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She managed a smile. “I just hope it’s coming. I just pray you’ll come back.”
The fear in her was burning bright in her eyes, so scared.
It gave me a pang of need. The need to protect, and reassure and love her. The whole concept was still alien to me, but so fierce. So raw.
I held her so fucking tightly, I almost crushed her in my arms.
She breathed against my shirt so shallowly, a beautiful angel holding me tight right back.
“Please come back to me,” she whispered.
“I’ll be giving my everything to come back to you,” I told her.
I didn’t want to run through a big list of what she must do if I didn’t make it back. I didn’t want to dwell on the potential fatality of my plans enough to go through the fake identities and the cash cards and the funds she’d most definitely find access to in my suitcase if she needed to run away, I just trusted her that she would find a way to stay alive.
I kissed her slow and hard, savoring her mouth like it was my heaven.
“I love you,” I told her, and then I walked away.
I took a breath as I closed the bedroom door behind me and stepped out onto the hotel landing. My shoulders were held firm and my chin was high, holding my Morelli posture grand and true as I made my way down to the lobby.
I asked reception to order me a cab and they did so. I was waiting barely more than five minutes before they pulled up outside the front entrance.
“Canary Wharf,” I told the driver and handed him the address.
“Sure thing, mate,” he said, and his accent had a cheap cockney twang to it that irritated me.
I wasn’t anyone’s mate in this world.
He had the radio on, tapping his steering wheel to tacky pop beats as we made our way across the city. I kept checking the time and we were still on schedule, but there was a sliver—just a sliver—of nerves squirming right down in the depths of my stomach. I didn’t like them. Nerves weren’t anything that belonged in my life.
I had already pulled the tie from my pocket and fastened it before the cab arrived at our destination. Venley Finance. I knew it was a front for a world of other lucrative bullshit, and was fully prepared for the corporate gloss once I paid the driver and stepped right on in.
Sure enough, it was corporate gloss that greeted me. A sprawling lobby with a ridiculously ornate water feature in the center, lit up brightly enough to gloat about its presence.
“I’m here to see Devon Quentin,” I said to the man at the front desk.
I still had the fucking glasses on my face and he didn’t clock who I was, even in my suit.
“Mr. Morton?” he asked, and I nodded, taking hold of whatever bullshit identity Quentin had given them. “He’s on floor fifteen. Meeting room seven.”
I didn’t even thank him, just raised a hand and carried on my way.
The elevator was as glass and pompous as the rest of the building. The voices were posh and British all around me as I arrived at floor fifteen and made my way along to meeting room seven.
I took off the glasses and knocked one single knock at the meeting room door before I stepped on in there, well and truly back to Lucian Morelli as the figures on the other side of the table stood to great me.
Devon Quentin, George Ellis, and a few I didn’t recognize.
They sure recognized me.
It was Devon who spoke first, offering me a handshake which I accepted before he gestured to a seat at the table.
“Lucian Morelli,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
I smirked as I placed my briefcase down on the tabletop, clicking it right on open.
Yes. They were pleased to meet me. I could see it all over their faces, hungry for trade deals and associations.
“Let’s get down to business,” I said.
19
Elaine
I should have been getting used to the feelings of abject fear that hit me when I was waiting for Lucian to return to me, but still they floored me. I paced, worried, thinking, staring at my new cell phone and hoping for something, anything from him.
I had no idea about the people he was meeting up with. I had no idea what they would want from him, or what the meeting would lead to, or if they’d already sold him out to his father back home. I could only hope and pray.
I flicked on the TV and British news was quite different to the US. The stories were about UK politics and football and their National Health Service. My kidnap was just a short snippet, people talking about how investigations were ongoing. Drama, but in no way the drama I was used to. It felt so much quieter here.
