Kidnapped by the Billionaire (37 page)

“Certainly,” Jericho said. “Put your gun away first.”

“Sure.” Elijah's voice was calm.

And suddenly Violet found herself pushed out of the way as he lurched toward Jericho, looking like he'd tripped over something. His free hand came out, flailing, gripping onto the other man and pulling him close as if he was stopping himself from falling.

Jericho cursed, starting to pull away, his hand reaching for something in his overcoat, but it was too late.

As the crowd of schoolchildren moved level with them, Violet heard the sound of a muffled report. Jericho's eyes widened and his mouth opened as Elijah slid an arm around him. It looked like he was suddenly unable to stand.

Elijah frowned, looking deeply concerned. “Are you all right, sir?” he asked, his voice carrying despite the noise of the school group. Jericho's mouth moved but no sound came out. He'd slumped heavily against Elijah, the color slowly draining from his face.

Elijah glanced once at Violet, a clear warning in his eyes, then he lifted his head and started looking around at the crowds as if for help. “Someone call nine one one,” he said loudly, his tone a little desperate. “This man needs a doctor.”

People began to stare as Elijah helped Jericho over to the park bench where the man in the tan overcoat had been. The young couple looked up in alarm and scooted clear to make way. Then the young woman began talking and moving in to help while the man took his phone out of his pocket.

A small crowd began to gather, blocking her view of Elijah and Jericho.

Her heartbeat was loud in her head and she knew she should probably get clear and wait somewhere quiet for Elijah until the fuss had died down. Except she didn't want to. She wanted to stay near him, make sure he was okay. Because it was obvious what had happened. He had shot Jericho. He'd finally taken his revenge.

Are you sure you want to stay? It's over now. Perhaps he won't want you anymore now that he's gotten what he wanted.

She didn't like that thought, it made her feel small and cold. Made her conscious of that hole inside her, the hunger that craved him and his heat. That made her so vulnerable.

Trying to calm her breathing, she backed away from the knot of people around the bench. But the cold feeling wouldn't go away and she couldn't work out why she was now even more terrified than she had been before, especially since the danger was over.

Then she backed into someone standing beside her.

She began to turn, her mouth already open, an apology at the ready. But a hand came up and covered her mouth and nose, pinching hard and cutting off her air.

Fear burst like a star in her head, a scream building in her throat. A scream that had no outlet. Her lungs burned and bright lights seem to explode in her vision.

Her last thought before the blackness came was that being kidnapped was getting really old.

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Elijah moved away from Jericho, using the press of the crowd around the park bench to surreptitiously fade into the background. The woman who'd been sitting on the bench with her boyfriend had taken over, and she must have had some kind of medical training because she was issuing instructions while her boyfriend called an ambulance.

It was too late, though. Jericho would be dead within minutes.

But as Elijah faded into the crowd, he couldn't shake the feeling that it had been easy. Way too easy. A simple feint that Jericho had fallen for and now the guy was dead. It could not be that simple.

Something had been “off” about the whole interaction, and he couldn't quite put his finger on why. He hadn't missed that Jericho hadn't once looked in Violet's direction, not until he'd put her in front of the other man. Only then had Jericho looked. And even then it had been a simple once-over. Not the response of someone who was desperate to get his hands on her, that was for certain.

Unless he was bluffing, which could be one explanation.

Yet still. That didn't explain the niggling in his gut that told him he was missing something.

You've had that feeling once before, haven't you?

He ignored the thought, walking away from the crowd around the bench, wanting to put as much distance between him and Jericho as he could. It wouldn't take long for people to figure out the guy had been shot, and probably they'd soon start looking for him.

He scanned the area as he walked, trying to see where Violet had gone. He'd given her a warning look as he'd caught Jericho, hoping she'd understand that he wanted her well away from the area. And it looked like she had, because he certainly couldn't see her anywhere.

More crowds had started moving in and he could hear sirens. The ambulance would be here within minutes and no doubt the cops too, which meant he couldn't be anywhere in the vicinity. Looked like Violet wasn't either, because he sure as hell couldn't see her.

Fuck. Where had she gone?

He kept his head down as he continued moving away from where he'd left Jericho, at the same time expanding his awareness of his surroundings, a little trick he'd learned while employed with Fitzgerald. But still he couldn't see her.

You remember this, don't you?

That fucking snide voice again. That cold, familiar feeling.

He tried to dismiss it. Perhaps he should double back, see if she'd gone in the other direction? Except that would bring him back past where Jericho was, and that would be a huge mistake.

He kept walking, bringing out his phone and dialing the number of the burner he'd given her before they'd left the apartment that morning. There was no response.

The cold feeling began to freeze into small kernels of ice, sharp edges digging into him.

Those flunkies of Jericho's were still out there …

Elijah stopped and turned, looking back the way he'd come.

A large crowd had gathered around the park bench. Wouldn't be long before the EMTs arrived. He spotted the dark uniform of a cop already shouldering through the crowd, which was pretty much his cue to get away as quickly as he possibly could, and yet … no Violet.

Where the
fuck
was she?

He turned back around, the ice beginning to settle in his blood, clogging his veins.

This is what happened to Marie, remember?

Jesus. Like he could forget. They'd been out to dinner and were on their way out to get a cab. She'd had to make a detour to visit the bathroom and he'd told her he'd wait outside for her. He'd waited five minutes, then ten, then fifteen. Getting more and more annoyed by how long she was taking. Never once had it crossed his mind that something was terribly wrong. Not until he'd gone back to look for her and no trace of her had been found. No one at the restaurant had seen her go into the bathroom, no one had seen her come out. She'd just … vanished.

He'd never seen Marie again.

Fuck, no. This was not happening, not again. Not to Violet.

A burst of adrenaline flooded through him, making him want to take out his Colt and start shooting. Making him want to grab someone—anyone—and demand they tell him where Violet was. A stupid and dangerous thing to want, because obviously that wasn't going to help the situation, but nevertheless. He would not stand by while a woman he cared about was taken from him. Not again.

He wasn't Kane Archer, first oblivious to the danger and then powerless to do anything about it. Weak and ineffectual, who'd believed the lies Fitzgerald had told him, the bait that had gotten Elijah to work for him. That once he'd proved his loyalty, his wife would be returned to him.

He was different now. Stronger. And that was not going to happen, not to Violet. If anyone—anyone at all—hurt her, they were looking at a death sentence. And he would be their fucking executioner.

Elijah, when is it going to stop?

Her voice seemed to echo in his head from out of the blue, but he shook it away. He didn't care about whether it would stop or not. If they'd hurt her, they would pay. That's all there was to it.

He began to walk on, this time not bothering to keep his head down, scanning the faces of the people around him, looking for spiky blonde hair and vivid blue-green eyes. For a lovely, passionate mouth and a strong, determined jawline. Looking every-fucking-where.

But she'd gone. She'd just fucking gone.

Rage started to rise, so strong and so hot, melting the ice, causing a red haze to cloud his vision. A real goddamn worry, since uncontrolled rage wasn't going to help anyone, least of all Violet.

Christ, he needed to get his head back in the game. Put a lid on this anger. Try and figure out a plan to find her, not walk around aimlessly trying to see if he could spot her.

Except he couldn't seem to get a handle on his emotions, especially that cold, cold feeling. Almost like … fear.

You should have kept a better eye on her. You should have talked through a plan with her in the taxi on the way here. You should have kept her close.

But he hadn't done any of those things. Fuck, he should have learned his lesson by now.

And then someone said very distinctly from behind him. “Mr. Hunt. We need a word with you.” The voice was accented and female, and he was going to ignore it. Until she added, “If you don't stop, I'm afraid I'm going to have to shoot you.”

The rage swelled inside him, demanding an outlet, and he turned sharply, his Colt already in his hand. He only just had the presence of mind to keep it low and out of sight of the crowds moving around him.

Two women were standing in front of him, one tall and blonde, dressed in a dark suit. The other small and silver-haired, wearing a black beanie and a leather jacket. Familiar women.

Eva King and Katya Ivanova. Jesus, he just couldn't get rid of these people, could he?

Not bothering with pointless questions such as what were they doing here and why were they following him, he said instead, his voice freezing, “I suggest that you don't fuck with me right now, ladies. Not unless you want to end up dead.”

Katya held her gun low, like he was doing, solidly pointing it at him, her green eyes utterly emotionless. “We are not interested in your threats, Mr. Hunt,” she said flatly. “We only want to get Violet back.”

Yeah, well, he wanted to strangle them both, the rage and frustration rising higher and higher. “Then you'll have to find her because I don't have her.”

Eva's gray eyes narrowed. “So you gave her to Jericho?”

He didn't bother asking her how she knew about Jericho, she must have conducted her own searches after he'd gotten away from Zac's little basement prison. “No. She was supposed—” he stopped abruptly, wondering why the hell he was bothering to explain himself to these two when he could be searching for Violet. Because every minute he stood here was another minute that she could be hurt, she could be lost, she could be getting killed …

“Get the fuck out of my way,” he growled and started heading toward them, not giving a shit about the gun pointed in his direction. Because there was only one thing concerning him. Violet.

Katya moved suddenly in front of him, blocking his path, the muzzle of the gun pressing into his stomach insistently. “I'm sorry, Mr. Hunt, but you need to tell us what you've done with Violet. According to our tracking device she's on her way—”

“What tracking device?” he interrupted, totally ignoring the gun pressing into his gut, his whole body going still as a sudden surge of an emotion he couldn't put a name to flooded through him.

“The tracking device Zac put on Violet's sweater when she left his place.” Eva's voice was very calm. “We've been tracking her since this morning.”

The sound of the crowds moving around them had dulled, as if he'd gone deaf, every sense he had narrowing down on the small woman standing behind the Russian. His heartbeat thumped, fast and insistent.

“Where is she now?” The question came out as a demand, but by then he was past caring.

Eva frowned. “You don't know? Didn't you just have the meeting with—”

“See that crowd over there?” He nodded his head sharply in the direction of the park bench where he'd left Jericho. “I shot that motherfucker. They're probably working on him now, but they won't save him. If he's not dead already then he soon will be.”

“But if he took Violet,” Katya began.

Elijah cut her off again. “No one took Violet.” He met her impassive green gaze. “In fact, I had no intention of giving Violet to that asshole, I just wanted to kill him, and I did. Now tell me where the fuck Violet has gone.”

Eva gave him a considering look, and he was on the point of moving against Katya, of shoving her pissy little gun away and going over and forcing the information out of Eva himself, when she abruptly pulled her phone out of her leather jacket. Then she looked down at the screen. “Violet's moving up toward Midtown,” she said. “Fast too. In a car probably.”

“Give me the phone,” Elijah grated, only barely keeping hold of his temper.

Again a quick, cool glance from those quicksilver eyes, measuring him. “Why? Are you worried about your investment?”

“If you don't give me that phone now, I will take you and your friend here apart with my bare hands and screw the fucking crowds.”

There was no fear in Eva's eyes. Only that measuring look, a kind of understanding even, which he just didn't get at all considering he'd just threatened to kill her.

“You'll have to survive my bullet first,” Katya murmured. “And considering I have you at point-blank range, that might be a little difficult to do.”

But Eva said quietly, “It's okay, Katya.” And taking a step forward, she held out her hand with the phone in it.

Elijah didn't bother to even glance at the Russian woman, grabbing the proffered phone and staring down at the tiny, fast-moving dot on the screen. Violet. Being taken … somewhere by fuck knows who.