Page 19 of Flames of Fortune


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Michael’s house was stunning.We’d left Roy, Stephen, and Tito at the airport where they’d gotten into other cars. Michael put me in one with him and a driver named Henry, although Roy assured me I would see him the next day, for that night we had different security helping us, including Henry, who winked at me.

“Are you taken? Because if you’re not, after Michael’s saved your life or whatever, I’d love to take you out to dinner.”

His boss shot him a look. “Not going to happen.”

“Aww. All the pretty girls…” He paused. “Hold on a second. You’re one of the Redheads. You’re…” He pointed at me. “Not Layla.”

I laughed. “That’s right. I’m not Layla.”

I got in the car, and Michael followed me, shutting the door behind us. He also closed the divider. “He’s new. Maybe not permanent.”

“It’s fine.”

Two hours later, I stared at his house as we approached it. “That is gorgeous.”

“Well, the whole town is a gateway to Sawtooth National Forest. It’s very pretty here.”

He was right. The area helped with the beauty, with jagged peaks offering a breathtaking view in the distance, but his house was stunning. Wooden, like a rustic cabin, but also modern and gorgeous, the property looked vast and gorgeous. In the background, the Sawtooths jutted toward the sky over rolling nearby mountains while a sparkling river carved the land near the house in a wobbling line.

I breathed deeply the fresh mountain air as the breeze kicked up and lifted strands of my hair around my head. I exhaled on a sigh. “How do you ever leave here?”

He stared at me for a long second, somehow even more gorgeous with the wild terrain all around him. “Come in. I’ll show you the house.”

I still marveled at the outside as we entered the home, but inside was modern and bright. A wall of glass opened up to reveal the river outside, over the wide, gray wood-floored space that led to the kitchen. Michael quickly pointed out the living room, the pool outside—despite it likely not being warm enough to swim in currently—and a hot tub. Two hallways branched off the main living area, one that led to his bedroom and the other to three other bedrooms, one of which he offered to me. I didn’t have luggage or anything to bring into the nice room, with its classy beige bedding and matching curtains and attached bathroom.

“We’re secure here,” he told me from the doorway as he watched me examine the small touches everywhere in the room. Fragrant and expensive candles sat on the bedside table, next to a very modern lamp. The whole setup gave cabin vibes, but luxurious cabin for a comfortable getaway. “But you won’t see the security unless it’s an emergency. Well, you might see Roy, Stephen, or Tito. They’re different. More like…family to me, so when they arrive, you’ll probably see them. They like you so much already.” He cleared his throat. “Henry and the others who are here, most of whom are better trained than Henry, will stay outside and watch for trouble. Still, there’s bullet-resistant glass, cameras in every room but the bathrooms…although I won’t watch you in your bedroom, and neither will anyone else unless it’s an emergency. We’re heavily armed, although you won’t notice that, either, and I don’t think the Russians will find us here. Very few people know this place even exists, and I hid it pretty well behind a bunch of corporations in terms of ownership.”

Good to hear, but...“Then what do we do about the Russians?”

“We’ll draw them out elsewhere, and then I either kill them or I’ll have them killed. Power will reset in Russia, but it’ll have nothing to do with you.”

I would bet he could do it, if anyone could. I smiled, amused despite myself, but a sobering thought occurred to me. “It was really hard when it was Hope and they got Layla. Why will this be easier, do you think?”

He shrugged. “It’s chaotic right now. Chaos breeds sloppiness. It’ll be done by next week.”

That fast?“Impressive.”

“Sometimes.” He motioned toward the hallway, so I followed him. “Let’s eat something then you can go rest.”

“How did you find this place?” I realized it was a dumb question as I said it. “Sorry. Real estate websites. Never mind. Must be tired.” I rushed ahead of him, as if I could outpace my own insecurities. “I’ll cook for you. You’re injured. Go sit down.”

He likely would have argued another time, but perhaps as proof of his injury, instead he sat down at the table in the kitchen. “Okay. If I recall, you make a pretty good grilled chicken.”

I furrowed my brow and tried to remember. Had I ever made him chicken? Yes, once, when my father and I were working on a project together in the Caymans. I cooked for everyone that day, although I didn’t remember him finding it remarkable at the time.

Instead of questioning it, I asked, “You have chicken?” He hadn’t been there in days, at minimum, and I wasn’t sure where he’d been —other thannot in Hong Kong—when I got taken.

“I asked to have the kitchen stocked while we were in the air, so there should be just about everything you need in the fridge.”

He was right, so I got busy looking for his pots and pans. Finally, he spoke again. “My mother—Mèng yáo, although most people just call her Meng—is one of the biggest real estate agents in Boise, where my parents live. We see eye to eye on almost nothing, but she nagged me about getting a retreat for when I wasn’t traveling. To decompress. Maybe she just thought she could get me closer to home again? She was right, though, because this place did it for me. I can’t get anywhere fast from here, not unless I call in a helicopter, but no one can get here any faster, either. I love nature. Mountains. Rivers. Lakes.”

It was more information than he ever shared with me about his family before. “Why, Michael!” I smiled at him over the counter, my hand against my chest as if in shock. “You have a mother like a normal human. Look at that.”

He laughed. “I love it when you pull out the sarcasm. Everyone has a mother, Bridget.”

“Not me,” I said with a one-armed shrug. I found the oil and drizzled a bit into the pan I placed on the stovetop, to keep the chicken from sticking.

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