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Now I’m wondering what I’ve got myself into, but for a whole different reason. I’ve been working here for weeks. Why didn’t I know about this monstrous underground space?
When Becker’s hand flexes in mine, I quickly snatch it back, embarrassed, before blindly reaching for the door handle and grappling for a few mindless moments. Becker takes it upon himself to reach over and help me out. ‘Thank you,’ I say quietly, keeping my attention on the section of ceiling slotting back into place as I slowly get out of the car. A hiss of air sounds, and I find my eyes journeying the expanse of white above me, seeing five more sections in the ceiling, all with metal machinery attached. Then my gaze drops to floor level, seeing cars set back from each area. Posh cars. I clock a silver Porsche 911, a black Maserati, a flashy black 5-series BMW, a grey Audi RS7, and I can’t see the final car because it’s hidden beneath a cover. My mind is blown.
My hand waves around senselessly. ‘You like cars?’ I state the obvious like an idiot.
Becker laughs lightly, pressing the button of his key fob. The Ferrari makes a few threatening noises, and it speaks. Actual words come from the car. ‘Alarm engaged,’ Becker mimics, strolling over to a metal cabinet mounted on the wall. When he peeks into a little black dial, the thing just springs right open.
‘Did you bring me to MI5?’ I ask, laughing in disbelief. ‘Hey, you’re not a secret agent, are you?’
He laughs loudly and pushes the cabinet shut once he hangs the keys inside. ‘No, princess, I’m not a secret agent, and this isn’t MI5.’ Slipping his hands into his pockets, he slowly turns towards me, regarding me carefully.
‘What?’ I ask, feeling uncomfortable under his close scrutiny. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘You’ve seen what I deal in.’
My mind mentally places me in the Grand Hall, where a mass of historical treasures live. ‘Antiques,’ I squeak, feeling a little silly for stating the obvious again.
‘And art, and let’s just say there are many people out there who would go to great lengths to get their hands on some of those pieces.’
‘Can’t they just buy them from you?’
He’s laughing again as he wanders across the garage to me. ‘Yes, because everyone I know has a spare million here and there to buy pretty shit.’ His arm rests lightly around my shoulders and encourages me onward.
‘They try to steal from you?’
‘If anyone ever breached the security at The Haven, I’d happily eat my arm. I have the most valuable collection of antiques and art in the world stored here, Eleanor. Each and every piece is like my baby until I find a new owner for it. I don’t sell to any Tom, Dick or Harry, either.’
‘Like Brent Wilson?’
He peeks down at me, smiling. ‘Like Brent Wilson.’
‘You have something Brent wants,’ I say. It’s not a question, just a statement I know to be true, since Brent told me on our date that Becker Hunt has a habit of obtaining things that he wants.
Becker looks at me out the corner of his eye. ‘I think I have a few things Brent wants.’
I let that one slide. He’s being cheeky. I can live with that. ‘Why won’t you sell to him?’ I ask, resisting the urge to snuggle into his side.
‘You’re not for sale.’
‘Becker.’ I shove into him roughly, making him chuckle. He’s relentless, but I’d be lying if I said this affability isn’t charming. ‘Tell me.’
He pulls me back into his side and he kisses the top of my head. He actually pulls me into him and drops his lips to the top of my bloody head. What the fuck was that? ‘I’d rather burn every treasure I have to ashes than sell them to him.’ There’s violence in his tone. Pure, scathing violence.
‘Why?’ I ask quietly.
He looks off into the distance, thoughtful and suddenly uptight. ‘Let’s just say I don’t appreciate his appreciation for antiques.’
‘Then why is he always here?’
‘I like letting him think he might get his smarmy hands on something special.’
I’m even more confused. Hasn’t he got better things to do? ‘Why?’
‘Keep your enemies close, princess,’ he whispers, traces of resentment heavy in his quiet tone. I’ve figured out that Becker and Brent don’t like each other, but enemies? ‘Make a call to Bonhams,’ Becker orders, changing the subject swiftly. ‘Arrange a private viewing for me of their classic car exhibit sometime next week.’
‘Sure,’ I reply as he opens a door for me and gestures me to go through with a gentlemanly sweep of his arm.
I pass him on a small smile and find myself in the corridor of The Haven, just past the sweeping stone staircase that leads to his apartment. When Becker shuts the door behind us, it blends right into the wall. There’s no sign of it being a door. My mouth hangs open. ‘A secret door?’
