Frontline (23 page)

That’s all it takes.

“Ahh, Trenton!”

“That’s it, Sara.” He lets out a low growl. “Come for me.”

Starlight explodes behind my closed eyelids as my orgasm slams into me with a force more powerful than the Bugatti engine, more powerful than the cries of pleasure that blast from my throat, rattle my eardrums, and leave my voice raspy and shaky. The sensation crests and spreads along my arms, my legs, seizing every molecule in my body. I jerk and call out Trenton’s name, locked in a moment where time slows and my heart races, and I feel like I could take on the world.

Trenton removes his hand at just the right time. Clarity arrives and I open my eyes. The lingering throbs of my release echo between my legs.

The car decelerates to a low purr.

“Thank you,” Trenton says.

I giggle and pull my bunched-up dress down from around my hips. “Shouldn’t I be the one thanking you?”

Trenton looks at me with a glassy, sexed-up gaze.
“If you knew how I felt just now, seeing you fall apart because of my touch, how beautiful you looked, you wouldn’t question me, Sara.”

Well, well, well, look at that. Trenton Merrick is a gentleman. A dirty-talking, horny gentleman.

“Would you like me to . . .?” I eye the bulge under his dress pants.

He smirks and eases down in his seat. “That can wait until later. Believe me, I’m not done with you yet.”

The pulses between my legs kick into high gear, my body eager for seconds.

“So you meant what you said about after the benefit?” I say, twirling one of my earrings.

Trenton flexes his hand on the steering wheel. “I’m a man of my word, Miss Peters.”

I settle back in my seat, too, and flash a giddy smile. “Good.”

Mere days ago, I told Trenton I wanted to take things slow, but when he’s looking so fine in his tuxedo and giving me the best orgasm I’ve ever had with only his hand—not to mention being so sweet and charming and funny and normal—it’s hard not to want him.

Normally, I’d question my sanity in allowing some guy I’ve known for a week to touch me like that in a speeding car, but this new Sara, the woman Trenton brings out of me, doesn’t regret what just happened. As crazy as it sounds
—even after all I’ve been through with him—I trust his feelings for me. I want to move forward with him physically, emotionally, in every way possible.

My current state of euphoria is so persuasive I now hold zero reservations about arriving on his arm tonight at the benefit. In fact, I refuse to let the rich attendees intimidate me. I’m going to be myself because that’s what Trenton likes
—me—not some person who puts on airs. If his social circle doesn’t accept that, well, too bad for them.

The low drone of the wheels rolling over asphalt overtakes the car as a comfortable silence settles between us.

The Bugatti rides so close to the ground, looking through the window is like watching footage from a camera strapped to a regular car’s bumper. Every so often a pebble clangs against the side of the car as it jumps up from the road. Trenton winces each time, no doubt envisioning a large chunk of paint going with it, regardless that he could probably afford to buy a thousand Bugattis to replace this one.

He pulls his hand from mine and straightens himself in his seat as an even louder
ping
cracks off the back of the car.

“Wow, that sounded like a huge one,” I say.

Trenton’s eyes are wide and focused in the rearview mirror. “Sara, duck!”

“Huh?”

Trenton pushes my head down into my lap as another
ping
ricochets off the driver’s side door. Then another. Then about two thousand at the same time.

“Shit!” Trenton yanks the wheel to the left, and our tires screech as the Bugatti fishtails in the middle of the road.

A cry blasts from my mouth. I brace my hand on the dashboard and squeeze my eyes shut. The force of the turn hurls me against the passenger side door.

“Oh my God, what’s happening?”

“Someone’s shooting at us!”

I look at Trenton in disbelief. “What?”

I peer through the driver’s side window just long enough to see the front grill of a black cargo van barreling toward us. Trenton slams his foot on the accelerator and yanks the wheel to the right.

“Sara, get down!” He grabs a fistful of my hair and shoves my head back down between my legs, maneuvering the steering wheel with his other hand.

Three shrill beeps punctuate the brief silence between gunshots and the roar of the Bugatti’s engine. The tires finally catch and we blast down the road.

“Incoming call,” says a robotic female voice. “Incoming call.”

Trenton presses a button on the steering wheel.

Sean’s voice bellows from the car speakers. “Trent? What’s going on?”

“We’re being shot at!” Trenton turns on the headlights and accelerates even more. The needle races around the top end of the speedometer. He’s giving Kelly and her lead foot a run for her money.

“We’re tracking you using the Bugatti’s GPS,” Sean says. “We’re on our way.”

Trenton’s eyes bounce between the windshield and the rearview mirror. “How far are you?”

“ETA: seven and a half minutes by air.”

Another hail of bullets scatters over the car. I scream and duck my head again, my heart pounding so hard I can’t catch my breath.

“Trent? Are you there?”

Trenton plants both hands on the wheel. “Yes, goddamn it!”

“How much damage have you taken?”

“We’re fine, the bulletproof body is holding up, but it’s only a matter of time before they hit the tires.”

“Stay on the line,” Sean says.

A loud crunch sounds as the asphalt gives way to gravel. The car shifts and skates to the right. Trenton jerks the wheel hard to the left and we skid to the edge of the road as it slopes into a scummy ditch. My head slams against the rear of the seat and then sideways against the window. My right ear crackles. Blazing white lights fracture my vision.

“Trenton, we’re going to die!”

“Hang on, Sara!”

The cargo van screeches to a stop in front of the Bugatti.

Trenton slams the gearshift in reverse and spews a shower of gravel toward the van just as its side door slides open. A man in a black balaclava levels a gun at our windshield and fire ignites at the mouth of its barrel.

Trenton’s hand pounds the top of my head again. “For Christ’s sake, Sara, I said stay down!”

Another storm of bullets bombards the front of the Bugatti, pelting like hailstones against a metal roof. Trenton plows forward. Bullets explode against my side of the car. I stop screaming and keep low, peeking over the dashboard to see Trenton swerve around the van’s back end. We blast off down the road, leaving the cargo van in our dust.

Trenton smashes his hand against the steering wheel. “Take that, you bastards!”

“Trent? Everything okay? We’re close, five minutes out,” Sean says over the intercom.

“We’re still alive down here,” Trenton says, his voice celebratory. He glances at me again, then the rearview mirror. “Sara, sit up. It’s okay now. We can outrace them, we’re—”

A storm of sparks and glass shards shower Trenton from behind and engulf the front of the car. Blinding orange light scorches my eyes. My arms shoot forward, but the seatbelt jerks me backward, then all at once, we veer sideways. The force throws Trenton against the driver’s side window. My elbow slams into him as I’m thrown toward his seat. The crunch of gravel gives way to a muffled thud as the car catches the muddy shoulder and finally stops.

“Trent? Are you there? Answer me!”

Sean’s voice echoes through a choir of deafening chimes clanging in my ears. I blink, trying to refocus, and roll against the door.

“We’re alive,” Trenton replies. “Tires are blown. A window, too.”

“Abandon the vehicle. We’ll track you using Sara’s earrings.”

My earrings?

It isn’t until my eyes meet Trenton’s that I realize my vision is blurry with tears.

“Sara, get out,” he says, unclipping my seatbelt. “We need to run.”

My door opens easily and I spill out onto soft grass that feels cool and itchy against my sweat-soaked skin. A sob retches from my throat as I push against the ground with both hands to steady myself and pull my legs under me. Pebbles stab the bottoms of my feet.

Where the hell are my shoes?

I take a deep breath and try to stand as Trenton grabs my right arm and grips it like a vice, pulling me forward.

“Run, Sara!”

I follow Trenton as we rush hand-in-hand into the ditch and push through cattail reeds to the other side. A thin stream of blood trickles down the left side of his face; he no longer wears his tuxedo jacket or bowtie, and his dress shirt and pants are torn in several spots.

“Come on, Sara. We have to run!”

We clear a small embankment and dash into the forest. Shadows thicken between the trees as the sun sets behind them. My feet pick up speed beneath me despite the sticks and pine needles blanketing the forest floor that stab my soles and toes like a million tiny bee stings. I gasp for air and my stomach churns as we near a fallen log.

“Faster, Sara! Come on!”

I yank free of Trenton’s grip and slam my hands against the log’s rotten bark. My stomach lurches, shooting a stream of bile into my mouth. I choke on the suffocating burn that singes my throat, making it all the harder to gasp for more air.

“We have to keep moving,” Trenton says, and he pulls me forward again.

We hop over the log and sprint down the pathway. Low, muffled voices sound from behind us, and gunshots explode seconds later, whistling into the trees and cracking overhead like thunder. I scream and trip when my foot lands on a jagged rock, but Trenton’s grip keeps me upright.

“Keep running. We have to keep running!”

Bullets stream past us like speeding fireflies. My heart throws itself against my chest and thuds in my ears. I scream again, but my breath is so short and my throat so raw, I don’t even hear it.

Trenton yanks me off the small footpath through a thick clump of evergreens, leaping over two more fallen logs and sprinting across a muddy clearing on the other side. My beautiful dress is torn to shreds, and it might as well have a bull’s-eye on it, since it is now being used for target practice
—which, in my opinion, these assailants could use a lot more of.

The gunshots finally dissipate, giving way to the distant rumble of a helicopter. Trenton stops and looks skyward. I never thought I’d be so excited or relieved to see his Tin Men.

“That’s Sean and Chris. Let’s go!”

My feet burn with the stabbing pains of twigs and rocks. Blood gushes between my toes. Trenton leads me down a short, descending pathway, carpeted in dry leaves. Rocks jut out of the hillside like broken stairs in a condemned house. The pathway opens into a deep canyon. Thick mist rises from the wild river beneath, clouding the rope bridge that stretches out over it.

“Your men aren’t going to see us!” I yell.

The river’s deafening roar drowns the faint engine of the helicopter. Both of us look upward, our view of the sky blocked by thick tree branches.

“Sara, are you hit?” Trenton turns to me and grabs a hold of my upper arms, frantically scanning my body for injury.

It takes me a moment to answer with something other than a sob. “No. At least, I
—I don’t think so.”

“Stay here, okay? And keep low.” Trenton dips his head, leveling our eyes. “I have to get out to the middle of the bridge and signal to them.”

“The gunmen will see you! They’re right behind us!”

Trenton sprints out onto the bridge. The flimsy boards and ropes sag beneath his weight. Halfway across, he looks up and waves his hands above his head. Mist soaks his shirt, displaying the strong muscles of his torso. Veins pop at the side of his neck and his complexion turns crimson as he screams over the rushing water.

Tears soak my cheeks and I shiver as I crouch into the bushes at the side of the pathway and scan behind me for signs of the gunmen.

Trenton doesn’t stop his frantic waving until the helicopter shifts its course in his direction, the swirling blades blowing denser mist all over him.

He turns to me. “Come on, Sara! Run!”

I jump from my hiding spot and start out onto the bridge. Blinding pain shoots from the bottoms of my sliced feet and I almost slip on the bridge’s slick wooden boards. The whole bridge lists and sways underneath me. I grab the frayed rope at the side to steady myself.

The helicopter flies overhead and begins its descent further downstream.

“Where’s he going?” I shout to Trenton.

“The canyon walls are too close together above us. They have to go further downriver where it’s wider and then throw out the ladder.”

“How are we going to—?”

“Give me your hand!” Trenton grabs my right hand and throws his right leg over the rope.