Ransom (4 page)

“Not happening.” His tone was adamant. “I want you where we can protect you.”

Despite how irritating she found him, she couldn't deny that having some protection eased some of her anxiety. She'd be stupid not to accept. She'd already agreed to his plan, she now had to find it within herself to allow him to protect her in every way. That included her accommodations.

“Fine. You can be in charge of where I stay.” She rose and held out her hand. “My box, please.”

She wasn't going to let the box or the necklace out of her sight. The necklace was her only bargaining chip and the box's sentimental value was worth more to Liz than the price of the uncut diamonds.

He hesitated for a moment, clearly uncomfortable letting her take ownership of the priceless bauble, before placing her mother's jewelry box on her palm. Her fingers closed around the wood, feeling the carvings dig into her flesh. Liz traced a finger over the roses carved into the side. A wave of sadness washed through her as she held the box in her shaking hands. She missed her mother so much. Liz had been only ten when she'd passed, but her memories of her mother were still very vivid and bolstered her courage.

Liz was going to need every ounce of strength she possessed to make it through this nightmare. She sent up another silent prayer for help and safety for Jillian, for herself, as she followed Blake out of the interrogation room.

The CBS officer waited for them in the hallway with her suitcase. “Exit through that door.” He pointed to the opposite end of the hallway from where they'd entered.

“It needs to appear that you're going about the plan as normal, so go straight to the rental car pickup,” Blake told her. “There's a phone in the glove box of your rental. When it rings put it on speaker so I can give you directions. I'll be right behind you.”

Apparently they had anticipated her cooperation. She should be angry, but she was too freaked out and tired to stir the embers of anger. Though she nearly let loose a hysterical chuckle, no doubt born of fatigue and panic. Blake was certainly sure of himself. That could be a good thing. At least she hoped so. She grabbed the handle of her luggage and rushed out the exit, which led her back to the terminal.

She hurried through the security exit and out of the airport. Stars twinkled in the dark sky. She took a moment to breathe in the cold air to clear her head. The freezing temperature was painful to her lungs. Within seconds her face felt as if icicles were forming on her skin.

She crossed the street, heading to the car rental desk and stepped into line. A large body bumped into her, knocking her off balance. “Hey!”

A hard object pressed into her side. “Don't scream or I'll put a bullet in you.”

Terrified, Liz stiffened. She recognized the voice whispering in her ear. It was the intruder from her apartment. Santini's rival for the diamond necklace. She turned her head, wanting to see his face.

But he shifted out of her peripheral view and pressed the barrel of the gun harder into her ribs and growled, “Don't look at me. Just walk.”

Frantically, she searched for Blake as she stepped out of line with the man and moved toward a waiting car. She couldn't make out the driver's face. His dark gray hoodie covered his head and hung over his face.

The blare of a horn caught her assailant's attention.

Liz's gaze whipped to the left in time to see Blake jump out of a nondescript sedan and run full speed toward her. From the corner of her eye she saw the Canadian customs officer racing to intercept her attacker.

The man with the gun cursed, then pushed her away, sending her stumbling toward Blake. Her would-be captor jumped into the waiting vehicle before the customs officer could reach him, and the little blue coupe took off like a rocket, weaving through traffic. The customs officer was on his phone in seconds, presumably calling other law enforcement to pursue the two men.

Blake grabbed her by the biceps. “Are you okay, miss?”

Taking his cue to act as if they didn't know each other, she nodded, “I'm fine, thank you.”

She shrugged out of his hold, unsettled by the way his hands burned through the material of her coat to her skin.

He nodded and returned to his sedan. His tall, lean frame folded into the driver's seat. She watched him drive away with anxiety twisting her up in knots. Feeling exposed, she hurried to the car rental counter. After signing for the rental car, the man handed her a set of keys to a silver sedan.

Once inside the vehicle, she locked the doors and then opened the glove box to find the phone Blake had said would be there. She had to admit she was grateful to have him on her side. She was nuts to think she could have pulled off rescuing her sister alone. Within seconds the small cell phone rang. She pressed answer and then the speaker button as she'd been instructed. “Hello.”

“All right, Liz,” came Blake's voice. Some of her tension eased, knowing she had a link to him through the phone. “The address where you're going has already been programmed into the car's onboard GPS. Start the car and hit the route button. I'll fall in behind you. Nathanial will also be following. If we think you're being followed, we'll give you further instructions.”

“Okay.” Her hands shook as she started the car, then hit the route button on the navigation system in the dashboard. Immediately a disembodied female voice gave her directions to follow.

She gripped the steering wheel tightly as she drove through traffic. A surreal sensation blunted the edges of her fear. Was she really doing this? “That man with the gun was probably Ken. He was the same man who broke into my apartment. I recognized his voice.”

“I'll let Nathanial know.”

A shudder worked through her, tensing her shoulders even more until they were hiked all the way to her ears. The man had almost had her for a second time. Thankfully, Blake had been there. But could she count on him to save her again? To save her sister?

She prayed so. Because if Blake failed her, then her sister would die.

“Nathanial caught the license plate of the vehicle he jumped into.” Blake's voice filled the car. “Local police will track it down, but I'm sure those two will ditch it and find other transportation.”

“He must have been on my plane,” she said, realizing that if Blake hadn't detained her, that man might have succeeded in kidnapping her and taking ownership of the necklace.

“He used an alias,” Blake told her. “We'll have our people reexamine the flight manifest and see if we can catch him on any of the airport's video feed.”

“The other guy must be local and provided him with the gun,” she hypothesized.

“Yes, that thought crossed my mind,” Blake admitted.

She sighed. “I'm freaking out that there are two people trying to claim the necklace as theirs.”

“It does complicate things but don't worry, we'll keep you safe.”

She hoped so. “I appreciate that.”

Traffic slowed as she approached the Rainbow Bridge where she'd cross the border over the Niagara River. She glanced in her rearview mirror and realized Blake was in the car directly behind her. For some reason that made her feel protected and exposed at the same time.

She crossed into Canada without incident and continued to follow the navigation system to a tall red brick building.

“Circle the block,” Blake instructed. “To make sure no one is following.”

She did as he asked, noting that he'd fallen back by several cars. When she passed the front of the building the second time he said, “We're clear. Park in the garage and wait in the car for me.”

She found a parking spot in the corner near the stairs. A few minutes later, Blake drove in and parked two places down.

He hopped out of his car and walked over to her. She unlocked the doors so he could grab her bag from the backseat. She climbed out and came around to his side.

“This way.” He led her up the stairwell and into the building's entryway. Warmth suffused her, chasing away her chill. She shrugged out of her coat and draped it over her arm as she looked around. Immediately she was taken with the marble floors, the art deco decor and the lovely antique pieces scattered around the lobby.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“Where the team is staying,” he answered.

The ding of the elevator car arriving echoed off the polished marble floor and cut her off from asking more questions about her surroundings. The doors slid open. Staring into the box, her throat constricted. The muscles in her shoulders tensed. He laid his hand to the small of her back, urging her to move. His touch was warm through her pink sweater and created tingles on her skin, distracting her enough to enter the elevator car. She plastered herself against the wall and gripped the handrail as Blake entered, dragging her suitcase behind him. He was a good head taller than she and so attractive he stole her breath.

The doors slid shut, trapping her inside the small car with Blake. He took up too much of the oxygen. A light-headed sensation had her bracing a hand on the gleaming metal wall. He gave her a curious glance but made no remark.

She chalked her dizziness up to a bout of claustrophobia or lack of food. Either could be the culprit, certainly not because of the good-looking agent.

They got out on the eleventh floor, and he led her to a door at the end of the hall which he unlocked and pushed open. “Inside, please.”

Curious, she entered, thankful for the soft yellow glow from a table lamp. The large living room held two brown leather sofas and a love seat, a glass coffee table, a marble fireplace, plus a plush rug that cushioned every step. She laid her coat over the arm of a high-back chair pushed up to a nice-sized dining table. Off to the right was a kitchen. Without the lights on, she couldn't make out more than the shapes of the appliances, but would hazard a guess it was all state-of-the-art.

Blake walked past her and down a short hall. “This will be your room.”

She followed him into a well-appointed bedroom with crisp white linens, a marble fireplace and floor-to-ceiling windows that during the day would offer stunning views.

The room faced the falls. Though it was too dark to see the water, she could make out the slight hum of the rapids. There was a thin television mounted on the wall over a desk. The bath was equally impressive. Oversized with marble accoutrements and gold fixtures. Bright white plush towels hung on warming racks and a thick white robe waited on a hanger on the back of the door.

As much as Liz appreciated the luxury of the condo, she'd rather be home with her sister, both of them safe and content to be on Hilton Head Island.

“I shouldn't be here,” she said. Guilt ate at her. She was in this beautiful place, protected and safe, while who knew what kind of conditions Jillian was suffering. “I should be at the hotel where Jillian last was. Maybe there's a clue or something that will tell us what happened to her.”

In two long strides Blake was in front her, towering over her, yet she didn't cower. His posture was unthreatening, almost tender. His big hands engulfed her much smaller ones. His touch was comforting and disconcerting all at once. She saw the shadow of fatigue under his eyes and the stubble darkening his strong jaw. He still had his coat buttoned to the top and looked as if he'd stepped from the pages of a magazine rather than being an agent for the federal government.

She should pull her hands away, the rational part of her brain warned, but she didn't. Couldn't. For the moment, she accepted his offer of strength.

“Listen to me, Liz, you're going to need to be alert and one hundred percent ready for tomorrow. That means rest for the remainder of the night.”

Easy for him to say. “I don't know if I can rest.”

“You need to try.” He rubbed her hands gently. “We have people staking out the hotel. If your sister returns, they'll let me know.”

Her stomach cramped with hunger. “Would it be possible to get a piece of toast and a glass of water?”

“Of course. I'm sorry, I should have offered the moment we arrived.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I'm not used to playing host.”

She tracked his fingers, wondering if the dark strands would be coarse or soft against her own skin. Forcing her attention away from his hair, she said, “It's okay. You've a lot on your mind.”

“This way.” He gestured for her to follow him.

He unbuttoned his coat as they went, then shrugged out of it and laid it on the back of the couch. The suit he wore looked to be perfectly made for his physique. The navy material draped on his frame in a custom fit that emphasized the width of his shoulders, his trim waist and long muscular legs.

“When did you last eat?”

It took a moment for his words to process. She had to drag her mind away from admiring him. “This morning,” she admitted.

He turned the kitchen light on. She was right. Gleaming, state-of-the-art, appliances and granite countertops. She traced her hand over the cool surface. Her apartment counters were old white tile blocks that needed regrouting.

Blake leaned on the open refrigerator door. “I could make you some eggs or a salad.”

“Eating too much this late at night will give me the gobbly-wobbles.” Not as if the past twenty-four hours hadn't already. She would no doubt have nightmares tonight. That was if she managed to sleep at all.

“Uh?”

She smiled with sadness. “Sorry. That's something my dad used to say. Add to my nightmares,” she clarified. “Toast will be fine.”

He frowned at her. “You have nightmares?”

“Not on a regular basis but my sister has been kidnapped. What do you think?”

“Oh, right.” He reached inside the refrigerator and brought out two loaves of bread. “We have sourdough or cinnamon raisin.”

Her mouth watered. “One of each.”

“All right,” he said with a dose of approval that shouldn't have felt so good. “One of each it is. Glasses are in the cupboard to the right of the sink.” He popped two slices of bread in the toaster.