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“Took you long enough,” she managed to wheeze. “Where the hell was Greer’s security? He has cameras every other fucking foot and no one saw this?”
She could feel the anger beginning to burn in her fast and hot. If he wanted her dead that bad, why not just use a bullet?
“The security force was called to check an intrusion on the other side of the property.” Raymond and Myron stepped into the corridor. “We had a break in the fence. A young boy who had been hired to distract us. Supposedly so your good friend Alberto could sneak in to see his girlfriend.”
She glared at the two men. “Someone hired him, told him where I was.” She moved to her feet as John wrapped his arm around her and lifted her against him. “It had to have been someone here.”
They looked at each other, frowned, then turned back to her.
“No one involved in our special negotiations would have done this,” Myron informed her. “They would have known better. Warbucks doesn’t want you dead, Bailey. As you yourself know, there’s no desire to see your vast holdings left to charity. Why else would an order have been given to Orion to keep you alive?”
Myron made the statement so casually. As though the death of her parents meant nothing, whereas her own would mean a loss of financial holdings.
“I’ll find out who it was,” John stated. “Travis will question Alberto before dumping his body where it will serve as the best message to anyone else stupid enough to threaten me or mine.”
Could a man’s tone, or his words, more clearly declare ownership? Bailey shot him a glare beneath her lashes. She didn’t belong to anyone, least of all an arrogant “dead” man who had no intentions of sticking around once his mission was complete.
“You trust your man in this, then?” Myron asked. “We could have taken care of it here.”
“You didn’t take care of your security, gentlemen,” he snarled. “I’m beginning to doubt the safekeeping of any item my clients may purchase as well. You can’t ensure the safety of your guests.”
With that, he lifted Bailey into his arms, carrying her as though her leg had been sliced off rather than her arm scratched deeply.
She’d actually come out of this little fight much better than she had expected to, she told herself. She was still alive. She might not need stitches. She was still breathing and John was rabid with anger and concern.
What more could a woman want?
Pain shot through her, perhaps mockingly, as the slice in her arm throbbed. She let herself relax in John’s embrace, though, and allowed him to slip her through the back of the house and up the stairs to their room.
Guests were none the wiser, and hopefully there would be no gossip to take care of later. If she could just get through this, get the wound cleaned and bandaged, then she should be good to go. At least until the next attack. Damn, she could use a vacation.
“From now on, you don’t enter that garden,” John ordered roughly as he laid her on the bed. “Understood?”
“Yes, boss,” she murmured mockingly as the door opened again.
Looking up again she watched, her expression closed, as Jerric Abbas and his rumored lover, Catalina Lamont, entered the bedroom and closed the door behind them.
“Is she all right?” Jerric asked quietly, his voice, his manner calm and unfeeling.
Bailey felt tears come to her eyes. How like David he still was, despite his attempts to appear otherwise. The same look in his eyes, the same tight controlled line of his lips when concerned.
She remembered that same look on his face when she had trained with the Mossad during her first year with the CIA. Each time she’d been hurt he’d carried the weight of it, as though he blamed himself.
“I’m fine, just a little scratched,” she told him, wincing as John moved back to her and tore off the one sleeve of her T-shirt.
“Stitches?” Catalina moved closer. “Is Greer or his henchman sending a surgeon?”
“A surgeon?” Bailey muttered. “It’s a scratch.”
“It requires stitches,” John informed her tightly as he jerked his cell phone from his pants.
Hitting speed dial, he waited a second before saying, “She needs stitches.” He listened to whatever the response was on the other line before flipping the phone closed and shoved it back into the clip.
“Greer already has someone on the way,” he stated, his voice low.
“Probably a butcher.” Bailey groaned as she turned and stared at the wound, frowning. “It’s not that bad. Some salve and a bandage and I’ll be good to go.”
“Stop being so stubborn.” It was Jerric who voiced the order, his tone as commanding as any general’s. “The wound needs proper care no matter your . . . feelings.”
