as I watched his eyes drink me in from the tip of my nipples, visible through the fabric, to the apex of my thighs, where my bare labia was covered by a thin layer of mesh.

“I guess I’m having my dessert now,” he said, moving slowly to slip beside me underneath the sheets.

“Eat up, my love,” I said. “You’ve earned it.”

He gently, with his good hand, slipped the straps of the teddy off my shoulders and began to kiss my exposed nipples. I felt a shiver move through me as his tongue flicked over each hard nub. His hands began to massage my stomach and hips as he positioned himself over me.

Brad had never been big into foreplay, but since we’d gotten home with Antoine, he was a different man. He seemed more complete. He seemed like he wanted nothing more than to make time slow down, to luxuriate in everything around him—including me.

He began to kiss his way down my stomach, undoing the front of the teddy and letting it fall to the sides. He slipped a finger under the elastic of the black panties and pulled them gently down my legs.

He was hard, and, though I knew he was prepared to take his time with me, I was hungry for him. Hungrier than I’d felt in a long time. He was hard, pulsing, ready, and I brought him to me, spreading my legs and wrapping my calves around his hips.

“Hello there,” he said, a coy smile on his face.

“Hello, Daddy,” I said. “Come on in.” I widened my legs and drew his cock into me, feeling an energetic surge move through me. He began to thrust, and, as we settled into a rhythm, I sighed in pleasure. From Belize to here and everywhere in between, I finally had a place to call home.

The End