The Billionaire’s Valiant Rescue (5 page)

“Mister hothead over here endangered the lives of police officers all across the country with that stunt he pulled, that’s what happened. And if you think we’ve forgotten, dream on, asshole.”

I closed my eyes. “Just... the story, please?”

Bill grumbled something under his breath, and shifted his bulk before forging ahead. “Maybe you know this, or maybe you don’t, but Jack Carter is very much the son of his father. When Carter Sr wants something, he wants it now. Not tomorrow, not a week from now, but right this minute. So when Jack decided to throw a graduation party for his frat brothers, he thought it would be pretty neat to do so by setting fire to the police station.”

“That’s not entirely true now is it, Bill?”

“Oh, it’s true all right. Do you deny you practically burned down the Ixelles station house?”

Jack lowered his gaze. “Well...”

Bill grunted, “Exactly.”

“It was an accident. A prank.”

Bill turned to me. “He and his buddies bought all the fireworks they could lay their grubby little hands on, and built a giant bonfire outside the police station. Only trouble was, none of them knew how to handle the stuff. Half the rockets demolished police station windows, setting fire to the building, and the other half injured at least a dozen innocent passersby, none of whom, unfortunately, belonged to Jack’s merry band of bamboozled idiots.”

“We paid for all the damage,” intoned Jack morosely. “We built you a better, finer precinct.”

Bill ignored this. “Then when word got out that some young punks burned down our station house, assholes around the country decided to play copycat. Before we knew what hit us, riots broke out and looters demolished half a dozen buildings—”

“We repaid
all
the damage.”

“—and in the process injured eight police officers.”

“They all lived. Just some cuts and bruises.”

Bill didn’t seem to agree with this assessment, for he jerked his head around, and balled his hand into a fist, ready to slug Jack. Only the sight of the big welt on Jack’s cheek seemed to give him pause.

Jack looked pained. “What can I say? It was a long time ago. I was a young and stupid and made a major error of judgment. We tried to restore all the damage done. What more do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” spat Bill. “From your kind I want absolutely nothing.”

“My kind? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Rich leeches trampling on the little guy, taking what doesn’t belong to them…”

“Oh, so now you’re a socialist all of a sudden? That’s just great.”

I sighed. This argument had begun ages ago and would probably go on for eons more, so I decided to put a stop to it before a slugfest ensued. “Guys, please. Could we first deal with the people calling themselves my parents?” I stared down Bill. “The ones who just broke in here and tried to take me? Again?”

This seemed to bring the policeman back to the here and now, and he coughed, looking a little flustered. “Yes. Right. Of course. You better tell me what happened.”

When Jack started to speak, he quickly interjected, “Not you, asshole. I want to hear the story from Melanie this time.”

“As you wish, Karl Marx.”

“Guys! Can’t you at least be civil? Is that really too much to ask?”

They both mumbled something that sounded like an apology, and I launched into my story of what happened that morning. Then Jack added a report he’d received from a detective called Tucker Jackson, and Bill, jotting it all down in some sort of hieroglyphics, finally decided to share his part of the story.

“You may or may not believe this,” he started, “but I think I might have a clue as to your identity, Melanie.”

Excitement was but one of the emotions this cryptic statement elicited in me. “You know who I am? Tell me!”

He held up his hand, his broad face revealing nothing. When Bill Rattner decided to join the force, the world of poker suffered a great loss.

“I don’t know who you are. Not exactly. I just know your Christian name starts with the letter V, and your home address is somewhere in... Paris.”

“I don’t think it’s fair.”

“And I don’t think it’s safe.”

“But, Jack!”

“You saw what these people are capable of. They won’t stop until they’ve got their claws into you again.” He tilted his chin, something fierce in his eyes. “I vowed to keep you safe and that’s exactly what I’m doing. You’re not going to Paris until we find out what’s going on.”

“But—”

“That’s my final word.”

A petulance came over Melanie that Jack had never seen. She folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot. “You’re not the boss of me. I can do whatever I want and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

He couldn’t help but be amused by this display of girlish stubbornness. “Try me.”

“I’ll call Bill and tell him—”

“And tell him what? That you’re on a suicide mission to Paris and won’t he join you? He’s a cop, Mel, not your personal bodyguard.”

It was the first time he’d called her Mel, and she seemed to respond favorably to the endearment.

“Bill was right. You
are
a jackass.”

Or not. “Better a jackass than a lousy protector.”

Melanie shifted her weight and tapped her other foot, her arms now akimbo. “What if you come along? You can protect me. And didn’t you promise me yourself last night you’d take me to Paris on the Thalys?”

“That was before the goon squad showed up and redecorated my face. They know you’re here now, and are probably keeping an eye out.”

“They won’t dare come near me again.”

“They will and you know it.”

“All I know is that my name starts with a V and I live in Paris and that’s all I need to know. I’m going.”

“No, you’re not.”

She let out a grunt of annoyance, and before he could stop her, stomped to the door.

He quickly bounded after her and grabbed her around the waist, dragging her back.

“Let me go, you brute!” she yelled, pummeling his arms with her fists.

“Not while I have my strength,” he grunted. “You’re staying put and that’s all there is to it.”

Suddenly she went limp in his arms, and a feeling of alarm went through him.

“Melanie? Mel! Are you all right?”

He quickly turned her in his arms so she was facing him. Her eyes were closed and she didn’t respond.

Oh, God. What had he done? She was still suffering from the consequences of the head injury she’d sustained. He should never have handled her this roughly.

He easily lifted her slender frame in his arms, and carried her over to the sofa, gently laying her down on the soft pillows.

He turned to fetch a towel so he could wet her brow, but the minute he turned his back he sensed movement. Wheeling around, he was surprised to find Melanie sneaking toward the door, her eyes wide with excitement and a flush suffusing her cheeks.

When their eyes met, she stuck out her tongue, and broke into a run.

This time, when he made a grab for her, she squealed with laughter, and when they both went down in a heap of flailing arms and legs, he was laughing as hard as she was.

Suddenly, and he didn’t know how it happened, he found her lips on his, and instead of rolling on the floor laughing, they were kissing with a passion that took him by surprise.

Lying on his back, she straddled him, her mouth on his, and when he reached for her, she firmly took his hands and pinned them to the floor, then took his mouth once more, slower this time, and more deliberate.

Her tongue plunged into his mouth, and he wrestled it with his, tasting the sweet nectar of her with a relish that rocked his world.

He relaxed, then, and answered stab with stab, giving as well as receiving, while they explored each other deeply, drinking the other in and enjoying every moment.

He licked a trace across her lips, and when she suckled his lower lip, then nibbled it lightly, he bucked his hips against hers, feeling the telltale signs of his arousal awakening in his groin.

It didn’t matter that she was in his care. All that mattered was that she was here, and so was he, and he wanted her and she wanted him. That was all the reason he needed to break his sacred oath.

He bucked his hips harder now, and threw her off balance. Landing on the floor next to him, he moved over her, darting kisses across her face, her neck and the hollow of her throat until the sighs and moans she emitted could no longer be ignored.

He placed his hands on her breasts and when she arched her back, he moved his growing bulge against her hip, pushing in.

“Oh, yes, Jack. Don’t stop,” she pleaded.

He plundered her mouth, licking his way deeply into her, and she drank him eagerly—voraciously.

Grasping her breasts, he kneaded them under his fingers, and was just about to pop the top button on her shirt, when a soft cough sounded in his rear and broke the spell.

They both looked up in alarm, only now realizing they’d been making out in front of the busted-up front door.

A liveried young man stood framed in the doorway, staring down at them, wide-eyed. He was holding a tray in both hands and seemed at a loss as to the proper code of etiquette in this type of situation. Hotel school had clearly never prepared him for this.

He cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir. Your breakfast, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Jack’s answer was a single bark. Rufus, who still hadn’t had his morning walk due to all the excitement and confusion, seemed to recognize in the young man a dog walker sent from heaven.

The Carlton man raised a single eyebrow at the prancing pup. “Indeed, sir. As you say.”

As Melanie and Jack sat enjoying their breakfast, they kept darting surreptitious glances at one another. Not a word was spoken as they savored the freshly squeezed orange juice, the hard-boiled eggs and dribbled maple syrup and liquid honey on their warm pancakes.

“I, erm, feel an apology is in order,” Jack finally said.

Melanie was surprised. An apology? “What do you mean?”

“I should never have jumped you like that. It wasn’t... appropriate.”

She couldn’t help but elicit a tinkling laugh at that. “Appropriate? Come on, Jack. This is not the nineteenth century and we’re not living in Victorian England. I enjoyed you jumping my bones.” She wagged a fork at him. “And it was my distinct impression you enjoyed it too.”

He gave her one of his half-smiles. “I confess. I did enjoy our little... tryst.”

“Not as much as Rudolph did.”

Before the room service man had left, he’d divulged his name, expressing the hope ‘Mr and Mrs Carter would enjoy their breakfast and the continuation of their... frivolities.’

“Tryst. Frivolities. Where I come from we call things by their real name.” She leaned in. “Sex.”

He smiled. “Ah? So that’s what it’s called, huh? I’ve always wondered.” Then he cocked his head. “And how do you know that’s what it’s called ‘where you come from’? To my recollection you don’t know where you’re from, my dear.”

She buttered another piece of toast. “Why, Paris, of course. Didn’t you listen to a word Bill Rattner said? My name is V and I’m from Paris.”

Jack frowned. “Myes. I still wonder how he figured that one out. Rattner is usually not the brightest bulb in the bulb shop.”

“Pure and simple deduction, my dear Watson. Elementary, what?”

Bill had checked Melanie’s phone records, which, unfortunately, had yielded little result. The phone she carried was a disposable one, and he’d reasoned she must have stolen it from her captors, for the only calls made from it were to yet another disposable phone, all within range of a cell phone tower located on the outskirts of Paris. He had also discovered a single message received.

‘Take V to
Rue Notaire
55. Welcome committee fueled and ready.’

Not far from that same cell phone tower there was indeed a
Rue Notaire
. French police had been notified, but a search of the premises had revealed little. The house was abandoned, home to occasional squatters and derelicts.

If V had been held there, there were no traces of her keepers or her presence.

“V. Could be Veronique. Or Valerie. I like Valerie.” She took a sip from her jasmine tea as she gazed out the window across Brussels by morning. Sheer curtains were billowing in the breeze. Jack had opened the window a crack to let some fresh air in.

A persistent smog enveloped the city, accompanied by a light drizzle. Normal for this time of year, Jack had assured her. It was, after all, only March. Too early for spring.

Somehow she associated herself with a warmer clime. Perhaps she was a native of the South of France?

“Could also be Virginie,” suggested Jack.

She almost choked on her tea. “I don’t think I’m a virgin, Jack. Not from the way I...”

She bit her tongue before revealing too much about herself.

He fixed her with a sultry stare. “I know. I don’t think you’re a Virginie, either.”

She pursed her lips, amused by the way the morning had turned out. She liked Jack more and more, and not merely physically. He was fun to be around, and obviously very intelligent. And caring. The way he was determined to look after her had touched her heart. And other parts of her anatomy...

“You know what? Why don’t we fly to Paris? I’ll ask my dad to lend us the jet. That way we can make the trip undetected, and once we’re there, we simply vanish in the crowd.”

“You have a private jet?”

“Well, not me. My dad.”

“Your family must be rich.”

“We’re doing okay.”

She grinned. Judging from what she’d seen, and from Bill Rattner’s opinions on the Carter family, that was quite the understatement. “All right. Let’s take the jet and fly to Paris.”

He held up a finger. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“No hanky-panky on the plane.”

She gave a bemused snort. “Oh?”

“Dad is a bit of a prude. And contrary to what you might have been led to believe, even pilots on private jets have a tendency to blab.”

She eyed him from across the breakfast table, and slowly let the tip of her tongue slide along her lips. “Are you sure you’ll be able to control yourself? Jack?”