“Who the hell are those guys?” he demands.
Rival assholes,I think, but don’t say anything. He knows how this game is played. Instead, I focus on driving. When we reach the exit, I hit the remote and the gate begins to rumble up. The moment I begin to think our pursuers may have given up, two men step into view, guns raised. I’m not sure who they think they are—or if they just think I’m an easy target—but I’m not messing around.
“Buckle up!” I yell to Ryder who’s already grabbing his seatbelt and snapping it into place.
He lets out a curse as I slam my foot down on the accelerator and the car roars forward. Bullets fly, and Ryder drops forward for cover, but I don’t flinch. Staying upright, I keep my eyes on the two assholes ahead, curbing my desire to smile at them when they dive for cover as we shoot out of the garage like we’ve just been launched from a cannon.
Wheels squealing and smoking on the pavement, I yank the wheel hard and hit the gas.Time to vacate the premises.
Ryder pops up, spinning in his seat and looking out the back window. Then he drops back down and eyes me closely. “Nice driving.”
“Thanks.”
“They did have guns, you know. Or did you miss that little fact?”
“I didn’t miss your sarcastic tone.” I pat the dashboard. “My baby is bulletproof.”
“Really?” He arches impressive brows then looks over the car appreciatively. “Dammit, I knew I should’ve gotten one of these.”
I chuckle. “I’m sure you can afford it, Moneybags.”
“What makes you think I’m so loaded?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Word on the street is your family owns diamond mines.” When he doesn’t respond, I glance over. “That tends to multiply the zeroes in a person’s bank account.”
“My parents own them.” He hesitates, then adds, “I only own one.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Most men like to brag about how much money they have, not downplay the fact.”
“I don’t hide who I am,” he states, sending me a look inferring I do. I suppose I deserve it because it’s definitely true.
“You’re very interesting. Not what I expected.” I sound surprised, even to myself. To be honest, I was expecting a spoiled, entitled, whiny little rich boy. Not an interesting, confident, intelligent man.
“Right back at you.”
Neither of us says anything for a few moments, and I’m lost in thought about our narrow escape. I stop at a red light and use the brief seconds it provides to get my mind back in the game. “So where do you live? We need to pick up whatever gear you need, and then we’re heading straight to the airport. Our flight should be ready soon.”
“I assume we’re going to Austria?” He slants me a look.
“Vienna, Austria,” I confirm.
Ryder lives in an upscale Washington Park neighborhood. Better known as Wash Park, it’s the place you take visitors when you want to show the city off. It’s a very pricey part of town with locally-owned boutiques, bars and restaurants, but also lots of scenic beauty, including a lake and endless trails.
We roll down a tree-lined street, and he points out a large brick house at the end of the block. I stop the car and look at the beautiful home, whistling under my breath. “Nice digs, Moneybags.”
“Would you stop calling me that, Miss I-drive-a-Vanquish? And don’t think for even a moment that I believe you actually live in something resembling that little hovel you called a safehouse.”
“While that is true,” I acknowledge, getting out of the car, “I do not, nor have I ever, owned a diamond mine. You win.”
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t respond. He knows there’s not much that can beat that. It’s like when you’re playing poker and holding a straight flush. Of course, someone at the table might be holding a royal flush, but the odds are definitely in your favor to win.
It’s a ridiculously beautiful home, and I love how the entire left side is three levels of floor-to-ceiling windows. The view of the mountains must be incredible from those upper levels. I try not to let my jaw drop as I follow him inside. Of course, it’s absolutely luxurious. But it feels… cold. Unlived in. Like he hired a top interior designer, and not one piece has any personal relevance or story or memory.
“Give me ten minutes,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “Make yourself comfortable. And be aware, there are cameras everywhere.”
A flash of annoyance makes me abruptly look up from the stack of neatly-arranged books on an end table, and my gaze flicks over the room, searching for cams. “What? You think I’m going to steal something?”
“No,” he answers easily. “Just don’t want you to find one and think I’m watching you. Even though it is tempting.” He gives me a chin tilt and mischievous smirk before ambling off.
